The Barbie Massacre

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Contrary to what you might think, I previously had very ambivalent feelings toward Barbie as an icon: it was a combination of fascination with her unlimited wardrobe of pink frothy dresses and matching accessories and a politically correct disdain of her anatomically impossible standards and permanent acquiescence that she was supposedly imposing on womankind by her mere existence. I took an inordinate delight in helping my daughter obtain doll parts for an art project. Barbie seemed more appropriate as a collection of disconnected body parts rather than a representation of ideal womanhood; the Barbie massacre felt right. But that was before I experienced the power of Barbie.

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