“You might expect little girls to love their Barbie and expect an imaginary love in return. Instead girls feel violence and hatred towards their Barbie,” Agnes Nairn, one of the researchers, said. :eek:
I know during my childhood between me and my sisters it was normal to see Barbie in our house naked, headless, armless, markered, and with a butch haircut (wherever the head went, probably rolled under the bed).
I had a friend over once for the express purpose of destroying Barbies. We had scissors, knives, glitter pens… and fire. The fun was put to an end when my mom realized we’d filled the house with the smell of burning plastic.
When that got old, I killed them in fun and creative ways. One of my Barbies had to die so I could use her pretty necklace for a ring. Others died in the name of “science”–hey, I thought it might be useful to know how to dismember and reassemble one. I just had some trouble with the second part. Did you know that if you spritz a little Calgon body spray on a Barbie before lighting her on fire with a box of Mommy’s matches, she burns really pretty for a second or two? Burns with the fierce heat of the CLEANSING OF HER SINS! Also, disembodied barbie heads make some killer finger puppets.
Er, would you believe I grew up to be a completely nonviolent vegetarian?
Our current crop doesn’t seem to be suffering from anything worse than neglect. (Unless you call having your clothes and possessions taken away and given to small stuffed animals cruel and unusual.)
I do recall giving my Barbies “nipple” with a pin, though, because those featureless breast bumps just aren’t right.
It’s only fair that Barbie should come in for her share of torture, considering what boys put the GI Joe dolls through. My brother-in-law fondly relates all the times he dismembered Joe, and then stuck lit firecrackers into his torso. We usually just cut Barbie’s hair, or gave her dramatic blue ball-point pen eye makeup (then she became Bad Girl Barbie, and got to be nasty to the other dolls).
I used to give Barbie butch haircuts and mohawks and dye her hair with food coloring. Another fun thing to do was to switch out Barbie’s and Ken’s heads.
There’s a couple of my daughter’s Barbies lying naked in the living room floor right now…hmmm, where’s my lighter?
I dunno, sound like those “researchers” are way off.
“You might expect little girls to love their Barbie and expect an imaginary love in return. Instead girls feel violence and hatred towards their Barbie,”
No. Wrong twice. First of all it’s not about love…at least I don’t think Barbies engender that kind of feeling…not like, say, a teddy bear. And it’s not about hate. It’s more about experimentation.
And power.
And the only “person” a little kid has power over.
Going by the article I’d say they’re on the wrong page…weren’t they ever kids themselves?
Barbie’s Dream House was melted to the ground by Darth Vader and a couple stormtroopers, in my house. (And I was in trou-ble!!)
But not before Barbie was stabbed, sliced, melted, drawn on, dismembered, and all sorts of other indignities. It’s really a childhood rite-of-passage, I think. I don’t know anybody who survived being a kid with all her Barbies intact.
Heh, my Barbies had no choice but to be gay; my parents refused to buy me a Ken doll, and Barbies need love, too:(
Actually, that might come in useful during my inevitable coming out to my fundie parents: “You refused to buy me a Ken doll as a child! You filled my room with young adult female dolls-- NAKED young adult female dolls [well, okay, they didn’t actually give them to me naked, but what did they expect?]-- with no man in sight! Who were they supposed to marry? Surely you must accept at least some of the responsiblility here. I mean, did you really expect me to turn out completely straight after that?”
That doesn’t mean I wasn’t sadistic with them though. My ribbons and yarn got put to lots of good uses (bondage, hanging) while Joe and Danny of New Kids on the Block (hey, I didn’t get a Ken until I was almost a teenager) would torture them in various ways.
Yes, and then there are girls like us who took such gentle care of our Barbies, the only mutilation ever received was piercing ears (before they had pre-pierced ears) and painting fingertips.
I kept them all neat and clean, hair and dress perfect with shoes placed lovingly into shoe divider boxes. Ken, Shaun, and Malibu Scott were separated for the evening in their own cases (I also had some hand-me-down GI Joes, but they looked stunning in Ken tuxedos even if the pants were a bit short).
It must be noted that I was a complete slob with everything else, as I am to this day.
They were all in near-perfect condition when they were handed down to my firstborn daughter, who promptly cut their hair off, drew tattoos on them, and left them in compromising positions. It hurts, I tell you!
My daughters never got the chance to mutilate their barbies, the cats did it for them. I don’t think one of them escaped with all of their hands and feet intact. At one point we had a “Marine Corps Barbie” who eventually became “VA Barbie” after she had her hands and her feet chewed off.
