I recently received a package from Mattel as part of a promotion called “Dads Who Play Barbie.” I have two daughters: my eldest is nearly 8, while my youngest is almost 3. Historically, I haven’t been the biggest fan of Barbie—not just because the dolls often project an unrealistic body image, but also due to the shallow narratives surrounding them. As a father of two young girls, I’ve come to realize that it’s nearly impossible to escape the influence of Disney Princesses and Barbie.
My 7-year-old, Lily, has a collection of Barbies, so when she spotted me bringing home a large pink box emblazoned with “Barbie,” she eagerly tried to snatch it from my hands. I called her little sister, Mia, to join us, and they eagerly unwrapped the box together. Inside were three dolls. One was the classic Barbie I was accustomed to: blonde, white, and unrealistically thin with exaggerated features. The other two, however, were refreshingly different. One was a petite woman of color in a doctor’s coat, while the other had blue hair, a curvier shape, and was labeled “curvy.”
This was all part of a new Barbie line aimed at showcasing more diverse races, body types, and backgrounds. I admit, I was pleased to see this evolution. However, what struck me most was my daughters’ reactions.
Lily immediately gravitated toward the traditional Barbie, seemingly ignoring the other two dolls. This made me pause. At 7, I hoped I had instilled values of acceptance and appreciation for diversity in her. Yet, despite my efforts to raise her as an open-minded individual, societal standards still loom large, suggesting that the ideal woman should be tall, blonde, and flawless, living an extravagant lifestyle.
Lily, who is shorter than average with brown hair and a cheerful demeanor, closely resembles her mother, who is just over 5 feet tall. She’ll never look like Barbie, and that’s perfectly fine. But when I noticed her instinctively reaching for the conventional doll, I couldn’t help but worry about her perceptions of beauty and womanhood.
Mia, in contrast, wasted no time. She snatched up the two diverse dolls, tore them from their packaging, and began playing without a care for Barbie’s traditional image. In that moment, I felt a mix of hope for one daughter and concern for the other.
I realize that some may think I’m overreacting—parenting often brings out those feelings. But I genuinely want the best for my daughters, and I dread the idea of them feeling pressured to conform to unrealistic standards of success and beauty. I desire for Lily and Mia to grow up pursuing their dreams, whether that means becoming an astronaut, a physician, or a stay-at-home mom. I want them to embrace differences in others and realize that no race, gender, or religion is superior to another.
Then something remarkable occurred. While Lily played with her traditional Barbie on the couch, Mia engaged with her two dolls by the TV. After about 20 minutes, they unexpectedly began to play together, which is rare for them. Eventually, both girls were enjoying all three dolls.
While this doesn’t imply that their views on body image or acceptance have transformed overnight, it was heartening to witness them playing together with dolls that represent various body types and backgrounds. This small moment gives me hope that progress is being made.
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In summary, witnessing my daughters interact with a new generation of Barbies has opened my eyes to the importance of representation. While societal pressures can be daunting, I hold onto the hope that our conversations about acceptance and diversity will shape their perceptions positively.