Barbie Girl

I was a Barbie girl. In fact, I kept playing with my Barbies well past the age most people move on to other activities. My way of playing with them, though, should really have been a dead giveaway that I was going to end up being a writer and director. Oh, the years-long, soap-opera-esque narratives those plastic dolls went through at the mercy of my extremely fertile imagination. The multi-faceted, high-stakes relationships. The occasional...ok, frequent...musical numbers. The depth of characterization. (The fact that I was unwilling to dress them in clothes that didn't make sense for their given circumstances and personalities led to frequently naked Barbies. Yes, I know some kids make outfits. I am in awe of those kids, because to this day my sewing skills barely extend to attaching a label to a costume. Just ask any of the costume shop managers who had the misfortune to have me assigned to their shop in days of yore.)

Looking back, it does occur to me that the quantity and passionate nature of the relationships among the doll community (I did say soap-opera-esque, remember) should have been a tip-off that perhaps I was not the straightest girly girl in the room. Somehow my dedication to Barbie romance drama was never remotely impeded by the fact that I only had one Ken doll. And he was not that interesting to a whole lot of the Barbies.

Regardless. When I saw the Museum of Fashion and Design had a Barbie exhibit, obviously I had to go. Was it a little bit of a dream to drive the dream car? Yeah, maybe. Also, shout out to the awesome exhibit monitor who took my picture so I didn't have to try to figure out how to make a selfie happen. She actually took a whole bunch to make sure I got something I liked. Yay kind people!