By Madeline Ward

I’m the oldest of 7 children, with my oldest sister 6 years younger than me and the next 4 siblings being born no more than a year apart. Luckily, my parents are divorced, and I am technically the half-sister of all of my siblings. Until my youngest sister came along, the gender divide in my family was perfectly split: sisters at mum’s house, brothers at dad’s, me ricocheting in between. The two houses shared many commonalities: same town, same area, same noise levels, same big sister, and, for at least 3 years, a shared affinity for Barbie movies, which were watched to the exclusion of all other forms of media.

Barbie movies were in-escapable in both the houses I grew up in. Even now, as 16 and 15 year olds, my two oldest sisters can flawlessly quote from Barbie: Mermaidia on cue. As an adult, I adore Barbie films, particularly those from the nascent years of Barbie film production. Shoddily animated Barbie storylines set to Tchaikovsky ballet are a camp marvel.

However, as a decidely angsty tween to teen from the years 2007-2010, I fucking hated them.

I could not stand Barbie movies. It felt as though my parents had secretly conspired against me and indoctrinated each of my 5 younger siblings into a poorly animated freakish Barbie dreamscape from which I could not escape. The animation freaked me out: especially in Barbie in the Nutcracker, of which the evil mouse gave me nightmares, and in Barbie of Swan Lake, in which the slow reaction times of the animated characters were deeply unnerving. Besides, at this point I had long progressed past playing with Barbie dolls. I had discos to attend! There were boys to think about! And Barbie movies, with their weird classical music soundtracks, were deeply uncool.

Of course, all of the things that freaked me out about Barbie movies were what drew my younger siblings to them. The garish colourscapes and goofy, overdone villainous accents were comedic and entertainment genius for 1-7 year olds, because young children love nothing more that deeply weird, colourful, trash. My cries of “oh my god this is so LAME” were typically ignored by my transfixed younger siblings, and I continued to watch the same Barbie movies on repeat every weekend.

Though by no means an intentional feminist icon, Barbie, in her leading role in every one of these films, and with her romantic relationships with men secondary to her character development, might just be an accidental one. The Barbie movies pre-date films such as Frozen as children’s media with feminist undertones, making them much cooler than I once thought they were.

At the very least, these elaborate marketing schemes should be given the cultural and critical attention that they deserve, as masterpieces of both accidental feminism and high camp.

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Barbie Movies

By Madeline Ward