The Existential Dread of Barbie: The Reality of Maturing into a Human Female

I have been ecstatic about Greta Gerwig’s Barbie movie since its announcement in July 2019. To say that my expectations were exceeded is simply an understatement. I grew up with Barbie. She was my top-tier toy. I didn’t want animatronic stuffed animals or baby dolls that pissed when you gave them water or imitation food I could cut with a dull knife because the vegetables are attached with velcro that would soon become jammed with hair, thread, and dust. I gave my Barbies (with the capital approval of my parents) all the things I always wanted and imagined I could be while I recreated situations I could dream of occurring in the real world. A baby pink Vespa motorcycle, a glitter-infused bathtub water park, a non-Mattel brand house for them to play in, and all the clothes, shoes, pets, and purses I hoped I could wear when I was a woman.

I don’t list these things to reinforce the rampant consumerism that placed a pink cast over my childhood or to prove that now, more than ten years since I played with Barbie, I’ve changed and wished I spent my girlhood playing with swords and garbage trucks and cars that turned into robotic monsters. Because I don’t. I still love dresses, mermaids, putting on makeup, dream of having a Vespa, and one day, I want to own my version of a dream house. I guess I say it to bolster my argument that I am qualified to speak on this film, even though, as the flick itself points out, I shouldn’t have to explain what I perceive as competence in the area of Barbie dolls. 

I never, ever, ever, fucking wanted a Ken. Ken’s were boring! They were just another accessory to my Barbies. But one that took up more space where I could potentially have a dog with fairy wings, a breakfast table for fake food, or a couch for all my Barbies to have girls’ nights every night. All these feminine-coded things that went along with Barbie dolls aligned with what I liked. I loved Barbie’s skirts because they were sparkly and pink, not because they would show off Barbie’s legs. It’s not her fault she has legs! I didn’t know about the patriarchy, or the rife sexualization of women (not to mention the mere sexualization of an artificial representation of a woman), or understand a female’s place in the social hierarchy to know that one day, these feminine-coded things that helped me shape small parts of my identity would be used against me in later teen years and very early adulthood.

The fantastical journey Barbie goes on is not physically relatable, but I think I had a minor existential crisis after my first year of college when I discovered the nihilist philosophy of Blaise Pascal and Jean-Paul Satre. I’m sorry to the people who knew me during that phase, but should I really be apologizing for that? Learning the harsh reality that life could mean nothing is a hard pill to swallow. I’ve never had my feet go from one shape to another, but I let out a sigh of relief when Stereotypical Barbie (Margot Robbie) talks to Barbie’s inventor, Ruth Handler (Rhea Perlman), about how she isn’t pretty anymore and is “not good enough for anything,” because it’s one of the most important feelings I’ve had in my life. Who do I want to be? What’s my purpose? Why am I lonely even if people surround me? Am I pretty enough for a boy to like me? Why do I hate my personality? Am I stupid? Do I have nice legs? Why am I not happy even though everything in my life is okay? Why do I cry so much?  Is anyone ever going to understand all the layers to me? Where is the off switch for my brain? Sometimes being stuck in my own head is so tiring that it makes me want to scream. Gerwig knew precisely the feelings I had but couldn’t verbalize. Is this how boys feel when they watch movies made by men? Which is, like, almost every movie ever?

I stopped playing with Barbies at around 10 when I started to become more of a human. Suddenly dolls weren’t cool. I needed Instagram, Brandy Melville tank tops, and Snapchat streaks with boys who wouldn’t look twice at me in the hallway. The consequences of my actions and my right to free will became palpable. To quote Sartre, “Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.” From the ages of 10 to 20, I’ve seen my emotions get more complex; my body change from a child’s to an adult’s, and for the last five years, I feel as though I’ve been desperately searching for a place in the convoluted macrosm of the collective. 

While in the film, Barbie entered the Real World at whatever mystical age she was; ten is when I considered joining the Real World. I wish I had a Weird Barbie (Kate McKinnon) to tell me, “You’re gonna start getting sad, and mushy, and complicated,” because it’s true. I loved the storyline between Mattel employee Gloria (America Ferrera) and her tween daughter, who hates Barbie, Sasha (Ariana Greenblatt). I got so many flashbacks to when I was that age. The exciting parts, like being able to go places by myself and getting a bra, but also the bad parts, like getting asked out as a joke and constantly having to go to the “learning center” because my teachers were convinced something was off with me. I understand what Sartre meant when he said, “hell is other people.” I remember feeling anxiety, self-consciousness, angst, and real sadness for the first time in my tween years, around Sasha’s age. 

Barbie’s mid-movie crisis is often what my life has felt like post-high school. Barbie’s bubble pops when she randomly gets a thought about death during a party, disrupting her perfect utopia. As Pascal says, “When we imagine a king attended with every pleasure he can feel, if he be without diversion and be left to consider and reflect on what he is, this feeble happiness will not sustain him.” Barbie is to learn that humans aren’t naturally happy, a stark contrast to the toxic positivity of Barbieland, where every day is the best day ever. Stereotypical Barbie chooses to know the truth behind her thoughts of mortality and cellulite, and as Pascal says, “It is man's natural sickness to believe that he possesses the truth.” 

Barbie discovers multifaceted emotions and how women are treated when she enters the Real World, and it hits home when she meets the feminist Sasha. Barbie’s realization of her objectivity and subjectivity in the Real World is incredibly cathartic. The genius of this movie lies in how simple it is to understand while tackling complex issues of gender and existentialism that have cursed people for centuries. Sasha gives her honest and valid critique of Barbie, who has a newfound sense of consciousness.“You have been making women feel bad about themselves since you were invented.” And with that, Barbie is sent into existential dread. “Men look at me like I’m an object, girls hate me.” Can anyone win in these circumstances? The film addresses the problematic history behind the symbol of Barbie and how her unrealistic look can cause body image issues in young girls while also marking her role as a feminist idol in later years, as Barbie has become so much more than tall, blonde, and blue-eyed.

Barbie’s coming-of-age story mirrors the harsh reality of evolving from a girl to a woman. From boys who just want me to be, as Ken (Ryan Gosling) puts it, their “long-term, long distance, low commitment casual girlfriend” to dealing with girl-on-girl crime like Sasha says, “men hate women, and women hate women. It’s the only thing we can all agree on.” Greta Gerwig’s Barbie is a triumph in exploring the kaleidoscope of emotions that come with being a woman. 

It’s mesmerizing and borderline bloodcurdling that the most playful scenes of the movie, the Kendom, are some of the realest. Women’s and men’s established roles are flipped on their heads in Barbieland. But when Ken travels to the Real World and sees the patriarchy in action, he realizes he doesn’t want to be treated like a second-class citizen anymore. He grows a deep hate that the Barbies don’t treat the Kens like principal subjects. Ken immediately goes back to Barbieland, only to turn it into the evil Kendom, and suddenly the Supreme Court is handing out beers to Kens on the beach, Doctor Barbie is in a sexy maid outfit, and no one takes President Barbie seriously. The whole scene is very funny, but is it really that different than boys speaking over me in class, the United States never having a female President, and guys telling me on a dating app (that I felt culturally influenced to download for male validation. I mean, shouldn’t my primary purpose be to find a husband to bear children with?) that we should meet up at midnight? It’s not. Not at all. I’ve wasted so much energy wondering if how men treat me is because of my dyed blonde hair, sparkly eyeliner, or love of purple nail polish. This movie reminded me that it’s not my fault; it’s the system we live in. The parts in Barbie about living in patriarchy are unfortunately true. And I’m not going to change the exterior features about me that mildly reflect the interior components that actually matter. 

Barbie isn’t a critique of men; it’s a critique of a system that no one benefits from. Ken can’t find happiness or fulfillment in Barbieland, where his only purpose is tied to Barbie. And Barbie isn’t happy in the Real World or in the Kendom, where Barbie’s sole purpose is to aid Ken. And the patriarchy and horses. Gerwig laboriously considers that society can leave men feeling lonely and detached from their emotions because the patriarchy damages everyone. In the end, Barbieland returns to normal, and patriarchy is banished; as Ken says, "When I found out the patriarchy wasn’t about horses, I lost interest anyway.” After all, this movie is a comedy. But maybe one of the best blends of humor and existentialism ever done in a film, ever. Ken chooses ignorance as bliss, and Pascal shakes his head in his grave as he writes, “You always admire what you really don't understand.” This movie is better than Citizen Kane. I’m not joking, and you still need to take me seriously.