Barbie and the Girl Who Never Partied With Her

One day, I'll find my Barbie

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a little girl in possession of a childhood must be in want of a doll.

Children want toys because they allow them to turn their daydreaming into action. It can be, of course, an item intentionally labeled as a toy but, in reality, children can turn anything into a playable thing.

That's how houses end up with blanket fortresses, kitchen utensils that double as swords, and rocks that become mighty mountains. Still, if it is within the family's budget to provide toys for their children, this will always bring a smile to their faces.

My family wasn't wealthy, but we also didn't fall into the definition of poverty. So, even though my siblings and I had toys, we never got the nice ones.

And, at least for my parents' financial situation, Barbie was way too fancy to be affordable, especially considering they had three girls.

Choosing Toys

I always knew Santa Claus wasn't real. I understood he was a story grown-ups would tell other children to make them believe in the magic of Christmas and that I was to keep my mouth shut so I wouldn't ruin other kids' childhood.

Therefore, my parents' strategy for Christmas shopping was to take my sisters and me to a store so we could choose by ourselves which toy we wanted within the allowed budget. In a way, this was the wisest strategy so they could ensure we would get what we wanted.

The gifts would still get wrapped, and we waited until Christmas morning to open them. Still, I obviously wasn't surprised when I opened the box with my name to unveil my first doll ever: a baby with a yellow onesie, a matching beanie, and a white bib. I don't think I ever named her, so I suppose I referred to her just as "Baby," for that's what she was.

When I went to school, I would put her on my bed and cover her with my blanket. Other than that, I don't have many memories of how I used to play with her.

Several months passed until, one day, after returning from school, I was shocked to find she was missing. I asked my sisters and my mother if they had seen her, but no one knew a thing. To this day, I have no idea what became of her.

How did Wonder Woman end up here?

For my second and final doll — in the following years, I would always get clothes as a gift — I chose a Barbie knockoff. I have no memory of the brand, but I remember she had brown hair, big brown eyes, and a pink waterski. And, in case you were wondering, yes, she totally wore a pink bathing suit.

My sisters and I would play together, using our dolls to create insane scenarios. For some reason, these included several Wonder Woman stories we had to make up inspired by the only comic book we ever owned. Since none of us had a Wonder Woman action figure, our dolls would take turns to play the titular character.

I laugh now, but at the same time, I'm amazed at our ability to make do with what we had. Still, it should come as no surprise that our younger selves solved the problem of lack of resources with a lot of imagination. That's what children do all over the world, including kids who have even less than we did.

We all are natural-born storytellers. It's a shame that so many people forget they carry this superpower and allow themselves to get bored.

Princess Leia, Lego Batman, and Patrick Star

So, no, I never had an actual Barbie, but I was, of course, aware of who she was. I never felt like I was lacking something because I knew she was entirely out of my reach, just as the toy kitchen sets I would sometimes spot in the stores. On second thought, those mini kitchens still give me a pang of yearning when I see them in the toy section.

Still, I have watched with joy how, due to the release of a live-action Barbie movie, the world has been overtaken by a second wave of Barbiemania. I love the way people have allowed themselves to be silly, with no sarcasm and no cynism: just pure childhood joy.

As for me, even though I'm 42, I do have a few toys of my own. As I type this, a Princess Leia Funko Pop is staring at me, along with a Lego Batman and a Patrick Star figurine. I have no particular sentimental reason for those characters sitting on my desk; they simply made their way there, and it feels cool to have them next to me.

While writing this, I had to stop for a moment to go to the supermarket. As I walked by the toy section, I thought. "Wouldn't it be a great ending for my story to go and buy myself a Barbie?”

I looked at all the Barbies on the shelves, and although pretty and colorful, none of them spoke to me the sweetest words every child hears when they are in the presence of a toy they can connect with: "Here! It's me. I'll be your toy!”

I realized I didn't want to buy just "a Barbie."

What I wish for is to stumble into My Barbie while I'm not even thinking about her. I want to find myself worrying about other things when I suddenly see her in the wild — aka a random store — and then go: "Yes, she's cool! She's coming with me!"

Then I bring her home and place her next to my Princess Leia, and then the both of them look at me while I write into the void.

Will they talk about me when I'm not there? Will they discuss the many issues plaguing me and wish they could tell me it will all be alright? No, I know they won't actually talk to me — after all, that's against the rules — but it will feel nice to know there are two gals quietly cheering me on while I'm still learning what it means to grow up.

In the meantime, I won't worry too much about it. One day, I'll find my Barbie. After all, if there's something I have learned, it's that it's never too late to party with her, or so the song says.

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