This is a post potentially NOT for little eyes.
True to Barbie form, she came complete with sickeningly perfect hair and precision-perfect makeup but she also arrived with a certain air...a certain je ne sais quoi...probably her perfectly poised 'resting bitch face' we all agreed was indeed there and beautifully obvious and inadvertently feminist.
I was gifted my Barbie on a rainy day in the town of Slane on the outskirts of Dublin, Ireland during a Tescos pitstop to buy Burger Buns during the weekend of my friend's Hen Party. The fabled doll in the curvy range has yet to arrive in Australia so, ceasing my moment I sprinted to the toy section and found this lady, stuffed behind the mini fashionistas, created for the Minouge-esque 'petite' clan for the height conscious little ones.
Upon her arrival back to our booze filled cave of the hostel kitchen, welcomed by a gaggle of already half-cut girls, Barbie became the unfortunate symbol of female empowerment and a sign of change for a better, more bodily accepting era of younger women. Jess (who apparently just so happens to carry Prit-Stick everywhere she goes) declared that Barbie is lacking a bush and we must quickly amend the situation. To the cheers of the other women and beneath the roar of Luke Kelly on Spotify, drinks flowing and cake aplenty, Jess proceeded to snip off a lock of her own hair using a borrowed Swiss Army knife, and with the help of the other girls, we firmly positioned a healthy and ample pubis for poor, stripped-bare Barb, pressing down firmly and adding a decent amount of fuzz to the surrounding pubic region of the upper thigh.
We then all had a very open discussion about Labia acceptance and loving our own vaginas and I went into my tirade about the power of Lammily and the changed Barbie movement that I definitely want my possible future daughters to be a part of and to love and accept their own bodies as Barb loves hers.
I must say, Barbie has a fairly healthy looking lower region now. Through the fuzz of my hungover gaze, lifting up her little denim dress, I admired her curvier, fuller hips, her robust bottom and newly acquired fur in all it's glory. It is easy to ignore the very oddly but structurally required 'thigh gap', her lack of cellulite - or stretch marks for that matter - for generally, as far as the history of a usually stick thin proportionally fucked Barbie is concerned, my other friend exclaimed in excitement upon clutching at her, glass of wine in hand raised to toast: 'Ooh!! She looks like me!!'
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