The Barbie Doll Illusion

If you’re a teenage girl, I’m sure you have your own growing stack of magazines. Whether it be Seventeen, Teen Vogue, Vogue, or People (or Teen People), they all have something in common-those stick figures that almost every girl above the age of 9 both worship and adore.

It’s the illusion that you have to be ‘perfect’, that all that you see in the flimsy pages of your four dollar magazine is what is desired and yearned for in life.
This delusion starts at a very young age. Maybe four, five, six. Girls in the past, present and future generations have grown up, are growing up, or will grow up, with Barbie Dolls, the so-called spittin’ image of beauty.

But how attractive is Barbie, if she was scaled to real life proportions? If Barbie was real, she would look like this:

Galia posing with a real life size Barbie doll.

With her 39″ in bust, 18′ waist, 33″ hips,  stature of 6 ft, and size 3 shoes, she would have to walk on all fours. Not so attractive now, is she? Girls everywhere are looking at her as an icon, an idol. In fact, Galia Slayen’s eating disorder stemmed from looking up to Barbie as a young child.

Like Galia, you started to form the image of perfect in your head young.

And then as you grow into your tween years, you decide that Barbies and dolls are too childlike. You get magazines for your birthday, and as you flip through the pages this is basically what you see:

Teen star on the front page, model, model, clothes with models wearing them, models, clothes, actors, tampon ad with models jumping and dancing, models, clothes, article, article with model, clothes, makeup, makeup, models, tampon ad with models doing sports, makeup tips, article.

Fascinated with the icons of beauty, you experiment with makeup. You raid your mom or sister’s makeup stash, and slather on all that you can. Then you raid their closets; short dresses, high heels, leather purses. Then the jewelery big hoop earrings, a faux gold necklace, and glass bead bracelet. Perfect.

Then, it’s your 13th birthday-you are officially a teen! You go ask your mom for makeup, and voilà, the next day your both at Macy’s, shopping for the right look. Your mom wants a neutral, down to earth, natural look, but you’re over at the other aisle, looking at the bright fun colours. Ooh, purple eyeshadow! Bright pink lipstick! Or maybe green eyeshadow will look better?

You convince your mother, some of this, some of that.

The first day of school starts, and you prepare: Hm, that mini black skirt with that cheetah tank top. Then, you curl your hair and apply the hairspray. Finally the makeup, black mascara and eyeliner, with the purple eyeshadow, and some blush. Perfect, your done!

Then, as you morph into a teen, you start seeing these TV shows and movies with these models and actresses, these beautiful, pretty, sexy icons. You tell yourself you will do whatever to look like them. After all, that’s what guys are attracted to, right?

So you would eat your normal diet, and exercise. Exercise, exercise. But then you notice the results aren’t that great so. So you get depressed, get stuck in a slump, until your friend tells you a secret.

“You see, Amy, your middle finger is your best friend.”

So you’d binge and binge, then throw it all up in the toilet afterwards. And repeat.

This, this vicious cycle of not being good enough, it’s happening everywhere, in all ages. From the young children playing with their Barbies, deciding they will look like that when they’re older, to the tweens being brainwashed, and to the teens battling eating disorders, it’s a real and present problem in this world.

And if you’re one of them, just remember that these ‘sex gods’, these icons of ‘true’ beauty, it’s all fake. The images of the models are photoshopped so much that you wouldn’t know the before and after pictures were the same person. And Barbie, her real life proportions are not only unrealistic, but they show the true image of,not beauty, but an eating disorder.

Sleeping Beauty

Outside, the sky is plastered with stars and a full moon on a dark canvas. There is a quite a commotion going on at the Gerald Mansion.

“What a pity,” a hooded man wearing a long black cloak is saying humorously, as if he is reciting a joke at a cocktail party. “Such a beautiful girl, going to waste.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette before dropping it and crushing it with his heel.

“Ple-please,” a red-haired woman begs, dangling in mid-air, her fingers fighting to seize the rails of a balcony. She is slipping slowly, her grasp on the rails loosening. The man chuckles softly, and saunters over to the rail. He crouches down, and takes a hold of her hands. The woman looks up at the general direction where his eyes should be, silently pleading. A few moments pass, and it seems the man has changed his mind. He hasn’t.

“Good-bye,” the faceless man whispers, before letting go of her limp fingers.

The woman does not scream. She does not whimper. She down not even shed a tear. But her eyes do not bother to hide the look of hatred and betrayal.

A second passes. Only two, three, more seconds pass, but time creeps along like dripping molasses. The woman hits the concrete with a sickening thud, and what sounds like green branches breaking in half is heard. A malicious laugh erupts from the man standing on the balcony. He examines his handy work, leaning on the rails.

She is still alive.

Twitching, the girl spits out a trickle of blood, and her fingers unwrap slowly. Blood slowly stains the ground, a tremendous amount spilling from her body. Pain floods as she takes a sharp, quick, intake of breath. She exhales, her heart pounding viciously. Shocks of agony seize her limbs as she painfully crawls onto her hands, before failing, and losing the fight with gravity. The shock of hitting the cold, bloody pond on the concrete floor sends her through worldly torture.

Her limbs shake, and her rib cage rattles. Short, quick gaps of breath involuntarily escape her body, once again causing aches. She curls up into the fetal position, and her mouth fills up with the metallic, distinct, taste of blood. She weakly opens her mouth, and it floods over, sending streams down her cheeks.

Her chest heaves up and down, her blood-red lips parting slowly and softly exhaling away her life. Her once rosy cheeks and fair complexion is now pale and stained with blood, dripping from her eyes like tears. Her eyes flutter every now and then, and the heart pounding against her rib cage, wanting to be free of this tortured body, starts to beat slower.

The girl can see her life evaporating into the air around her, her soul leaving her body as she closes her eyes. The breathing slows so that she only takes a weak intake of air every few seconds. Finally, with her last exhale, her limbs go, and her head flops to her side. Her red hair, concealing with the pool of blood around her, sticks to her sweat layered forehead.

Slowly, slowly, the last trickle of blood escapes from the corner of her mouth, and creeps down. Her skin is starting to show the bruises, the patches of once untouched skin losing it’s perfection. Her green, vibrant eyes grow dull underneath the eyelids, and her skin is as pale as ever.

She was the real life sleeping beauty, and will now be the never awoken beauty.