Big Dreams on Tiny Shoulders

Thoughts Hulu's Tiny Shoulders

I wasn't sure I wanted to watch Tiny Shoulders when it came up on my screen while browsing through Hulu. I didn't want to watch mostly because I didn't know what angle the documentary would take, whether it would be to praise the global phenom that is Barbie, or whether it would be a tool to continue to tear it down. Quite simply, I didn't want my memories of playing with Barbies to be sullied by someone else's opinion.

Thankfully, Tiny Shoulders is a relatively balanced look at the history of Barbie and how it has fundamentally changed in the last couple of years. It covers everything from Ruth Handler's initial struggle to get anyone to design and manufacture the doll to today's dolls that come in varied heights, sizes, colors and hairstyles to better represent the girls that are playing with them. 

My Barbie collection, 1991

The biggest question that the documentary poses is the struggle on how to see Barbie. Is she a vapid Valley Girl with nothing better to do than wear fabulous clothes and keep her stunning figure? Or is Barbie one of those accidental feminist icons—after all, she's had hundreds of careers, she makes her own money, and she doesn't need poor little Ken to marry her in order for her to feel worthy.  

Paging Dr. Barbie.

The documentary does set out to correct the record. In the beginning, Barbie was a progressive toy. It was the first doll for girls that she didn't have to take care of like a baby doll. She wasn't using Barbie to learn how to be a wife and mother. She was using Barbie to explore all of those other options out there, like having a career that is fulfilling beyond family life. There are plenty of missteps in Barbie's history that do point to her as being more superficial and not as progressive as originally intended, but the fact that this toy continues to evolve is a testament to its original intention. 

Barbie and Ken as ice skaters.

For me, Barbie was just always there. It was something I loved playing with, but not because I thought I was going to grow up and be a six-foot-tall tan supermodel with blonde hair. I loved Barbie because she had so many options—when it came to clothes, accessories, and careers. Not so much with the look during my peak Barbie years (late eighties to mid-nineties). That's why even though I loved Barbie, I always wanted the other, lesser known dolls. Where I went to pick out Barbies—I have to sadly say that it was at the now-defunct Toys'R'Us—seemed to never have Barbie's brunette friend, but always had her redhead friend. So instead of just picking up Barbie's friends, I gravitated toward Skipper, Courtney, and Kevin. 

Kindergarten graduation presents, All-American Barbie and Babysitter Courtney.

Skipper was supposedly Barbie's teenage sister. I bought that story for awhile, but when I got into my last months of playing with these dolls, I was convinced that Skipper, along with Stacey and Kelly, were not sisters but Barbie's kids, because what forty-something year old woman didn't have kids? Sexist idea, I know. Forgive me. I was thirteen, growing up in a conservative Midwest, and trying to hide the fact that I still played with Barbies. I had my own issues to deal with. 

The latest in Skipper accessories.

Skipper had this friend named Courtney. She was what I considered the perfect doll because she wasn't blonde, she didn't have the pointed toes to wear high heels, and she was a teenager. Because at six years old, that's the next huge milestone you are looking forward to. I, like most children, wanted something I could really relate to. Hair color might be superficial, but her having brown hair was the reason I loved her so much. I even loved the fact that Kevin, Skipper's boyfriend, came in both blonde and brunette varieties. I had both, which worked out well because that meant Skipper and Courtney could both date guys named Kevin, who by the way was captain of the basketball team (the blonde one, not the brunette—that one was a skateboarder). Win-win! Out of every doll and accessory I had, Courtney and brunette Kevin were the only two dolls I have kept all these years.

I also enjoyed the Stacey and Todd dolls. That's because I liked having a doll that was around the same age as me while I played with it. They had awesome soccer uniforms, party clothes, and had fun accessories (I would have killed to have a real-life version of Stacey's loft bed that I had with the wardrobe/desk combo underneath). I ended up getting a couple of Kelly dolls as well, but that's when the fictional bubble burst for me. Barbie and Kelly had a 30+ year age gap. No way were they sisters. But because of that, I started making up better and more complex stories when I played. At the ripe old age of eleven, I decided I was going to be a writer. For the next two years, Barbie and all of her friends, sisters (“sisters”), and all of the other players became a way for me to storyboard all of the things I wanted to write.

And that's why I played with my dolls for longer than was socially acceptable. It was simply a tool to make up these stories, to see where I wanted it to go before I wrote it down. Those last few months of play are what make Barbie special to me. It was fun, and I'm glad that even though Barbie as a brand has had its ups and downs, it doesn't take away the joy that any of us had exploring the world with them.