Fairytales, Barbie, and the Myths That Bound Me

Although this post is specially for Barbie I must say I didn't feel called to watch the movie, maybe a glimpse. However, Hilary Duff's movie A cinderella was one of my favorites as a child. I watched it on a regular basis, seeing myself in Sam's shoes—serving others, feeling invisible, but hopeful that one day my own ambition would be realized. That someone would see me, select me out, and transport me to a world that appeared more promising than the one I was in right now. Even when reality seemed far from perfect, there were happy endings.


In retrospect, my enthusiasm for that film was more than just adolescent ardor. It has to do with a desire for recognition, change, and opportunity. I internalized, like many girls, the notion that being "rescued" from hardship meant entering a world that resembled the ones I saw on screen: opulent homes, glitzy dresses, and individuals who appeared to be effortlessly flawless.

Needless to say, I felt the same thing from Barbie, which made it hard for me to watch but still eager to play with the toy models. Dreamhouses, long legs, and all blond hair. I didn't look like any of it. It didn't feel like my world. However, it influenced how I perceive or fail to perceive my place in the world. Even though those stories made it obvious that I didn't belong, I still wanted to be a part of them.

Reading Linda Christensen's "Unlearning the Myths That Bind Us" helped me realize why the gap was so painful. According to Christensen, children's media, which includes cartoons, movies, and dolls, is more than just "entertainment." It is a curriculum. It teaches us what beauty is, who gets to be the hero, and what types of lives are worthy of celebration.

She states, "The cartoons, movies, and literature that children watch and read are a powerful influence on their development of self and worldview." And then I realized something: I didn't just want to escape into fairytales; I was also learning from them that my real life, my real face, and my real narrative didn't deserve a happy ending.

Christensen acknowledges this frustration. She asks us to consider how the media excludes, misrepresents, or stereotypes people of color, working-class children, and anybody who does not conform to the mainstream picture of beauty and prosperity. And she urges us to fight back. Not just for ourselves, but also for the next generation, so they don't have to imagine themselves as someone else in order to feel their life can be amazing.

This is closely related to the topics covered in this course: how youth, education, and media intersect. If we want young people to feel powerful, represented, and whole, we must hold the stories they hear accountable. We need to tell new stories, ones in which girls like me have happy endings.

So yes, I still have love for these stories but now I understand: the real fairy tale is one where all children—regardless of color, class, or culture see themselves as worthy of magic.