The Hierarchy Of Beauty ♡. ✨. 💅.
Act 1: Barbies & Truth Serum 🎀. 🌸. 💗.
“You’re not going to be one of those spoiled little girls that have twenty Barbies, April.”
This devastating news was delivered courtesy of my mother.
We were driving home after another lackluster church service. This was her not-so-subtle way of reminding me that we were, in fact, poor.
“But why not?” I asked in bewilderment from the passenger seat. I had been searching for solace in the Toys R US catalog (which I had attempted unsuccessfully to smuggle into the before-mentioned church service.)
My mother turned up Air Supply and pretended not to hear me.
An elaborate movie montage of magical afternoons spent with Barbie and her friends played out behind my eyes.
I had ONE Barbie at the time. Well, technically, two.
The second Barbie had recently undergone a “transformation.” I became inspired one afternoon while watching Madonna’s latest music video, “Cherish.”
Madonna was rolling around on the beach with this feathery overgrown pixie cut.
It was magnificent.
I didn’t know girls could have short hair like boys and look like that.
I decided then that my most platinum Barbie would be granted access to the “Salon.”
Sitting in the tub of my mother’s bathroom, I assured Barbie #2 she was going to look “Fabulous!”
I could tell she was nervous. So, I decided Pert Plus (it had built-in conditioner) would make this haircut come alive.
Unfortunately, things took a turn.
First mistake; wet doll hair is incredibly finicky. While I navigated the mounting tangles, I cursed Pert Plus under my breath and improvised.
When I finished with Barbie #2, she looked like she had gone on a bender and potentially/most definitely been infected with some type of “mange.”
Beth (my mother) was pissed.
But all was not lost!
I had started Kindergarten, and I had a NEW BEST FRIEND!
Few things are more alluring than being invited for a “playdate” with a newly minted elementary school friendship.
I was captivated as I watched my new best friend pull out a child-sized multi-tiered Samsonite.
This is where her Barbies lived! My eyes grew wider as she unzipped each layer, pulling out every Barbie I had been coveting from the Toys R Us catalog (a Kindergartener’s equivalent to Vogue or US Weekly. It was the “who’s who” of toys and the most exclusive Barbie releases.
The Holiday Collection Barbie was all I dreamed about. I loved pining for things (still do). You can say I came out of the womb wanting. But will get back to that later.
Being content was for little girls with money and long hair. Not for little girls with giant moon faces that didn’t fit their bodies.
This incredible collection belonged to, will call her “Jessie.”
She was beautiful. Her hair was SO LONG. She had a canopy bed!
Her room looked like a princess party might break out at any moment.
She was also a “year-round blonde,” which was something I knew I needed to achieve
IF I would ever gain access to this elusive “popularity” thing, I was learning about
Though I was blonde, it only got bright and vibrant during the summer. The rest of the year, it was more muted strawberry blonde without the shimmery element. Less Lohan and more murky mud.
Anyway, back to the Barbies
I watched Jessie yank each Barbie out one after another
AND FLING THEM ON THE FLOOR
The HORROR!
Not with care for their comfort and concern as I would.
I was judging Jessie’s relationship with her Barbies hard.
As the Barbie pile grew, I picked each one up like they were glass
Smoothing their hair while telepathically whispering;
Hopefully, you don’t come alive at night like that Chucky Doll and decide to give Jessie a “makeover.”
****Important to note*********
My 💗 Mama💗 was a single mother for almost 12 years of my life. Through her, I learned what a true work ethic was. She worked multiple jobs (while continuing to take classes) to get my bratty butt things like tap, ballet, and jazz shoes. She taught me to be kind and to “Treat everyone the same” She never forgot a security guard, a custodial staff member, or their children’s birthday ever. Don’t get me started on The My Little Pony Incident……..
So, though I hope this reads as satire as it’s meant (though it all did happen), I want to clarify that even when we didn’t always have “a lot,” my Mom provided all the things that mattered. It’s called hindsight and not being a five-year-old turd anymore💗 Well, most of the time.
How’s that for a lunchtime lullaby?!
Happy Thursday, dear reader. 🍓. 💖. 💝.
Share this newsletter with someone you love 💗💗💗or a “Jessie” in your life.