I know all this already as I stand on the precipice of my kid’s Barbie era. I think about her answers—funny, house, friends—and wonder: Are these first, deep impressions of Barbie enough to make this a net-good experience, one that ultimately expands her visions for her own future rather than narrowing them? I also asked her, just now, if she thinks Barbie is pretty, and she said without hesitation: “Yes. I want to look like an angel Barbie.”
“Wait, what?” I said.
“What?”
“You want to look like an angel Barbie?”
“Don’t talk about it anymore,” she said, which is how she ends conversations these days.
So, that was creepy. Almost creepy enough to make me backtrack on all of this, except returning a Barbie Dreamhouse that’s already built is more like the set-up for a viral TikTok prank than something you can actually do. And I think that part of motherhood is learning that nothing good for your kid ever comes purely. There are always worries. If I hadn’t let my daughter see Barbie the movie, or if she hadn’t really liked it, I wouldn’t have to deal with my lingering nerves about Barbie the doll. But my other kids are old enough, now, for me to know that kids don’t get inspired every day. Sometimes, when something lights them up, you have to let go of your own relationship with that thing, trusting them, your guidance, and the time that has passed to make their turn go more smoothly.
Plus, okay—the house is great. It took me almost three hours to construct, though 2.5 of those were me second-guessing my alignment before I pressed a sticker down. It has a pool and a pool for the dog, which the Tropical ’80s set would never, given that in the ’80s we tied our dogs outside. It has an elevator, a widescreen for gaming. Speckled terrazzo countertops, an oven beneath them that lights up. A toilet that flushes, a palm tree on the second floor. A two-story curving slide so wide I’m not sure my daughter won’t try to go down it herself. Heads up to other Dreamhouse parents putting off assembly: The slide is sneakily the hardest part because you do it last, so your eyes are fried, and the ends all look the same. “You bitches better like this slide,” I hissed out loud, mid-install.