Painting the Patriarchy Pink: This Barbie is a Blogger

Tee: Kohl's

I finally saw Barbie yesterday, and it was every bit as fabulous as I expected.  The clothes, the colors, the dance routines.  But also, the message.  Because if there's one thing that director Greta Gerwig makes clear, it's that being a woman is complicated.  To paraphrase America Ferrera's Gloria, all we really want at the end of the day is to "wear a flattering top and feel okay."  Yet sometimes the world -- and more to the point, the patriarchy -- makes that more difficult than it should be.  So it's no wonder that Barbie -- both the "stereotypical" one played to perfection by Margot Robbie and all the others who share the same name -- would rather stay in Barbie Land where women are always in power and cellulite is a myth, than venture out into the real world only to be arrested for rollerblading.

It's no surprise that it's Weird Barbie (Kate McKinnon) who convinces Stereotypical Barbie to hang with the humans.  After all, it doesn't get much more real than having a toddler yank your hair out by the roots and tattoo your face with Jem-style graffiti.  McKinnon kooks it up brilliantly, pouring every ounce of SNL alien abductee energy into channeling the discarded doll.  As for her aesthetic, it's excellently edgy, a kind of warped candy cute.  Her outfit and house are my favorite. 

But this isn't about Weird Barbie.  It's about Stereotypical Barbie.  And what she learns is what we all learn at some point -- that things aren't always perfect.   Also, that sometimes it's better to have an Allan (Michael Cera) than a Ken (Ryan Gosling).  Finally, not to trust men in charge. (I'm looking at you, shades-of-Mugatu Mattel CEO Will Ferrell.)  Yet however imperfect, it's still okay.  Because being human is a beautiful mess, and the only way to clean it up is to muss your hair and snag your stockings.  Authenticity is better than plastic.  

And that, Barbie girls, is nothing to toy with.

This One's for You, Magenta and Rue

Skirt: Wild Fable, Target

Bag: Xhilaration, Target; First three bangles: Mixit, JCPenney; Love bangle: Boscov's

Sunglasses: Betsey Johnson, Zulily; Necklace: JCPenney

Shoes: Mix No. 6, DSW

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Bold Bouquet Barrette Brooch

Bag: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Purple Planet Necklace

Necklace: Betsey Johnson

Bright Blossoms Barrettes

Tights: Mixit, JCPenney; Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Top: Nine West, Kohl's; Skirt: Xhilaration, Target

Bag: Zulily

Boots: Dolls Kill

Violet Vibes Necklace

Headband: INC, Macy's

Watching so many Golden Girls reruns over the years has caused some of the dialogue to stick in my head.  And so when I put together this hot-pink-heavy post, I couldn't help but think of the episode where Blanche reveals that when she feels down, she calls it "magenta."  I thought this was weird because magenta is such a happy color.  Also, because the always ebullient Blanche rarely admits to being in the doldrums (that's Dorothy's department).  Yet I guess it's just one more example of the multifaceted magic of these Miami mavens.    

And now, on to the jewels!  I was very excited to use the amethyst-hued agate slice pendants I recently ordered from Amazon.  I thought they were a fun complement to all the rosy clothes.  Because if there's one thing we learned from Barbie, then it's that pink doesn't pop without purple.

Of course, I also had to embellish them with crystals for that fallen-fresh-from-the-firmament look.  Even though rocks come from the earth, not the sky.  But a little artistic license never hurt anyone.  

Except for maybe Van Gogh.

Caving in to Cute

What Mattel muse for hire sparks creative fire?  Endure the wait no more -- it's Emberly!  A punkier version of The Flintstones' Pebbles, Emberly comes from the Cave Club (and okay, Amazon).  But now she dwells in the cave of my craft room.  With her flame-colored hair, she fits right in.  As does her coordinating sidekick Flaire, who sidled right up to my succulent-sprouting dinos.  Emberly's as stylish as she is savage, rocking her '80s ensemble (complete with purple club!) in a way that's just plain, well, fierce.  

Then again, I'd expect nothing less from the brain trust that gave us Barbie. 

The Cat's Me-Wow: Doll Face Head Space

Sneaking that princess figure into my last post made me want to show you more of my dolls.  And no, not the creepy, lace-covered, porcelain kind, although I've got those in my parents' attic.  Just the candy-colored, normal kind that every kid -- and forty-year-old -- has stashed in her playroom-slash-craft room.  

Having Barbie on the brain means prime time to gab about the Hulu original comedy Dollface, which recently debuted Season 2.  For the uninitiated, LA transplant Jules (Kat Dennings) is dumped by her long-term boyfriend, a clueless cad who patronizingly calls her, yes, doll face.  On her own for the first time in years, Jules decides to reconnect with her college besties Madison (Brenda Song) and Stella (Shay Mitchell).  But being a girls' girl instead of a boyfriend girl is more difficult than she anticipates.  As is her dubious gig as a web designer for a lifestyle brand run by you-know-what-on-wheels Celeste (Malin Akerman).  Surrounded by the Allisons at the office -- a trio of mean girl yes women who all go by the same name -- Jules retreats further into her self-effacing shell, her dry wit unappreciated.  That is, until one of the Allisons (Esther Povitsky) breaks away and admits that being in the in crowd isn't all it's cracked up to be.  Suddenly at the center of a hybrid friend group, Jules reevaluates her career and juggles new romantic prospects (Criminal Minds's Matthew Gray Gubler and Katy Keene's Luke Cook), making her feel alive again, far from the plastic doll of her past.  

What's more, she has her cat.  And no, I'm not referring to cozy couch cuddles where Jules pours out her soul to some tabby who'd rather lick itself.  Jules has dream sequences in which her cat morphs into a walking, talking advisor, dropping harsh truths in the voice of the secretary from The Mindy Project (Beth Grant).  This cat lady gone loco, coupled with a beachy, retro theme song and Jules's apathetic-rather-than-perky persona make Dollface more than just another show about a twentysomething trying to figure it out.  It's refreshing to see a heroine who's the antithesis of a go-getter in a world overstuffed with suck-up pick-me's.  Not that Jules doesn't have plenty to learn.  But she grows in her own way, to the beat of her own spirit animal, one well-timed wisecrack at a time.

That said, I look forward to Season 3.  Maybe its feline fever dreams will feature a glitter box of crap decisions.  Or, at the very least, a high stakes hairball brawl.  

It's Beginning to Book a Lot Like Christmas

Now that it's December, it's all Christmas all the time, at least when it comes to my reading material.  And just like the season's ugly sweaters, the fluffier the books, the better!  So far, I've read Leslie Meier's Mistletoe Murder and Christina Lauren's In a Holidaze.  And as usual with tales of holiday hijinks, it's the bits about shopping that put me in the spirit.  

In Mistletoe Murder, small-town sleuth Lucy Stone is working the graveyard shift at a wannabe L.L.Bean mail order catalog (this is back in 1991, folks) when her boss is murdered.  Each chapter begins with a description of an item from the catalog, and the compass or knife or ski hat or whatever ends up tying in with the plot.  Cute, no?  Here's one of my favorite listings:

"#5532: An intricately patterned vest knitted in 100% Shetland wool.  Designs include Christmas trees, reindeer, and ice skates.  Dry clean or hand wash.  Natural color with green and red.  Women's sizes: S(6-8), M(10-12), L(14-16), XL(18-20).  $58" (24) 

This little snippet, item number and all, reminds me of picking up the ye olde landline to make a catalog order back in the day.  You'd write what you wanted on the order form, then wait breathlessly while the customer service rep scrolled through her database to see if your must-haves were in stock.  Sometimes, they'd have your size but not your color, and you'd have to make a snap decision whether to go with your second choice or hightail it to the mall.  Online shopping is convenient and all, but it lacks that particular brand of excitement.

What was I talking about?  Oh, right.  The books.    

So, In a Holidaze.  This one's a rom com about time-traveling, lovelorn Maelyn Jones.  Although it offers up mistletoe moments of the toe-curling (spoiler alert: Mae's not lovelorn for long) rather than criminal variety, it's this line about the magic of Christmas presents as opposed to sweet nothings that made me dog-ear the page:

"The pile of gifts under the tree is a hilarious display of adoration, capitalism at work, and our complete inability to moderate ourselves in any way." (258)

People are always going on about how Christmas has gotten too commercial.  And although I totally get the need for kids to understand the reason for the season beyond expanding their Barbie and Hot Wheels collections, I think there's something beautiful about buying your loved ones things you know they'll adore. 

All this, and I haven't even cracked the book called Window Shopping.    

So this Christmas -- or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Winter Solstice -- when it comes to reading and retail, I wish you festive stories and hassle-free shopping.

In other words, happy booking and happy looking. :)

Thirty Years War Behind a Pink Door: Barbie Barkeep, Keep 'em Coming

When I found these World's Smallest brand Barbies and Barbie Dreamhouse on Amazon and Zulily respectively, I thought, that's weird.  And not just because the Barbies, Thumbelina-like as they were, were too big to fit in the house.  But because shrinking classic toys down to choking hazard size for the amusement of adults is funny.  The Barbies came in just two styles: 1965 Barbie, who's an astronaut, and 1992 Barbie, who reigns under the Rapunzel-esque title Totally Hair.  

1965 Barbie was, of course, way before my time, and I was too old for 1992 Barbie when she hit the shelves.  But my preschool had the same A-frame dreamhouse, albeit in orange and yellow.  So seeing its mini me made me nostalgic and had me clicking "add to cart" faster than you can say, "We girls can do anything, right Barbie?"  (Well played, World's Smallest, well played.)  

When the goods arrived, I saw that the dreamhouse came with decals of domestic doodads including curtains, shrubbery, and one long lounge chair that didn't seem to fit anywhere.  As I stuck them to the interior walls, my wrist at an unnatural angle, I couldn't help but think that the task seemed needlessly difficult.  Maybe the brain trust at World's Smallest wanted to make the experience as authentic as possible by transporting us back to a time when we were still struggling with silverware.  Then I realized that I could detach the cardboard, making everything easier, and felt kind of sheepish.  Which shouldn't have been a surprise, because it took a long time for five-year-old me to learn how to tie my shoes.  In that vein, "setting up house" also made me think about how far Barbie has come -- and how far she still has to go.  What would 1965 Barbie and 1992 Barbie say to each other -- and to us -- if they could?  This is what I imagine: 

1992 Barbie climbed out of the Uber and looked up at the pink dreamhouse.  A passing breeze ruffled her floor-length hair, and a squirrel almost got stuck in it.  She sighed.  Once, a seagull had become ensnared, its filthy feathers caught in her crimped blond locks during a freak nor'easter on Coney Island.  She'd been doing a photo shoot for Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow magazine, her very first modelling gig.  She thought she'd been big stuff back then, but it turned out that the only big thing was her hair.  Barbie 1992 sighed, ordered herself to shake it off Taylor Swift style, and tugged at the hemline of her too-short dress.  The squirrels didn't need to see her butt crack.

Before she knew it, she was ringing the doorbell, her heart going into overdrive.  This was all so strange, and she hadn't had time to process it.  But when the door opened, she was forced to tuck her thoughts away.  A woman sporting a spacesuit and a blond bob straight from the '60s stared back at her, a tight smile straining her face.  "You're late," she said.  Then she stepped aside to reveal a pink-furnished foyer and living room.

"I know, I'm sorry," sputtered 1992 Barbie, her feet hitting the glossy marble.  "There was an accident on the Santa Monica Freeway; a dog groomer's van overturned, and there were Yorkies and Shih Tzus everywhere.  Oh, and a pit bull that didn't make it."

Helmet Head nodded.  "A pity.  Let me show you your room so you can put down your things."  She paused, suddenly noticing that the newcomer was nearly empty-handed.  "Where's your luggage?"

Barbie 1992 looked down at her pink high-heel-encased feet.  "This is all I have," she said, holding up her handbag.  "Ken 1992 got everything in the divorce.  He wanted a second chance, but I could barely look at him after catching him in the '57 Chevy with Teen Sweetheart Skipper."

Helmet Head's ice blue eyes narrowed.  "Bastard.  You know, Ken 1965 died drinking a mai tai that turned out to be lava lamp liquid.  He left me penniless."

"That's awful."  Barbie 1992 tucked her hair behind her ears and sat down without being asked.  "I hope you don't mind, but my feet are killing me."

"Stop apologizing," decreed Helmet Head.  "It makes you sound like a child.  And you don't have to tell me about aching feet.  Why do you think I still wear these moon boots?  They're so comfy they're like walking on clouds.  I'm Veronica, by the way."

"Nice to meet you.  I'm 1992 Barbie."

"Not here you're not.  Every woman in this house has a name.  What do you want yours to be?"

1992 Barbie was quiet.  No one had ever asked her that before.  But once she relaxed, the answer was clear.  "Well, I've always liked the name Lila.  It makes me think of lilacs, my favorite flower."  Emboldened, she went on.  "I probably shouldn't be asking you this, but if you were an astronaut, then how did you end up broke?"

Helmet Head -- no, Veronica -- smiled again, this time with a hint of humor.  "I could ask you the same thing, Ms. Hair Model of the Year five years running.  How does your neck not snap from the weight of that mane?  Never mind.  We've got plenty of time to talk about it.  In fact, we have an eternity."  Her smile faded when she glanced out the window, as if it showed her something she didn't want to see. "Welcome to the Halfway House of Broken Dreams, Lila.  Now, what can I get you to drink?"

And so wraps the pilot of Real Barbies of Beverly Hills, sci-fi edition.  Because that, apparently, is the medium through which our dear Barbie chooses to speak.  

Be sure to tune in next time to find out who poured Ken 1965 that fatal lava lamp cocktail.

But not really.  I think we already know the answer to that one.

Crave the Rave: Curating Cranberries

Top: Vylette, Kohl's

Three Cheers for Cherries Necklace; You Glow, Girl! Necklace

Bag: Boscov's

Jumper: Current Mood, Dolls Kill

Boots: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Bracelets from top to bottom: Amrita Singh, Zulily; B Fabulous; Mixit, JCPenney; Steve Madden, Macy's

Jumper: Candie's, Kohl's

Top: Current Mood, Dolls Kill

Belt: Dolls Kill; Bag: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's; Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bracelets: Kohl's

Daisy Star Unicorn Necklace

Skirt: Dolls Kill

Bag: Amazon

Shoes: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Top: Macy's Backstage

When the husband took these pics, he said that the thick-treaded boots and loafers looked very monster truck Barbie.  And although he was talking about the shoes, I couldn't help but think that it was a sentiment that also applied to the outfits.  Because each ensemble includes at least one thing from Dolls Kill -- in other words, hints of Bratz, Monster High, and other similarly sinister playthings -- just like a tasty but not-quite-top-shelf vintage.  There are also notes of plaid, stars, and sushi.  And plaid, of course, means the '90s and the lumberjack-meets-prep sweet/tart 'tude that goes with them.  So, we're not just talking cranberry wine, but also -- yes -- The Cranberries.  That said, let's raise a glass -- wine or Ocean Spray, you decide -- to dressing up as versions of who we once were with a spit spritz of somebody else.  In my case, an aging, rave-raging schoolgirl.

Even if I've never ever been to a rave and am terrified of zombies.  

Except for the song "Zombie"  That I love.  It's an anthem that transcends time and produce.  

Especially when Andy sings it on The Office.

One Climb at a Time: Lisa Turtle Power

Top to bottom: Chase & Chloe, Zulily; Worthington, JCPenney; Chase & Chloe, Zulily

It's not unusual for shoes to be the first thing you see here at The Tote Trove.  But this time, they're not just about style -- they're about making strides -- while in style.  Because March is Women's History Month, and March 8 is International Women's Day.  Which, I'm aware, was yesterday (insert joke about women always being late.  What, no girl-on-girl crime, hashtag Mean Girls, when promoting gender equality?  Okay, Tina Fey, duly noted.)  A few years ago, Stephen Colbert did a bit on The Late Show about this special day, which I remember in a degree of detail because I logged it in my "Stuff to Write about Someday" Word file (most of which is flagged "do not publish until in witness protection").  Colbert was talking about a new Barbie-esque doll that was something worthy but boring, like an ambassador or a crossing guard who moonlights as an accountant.  And he was like, isn't it enough that little girls have to deal with all the issues that come with being female?  Why, in the name of proving themselves, do they have to play with lame toys too?  No one makes boys do that.  They get to play with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!  

This really resonated with me.  Because wouldn't the truly feminist move be to encourage girls to play with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles too?  Or the frilliest, glitziest Barbie?  Or whatever they want, not for the optics, but for the fun of it?  

So.  In celebration of all things shamelessly -- no, proudly -- frivolously feminine, here's a simply red (cue "Lady in Red") grouping of some of my more photogenic cosmetics.  

Body butter: The Body Shop, Zulily; Elizabeth Arden Red Door, Marshalls; Clinique lipstick: Boscov's; Mulan compact, Zulily

Note the Mulan compact, which is truly badass in terms of girls slaying it, whether on the battlefield or in the bathroom.  

Also, there's a turtle tee!  

Tee shirt, Macy's

Girls, hands off Leonardo; he's mine!  (Sorry, Tina.  I backslid into competitive mean girl mode there.)  

It isn't lost on me that the color scheme of the makeup and the tee is Red Hat Society-approved red and purple.  Because nothing says female empowerment like a posse of post-menopausal, chapeau-domed women commandeering an Applebee's.

Unless it's Lisa Turtle killing it in a  -- what else? -- red hat!

I knew I'd use those Saved by the Bell cards again.

That said, Lisa Turtle Power, although a sick pun if I do say so myself, is too close for comfort to Lisa Turtle Powers.  As in Screech Powers (Dustin Diamond, RIP).  I blame Mattel for starting it all by forcing Lisa to share a card with Screech.  It's not very Women's History Month of them, especially as the birthplace of Barbie.  I smell another comic Colbert exposé.  

Until then, sorry, Lisa.  

And, as always, Tina Fey.