Dateline Boston — Last week Husband and I went to a big chain toy store to buy a Barbie doll. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been in that store, but as I stepped in and smelled the overwhelming scent of plastic, I remembered why it had been a long time.
Upon entering, we were approached by a man who wanted me to take a picture of him and his daughter with an oversized plush Minion doll. As I gave the phone back to the man, I glanced at the price of the Minion, $40. I remarked on the price, and the man said, “Yeah, that’s why we’re only taking a picture of it.” I prayed that our purchase wouldn’t be as outrageous.
We found the Barbie aisle in seconds. Our visual senses were on overload. The brightest colors imaginable were on boxes and boxes of every type of Barbie doll you could imagine—it was like the ‘80s had thrown up all over the shelves.
This Barbie was a present for Aurora, the girl I nanny for. She’s turning seven. I never had a Barbie when I was a kid. I looked forward to the days when I would go to my friend’s house to play with her Barbies. I got my first Barbie as an adult. Tattoo Barbie. When Aurora comes over, she loves to play with my Barbie. The only drawback to mine is that she only has one outfit. After awhile, that gets boring. Aurora specifically requested a Barbie that came with lots of clothes. I found that box, and the price was reasonable. I also found the Barbie I wanted to get Aurora, Birthday Barbie. She was dressed in a light pink ball gown, in a pink box decorated with birthday wishes. Could I get that Barbie and clothes? There was a box with just clothes. Would Birthday Barbie fit the regular clothes? Did I want to hunt down an employee to ask? Would the employee even know? Then I looked at the price of Birthday Barbie plus the extra clothes. Sorry, Nanny, let that dream go. Aurora would get the Barbie she wanted that came with the most hideous outfits you’ve ever seen. Happy Birthday!
I was distracted for a moment as a girl came into our aisle with her mom. She had a budget, and had to choose a character that fit within her budget. (Her mom kept using that word. I imagined that she had recently had an appointment with her accountant, who told her to tighten her belt.) Because the girl was too short to see the characters that were displayed, her mom took them off the shelf. One by one, she put the boxes on the floor. At the end, there must have been eight of them for the girl to look at. I was overwhelmed. So was the girl. She studied each box, murmuring, “So many choices…” I turned away so as not to distract her.
Back in the Barbie section, we kept finding boxes that contained situations we found hilarious. One box had Ken, wearing a V-neck tee shirt with dark wash jeans that had intentional creases in them, a style that I think was popular in the ‘90s. Barbie, wearing a cute party dress, was standing next to him, with one arm up, gesturing to a suit. Husband voiced Barbie’s thought: “Why don’t you wear something more presentable, Ken, like this?” Another box had Ken wearing a silver tuxedo. Husband was quick to point out that Ken had made his tux with duct tape, a trend that has been gaining popularity over the years.
Yes, the Barbie aisle was rife with opportunities for jokes and tasteless humor. The last box we came upon had a whole story (made up by us, of course) to go with it. The box showed a house with furniture. Barbie and her friend were in the house with a toddler. The house could be folded in two and carried by a handle. It was called, and I’m not making this up, “Barbie Glam Getaway House.”
What were Barbie and her friend up to? Had they just committed a crime? Were they selling hot counterfeit items and wanted to be able to pack up and go if the feds showed up? Did they just kidnap that girl? A friend who saw a picture of the box noted that there appeared to be a toilet suspended from the floor and attached to the wall. What? I wondered what happens in the meeting rooms of toys like this. Who thought this was a good idea? Did they make the same jokes and decide to do it anyway? Is Barbie trying to run away from her wholesome image?
We got out of the Barbie section and walked around the store for a few more minutes. I was horrified at some of the products that were being sold, and amused by others. I was happy to get out into the glaring sun and hot pavement of the parking lot. Next time I get a request for a tacky toy, I’ll spare myself the grief and just order online. Or maybe not—after all, our experience is good for an essay!
Ms. Vaillancourt may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
