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Barbie spoilers ahead!
You might know if you’ve been following along for a bit that Barbie is very close to my heart, even closer now that Greta Gerwig’s Barbie has taken over the summer.
It’s still on my social media to-do list to make a funny (to me) TikTok guaranteed to tap out at 300 views using Ken’s viral “I was thinking I might stay over tonight” audio.
“I don’t want you here.” Barbie eventually replies in the film, as I have countless times at the end of a first date with a hopeful, expectant man, doomed to be disappointed by a condition he won’t remember the name of after I ghost him, perpetually bummed that I’m a bummer.
There are a lot of sweet and kindred details in this imagining of the character, like Barbie sleeping in the middle of her bed and never crossing her legs, but that’s not what stood out most to me in the film. I am, of course, referring to the final scene when Barbie is gearing up for her first gynecologist appointment… a mundane yet momentous occasion I know many of you in this space (including me) will remember forever. That first appointment can be uncomfortable, awkward, traumatic, a big deal or not a big deal. For this Vaginismus Barbie, it was defining.
I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I’ve watched the film twice now. Once, for my nine-year-old self and again to bring my Gen Z friends along (and to spite Ben Shapiro). The second time around, a man at the concession counter almost spoiled the ending.
“I’ll just say this,” he said after being asked for his thoughts by nobody, “The last line in the movie is really… weird.”
Weird.
Not elegant in its simplicity. Not approachable in its brilliance. Not so characteristically, deliciously, and painfully female. Just weird.
I felt ill at ease, like I was being served shame with a side of popcorn. This especially sucked considering I was most excited for my friends to see the last scene, to understand how validated I’d felt when I first heard the last line, and to see that validation on their faces too.
What I said:
“We’re late.”
What I wanted to say:
“Is it weird, Conner? Or is prioritizing female sexual health actually the most sensible, responsible, healthy, normal thing a person can be empowered and able to do?”
or
“I wonder why you think it’s weird. Is it because you’ve never had to lug your bare legs into freezing metal stirrups and come to terms with first-time penetration by strange (and probably male) fingers moments before they enter you?”
or maybe
“What’s weird about the gynecologist? Going or just having the audacity to mention that we go?”
I don’t know if his name was Conner. Maybe it was Ken.
Sidenote: Remember in the movie how men from the Real World became absolutely bewildered when confronted with barriers of any kind? Like I said, there are a lot of really sweet details.
For better or for worse, it’s difficult for me to consume anything (even random, unprompted conversations with strangers) without thinking about vaginismus, or more specifically, my looming proposal for my book about vaginismus. It is, at least for now, the lens through which I see the world.
I worked up to my first successful gynecologist appointment for 10 years, and the memory of it isn’t a distant one. A decade ago, I might’ve called it weird. Now, I call it relatable.
Everything you’ve read about this movie is true. It’s a celebration of girlhood, it’s Feminism Lite for a new generation, a massive undertaking that will make you feel seen in more ways than one. Barbie was dripping with self-awareness, very much unlike Conner at the concession counter.
If you’re reading this, I’d love to know what you thought of the film. I’ll be eagerly awaiting your responses while I beach myself off and work up the courage to schedule an appointment with my gynecologist.