i never wanted to be like barbie.
it wasn't a conscious decision for me. it just made sense. why would i want to be like someone who could only smile, whose life was perfect? i didn't want a perfectly chiseled body, nails that never needed manicures, hair in which a strand never fell out of place. i didn't desire the ability to do everything perfectly, no matter how hard i tried. then there'd be nothing to strive for, nothing to improve. i didn't want a bust so large i'd have to crawl, like barbie if she were real.
some girls have never come to this realization. their body is everything, perfection the key. who they are rests in the size of their thighs, the way they style their hair, the clothes they wear. they crave the impossible-no, inhuman-appearance of others, a perfection forever out of reach.
but why?
they number on the scale-the force of gravity-will always disappoint. some jeans will never fit. what society has told us is a lie: perfectly does not exist.
maybe barbie has only ever wanted...to be flawed, like you and me.