Writer Jenn Melyan

Photographer Velvet d’Amour H/MU Janet Doman Stylist/Model Jenn Melyan

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“Madam! Très magnifique!” With a swish of her light Burberry beige trench coat, a smiling Frenchwoman clad in skinny jeans and white Keds high-fived me as she strolled by.

“Merci!” I shouted in reply and shifted my weight back so I could sit securely on the concrete walls of Pont Neuf, a famous bridge that crosses the Seine River in the heart of Paris. Beads of sweat trickled down my thighs, swallowed by the never-ending dress layers of scratchy tulle adorning my 250-pound body. Styled as a hot-pink Evening Gown Barbie on her way to a gala, hair teased to double its height, electric blue eyeshadow, and sparkling fuchsia stilettos, I caught the attention of every single passerby. Pont Neuf teemed with Parisians and tourists strolling the city in the afternoon of a warmer-than-usual Whit Monday, a holiday for the French. Of course, not every glance at me was sympathetic. An older man with a disappearing crown of gray hair, puffing a cigarette, furrowed his brow and shook his head as he walked by, directing the acrid cloud of second-hand smoke accompanied by his obvious disdain, in my direction.

Small wonder there was such a range of reactions, not only was I dressed as the iconic Barbie doll, but I am also fat and brown, a combination that Barbie has never been and likely never will be. Which begs the question, why did I choose to portray her when she has never represented me?

With all the fanfare surrounding the release of a movie starring Margot Robbie this summer, Barbie is back, smack in the middle of our cultural zeitgeist. Even Pantone’s color of the year, Viva Magenta, is a hot shade of pink, Barbie’s trademark color. Pantone’s color choices set fashion trends so, like it or not, 2023 is the year of pink and Barbie. Even though she became more visible this year, Barbie has, in reality, been extremely influential for the past six decades. She is one of our generation’s most iconic cultural phenomena, a globally recognizable household name. Everyone knows Barbie. So, who and what Barbie stands for matters because it impacts our psyche, especially for those of us who identify as women like her.

Barbie is simultaneously liberating and troubling. Inspired by a sexy German novelty doll, Bild Lilli, Barbie was created by Ruth Handler so little girls could engage in imaginative play and project their future selves onto the doll. Before her, little girls only had baby dolls to play house with. That innovation is inspiring, right? Since her conception, Barbie has excelled in over 200 careers, including being a corporate exec in 1963 and a presidential candidate in 1992, smashing the glass ceiling before women in the real world did. She’s aspirational. She’s a pioneer. She breaks ground. She lives a fabulous, fashionable lifestyle that makes all who have played or play with Barbie, want to become her.

Even Barbie movie director Greta Gerwig noticed the universality of Barbie. She says, “All the dolls are Barbie. All of them are Barbie, and Barbie is everyone.” But, the reality is, Barbie isn’t everyone. We can’t be her. For one, her body proportions are unrealistic. If she were a real human, according to Medical Daily, she would have to walk on all fours because she would be unable to stand.

Of course, we can argue that Barbie is a doll and, because of that, retains the right to be unrealistic. Well, kind of, but not really. Recent research, published in the journal Body Image, has shown that playing with ultra-thin dolls, like Barbie, made girls between the ages of 6 to 8 develop more complaints about their own bodies than girls who played with realistic-looking dolls. The surprising thing is, little girls did not feel better about themselves no matter what kind of body-shaped doll that they played with after they played with the ultra-thin doll. Once the damage is done, it’s done.

Mattel did make strides in promoting doll body diversity. In 2016, they released a series of Barbies with different body types. But her curvy version is still considered very thin, sporting a UK size 6/8 (US size 2/4) waist. And, when given the choice, a study has shown girls rejecting curvy Barbie for her thinner counterpart. Ask yourself, when you close your eyes and think of Barbie, who do you see? Would you see a brown doll with no thigh gap or would see a thin, blonde doll? Exactly.

To counter this image, I present to you a fashion editorial showcasing a fat, tan-skinned Barbie who is living her best life in Paris. This fabulously fat Barbie is a lot more attainable than her 1959 version, but she’s just as inspirational. Fat Barbie isn’t trapped in fear, afraid of judgment, and hiding behind loose clothing. She’s attending galas, strutting down Paris streets as a career girl in a hot pink suit, and unafraid to be her fashionable self. If Barbie is everyone, then this fat Barbie shows that everyone can, in fact, become Barbie. Fat Barbie shows that Barbie is more than just a body. All women, no matter what they look like, can be Barbie.

But, at the end of the day, does it truly matter if we see ourselves in Barbie or not? Perhaps I am expecting too much from Barbie. She is a toy, after all. Why am I placing all of these responsibilities on her tiny shoulders? I think back to that afternoon, dressed in a pink Evening Gown, dominating the walkway of Pont Neuf. Little girls’ eyes widened when they saw me, some brave enough to award me with a tiny smile and wave. Phones were not-so-discreetly pointed in my direction. To portray Barbie as fat and brown, something she’s never been before, changes what an aspirational woman looks like. Barbie, marketed as someone we should want to be, is no longer just thin, blonde, and pretty. So, yes, by expanding Barbie’s image to include fatness, it is très magnifique because we extended that possibility of fabulousness and success to women of all body sizes.