Is Barbie Peak White Feminism? Does It Even Matter?

Even before there was a full trailer, Greta Gerwig’s third feature film Barbie has been a source of debate. In a cinematic landscape drowning in IP, would a live-action film about the Barbie doll, Mattel’s flagship toy, be held up as proof of the continued commodification of cinema as an artform? And in a more progressive cultural landscape, could a woman-directed film about Barbie dolls be feminist? This of course comes on the heels of 15 years of Marvel’s male-led domination at the box office, as well as the DC cinematic universe, the resurgence of the Star Wars franchise, the Lord of the Rings prequels, and continued presence of Transformers movies. As budgets continue to get bigger while mid-budget films are treated to an abbreviated stay at the box office, it’s understandable to be frustrated. Is there a place for independent film in this new world? How should we feel about our indie filmmaker darlings, like Gerwig, tackling big-budget fare? And as film moves in this direction, is it fair to look to blockbusters for astute social commentary?

If we’re really being honest about where cinema has gone lately, Barbie is an anomaly. Barbie dolls don’t fight in world-ending battles or show impressive feats of strength. Barbies have not been inescapable on television or in comics. They’re a classic toy, replaced in popularity in recent years by Bratz dolls and the high-concept Monster High franchise. The truth is, Barbie is a classic making its return to the mainstream, retro in its fashion, priorities and politics. And that is what makes it feel fresh and fun, to young and old audiences alike.

Gerwig’s film tells a simple story about a Barbie doll (Margot Robbie) suddenly grappling with the existential worries and insecurities of a real-life woman. But in the candy-coloured world of Barbieland, there’s no room for sadness, depression or self-doubt. Well, at least not for the Barbies. They are all beautiful, intelligent, successful, kind and constantly cheerful. Their president is a Black woman (Issa Rae). Their most respected doctor is a trans woman (Hari Nef). There are plus-sized Barbies, disabled Barbies, and they all seem to live in harmony with each other. It’s a girlboss paradise where men are an afterthought. While the Barbies are running the world, the Kens live an aimless life on the beach, playing amongst themselves as they wait for the Barbies to notice them. 

Naturally, when Barbie begins her journey of self-discovery, her Ken (Ryan Gosling) feels compelled to come with her. But while he’s very much in love with Barbie, she doesn’t quite feel the same way, even though they were technically designed to be with each other. Trapped in this purely symbolic relationship, Ken has become restless. And once the two arrive in the real world, his anxiety curdles into something a bit more sinister.

There’s no getting around it — Barbie is a classic battle of the sexes story that externalises Barbie and Ken’s relationship issues into a full-blown gender conflict, complete with numerous references to patriarchy and the objectification of women. Their experiences reveal that the real world is the polar opposite of Barbieland. In Barbieland, there’s an all-women Supreme Court. In the real world, men hold many positions of power and control much of the wealth, while women are constantly underestimated and reduced to their desirability. And after a lifetime of waiting for Barbie to come to the beach and look at him, Ken is radicalised to embrace traditional masculinity and patriarchy in the hope that maybe those things will finally make Barbie love him.

But by simply acknowledging the existence of patriarchy, does that make Barbie a feminist film? The internet seems to think so. The Daily Beast praised America Ferrera’s “feminist speech” in the film. There’s a feminist defence of Barbie in Time Magazine. Even Refinery29 called Barbie “this generation’s feminist movie.” Conservative pushback on the film has been so intense that The Los Angeles Times has had to declare that the film “doesn’t hate men.” It’s a surprising amount of debate for a film like this. Keeping in mind that this is a film made to be enjoyed by tweens and adults alike, it seems a bit unfair to give Barbie that ideological responsibility. If a film simply acknowledges that racism exists, does that make it anti-racist? If a film has gay characters, does that make it queer? If patriarchy is a part of our world and has been since the beginning, isn’t it simply practical to acknowledge it in our media? And does acknowledging it have to come with the academic baggage of analysis and providing a solution that we’re no closer to finding in our real, material world? It seems like a tall order for a film that represents patriarchy with phrases like “brewsky beer” and “Mojo Dojo Casa House.”

It’s fascinating that we as a culture have gotten to a point where we demand solutions from even the most playful, fantastical media. By discussing gender in her films, Gerwig is expected to shoulder the burden of justifying why, as a woman, she chooses to craft stories about her particular brand of womanhood. Nevermind that she is one in a long line of female directors, many of which explored womanhood in their own way throughout history. Maybe it’s our short memories that allow us to forget that Gerwig was not the first and is not the only voice women have in cinema. To expect her work, or any work for that matter, to capture the totality of what it means to be a woman in the world today seems unreasonable.

However, it is true that Gerwig’s work is dominated by white characters, vocalising the concerns of women who are already seen as the default. Even Barbie herself is the default. She refers to herself multiple times in the film as “stereotypical Barbie”. If that is the case, how could she know the nuances of being any other kind of Barbie? Robbie plays the character as often apologetic for the things she doesn’t know, because up until now everything was easy for her. This isn’t just a story of Barbie finding herself, it’s about her seeing the world as it really is for the first time. And who would be more in need of a reality check than a thin, blonde white woman?

Barbie is a fantasy comedy, which is a genre that holds up a funhouse mirror to our own world while playfully engaging in concepts and images that are familiar to us. Barbieland is a little girl’s idea of a feminist paradise, or more accurately, what the people making Barbies believe little girls want. Yes, it’s limited, but that’s the point of the fantasy. In a real world where a female president and an all-female Supreme Court seem impossible, Barbieland is a simple dream of how things could be. The catharsis lies in the exaggeration. We know in real life that an all-woman-run government wouldn’t solve all the world’s problems because patriarchy isn’t just carried out by hypermasculine men. We also know that there are more than two genders and that gender identity is more expansive than what we are shown onscreen. We know that a Black woman wouldn’t so easily be elected president. We know the truth about the world, so why do we want so desperately for even our silliest comedies to reflect that back to us?