Humanities Review and Critique
Humanities Review and Critique
Humanities Review and Critique
Barbie has a perfect day every day. She wakes up with a smile in her beautiful open-concept
dreamhouse. Says hi to her neighbors. Showers without wasting water. Opens her closet and finds her
clothes and makeup automatically and beautifully applied. Has a breakfast waffle and a side of butter
perfectly land on her plate. Floats down to her pink Corvette (if she doesn’t use her bright pink slide).
Drives around without wasting gas or even touching the steering wheel. Spends her days on the beach
faux-sun bathing and her nights hosting disco-themed parties. Her attention is constantly being fought
over by a flurry of Kens, prototypical himbos, all of whom are lucky enough if Barbie, any of the
hundreds of them, pays any attention to them.
Barbie’s days are so perfect that when she voices out thoughts of death, it disrupts the fabric of
reality. The music stops. Other Barbies and Kens freeze. Everyone stares at her. She smiles in disbelief at
her own words. The scene feels like it’s from Invasions of the Body Snatchers. You’re waiting for Donald
Sutherland to scream somewhere. Only when she pivots into small talk do things go back to normal. Or
at least, next to normal. In Barbieland, there is no space for anything that isn’t perfect.
Gerwig puts so much care into constructing these worlds that the Real World pales in
comparison and unfortunately for Barbie, its second and third acts are in conversation with this realm.
On Venice Beach, Barbie is immediately ogled, catcalled, and sexually harassed by strangers, with her
retaliations landing her and Ken briefly in jail. In the Real World, Stereotypical Barbie learns she is
considered a “fascist” by the young teens she hoped to inspire and discovers that the corporation that
created their matriarchal haven is now run by chauvinist and capitalist pigs in black suits including the
CEO (Will Ferrell). Meanwhile, Ken is invigorated by the “patriarchy” and, hurt by Barbie’s apathy
towards him, decides to bring these teachings back to Barbieland to create a place where he and other
Kens can finally matter.
Barbie’s existence challenged the dominant paradigm of American womanhood while also
unknowingly replacing it with something far more insidious over time and Barbie — both as a film and as
a character within the film — buckles under the weight of Mattel’s 64-year legacy. Gerwig and co-writer
Noah Baumbach poke fun at Mattel’s failures within the Barbie universe through the array of
discontinued dolls like Midge (“Barbie’s pregnant friend”) and Allan (“He’s just Allan”); a way of
capitalizing on the company’s troubled past. But Barbie is still a corporate product, part of a long line of
recent “brand movies” that have attempted to humanize their creators and creations in the hopes of
boosting sales. “An ordinary Barbie,” the Mattel employee Gloria (America Ferrera) proposes after
helping save Barbieland, to which the Mattel CEO disapproves, only to reapprove a second later when he
is informed of its financial rewards.
The way it introduces many of its narrative tangles feels too messy and the ways it resolves them
is often too simplistic, at times insultingly so. Barbie is at its best when it uses its dark humor and
silliness as a Trojan horse for patriarchal deprogramming, ideological inquiry, or as a method for exposing
the depths of misogyny and capitalism. When an ad for a depressed Barbie suddenly flashes onscreen or
when a voiceover interrupts Margot Robbie’s self-deprecation, raucous laughter ripples throughout the
cinema. While its attempts at answering many of these questions are flawed and, at times, unfunny, the
sheer ambition of tackling these questions in a commercial film is admirable.
Only in its final moments, when the threat of death precipitates into an acceptance of humanity
and otherness, do the absurdities of Barbie fall away and reveal a core similar to another profound tale
— Margery William’s 1922 children’s classic The Velveteen Rabbit. At first, Stereotypical Barbie rejects
everything that makes her imperfect, treating sadness and cellulite as mere malfunction. But by the end,
she grows to appreciate the ordinary. She trades away perfection for contradiction and complexity. She
gives up being an idea, a muse, a thing to aspire towards. She has transformed before she even noticed
herself transforming. She becomes real. It is a conclusion more profound in hindsight, but one that still
leaves one in wreckage and tears.
An Analysis of “A Respectable Woman”:
Interweaving the Feminist and Moralist Approaches
Kristina Esposo
In an era when a married woman is expected to follow her husband’s wants, Mrs. Baroda meets
the standard very well. She receives her husband’s friends and accommodates them the best way she
could. She may have shared rants and complaints to her husband, but she still accomplished her duty as
a wife. Thus, considering the societal norms during Chopin’s time, it can be seen that women are
expected to behave and fulfill their duties without complaints. Any misconduct earns admonition and
reproach from the community.
Are women only meant to function as executors of their husbands’ societal whims? Who is a
respectable woman? The protagonist is only known as Mrs. Baroda. She is not given any identity except
for her title. Her activities are all for the satisfaction of her husband, like accommodating his friends and
taking care of him. When she wanted to do something for herself, she polices herself and repeatedly tells
herself that she is a respectable woman. Here lies the intertwined connection between morality and
feminism. Societal beliefs and expectations on women are challenged. Chopin seems to question the
moral value of abiding only by men’s wishes and not paying attention to her own wants. While this story
is lauded as a feminist commentary on society, it also asks society to reconsider its treatment of women.