My Mom was a dance instructor, so I chose work-out Barbie. She seemed most similar to my real-life role model–they both wore spandex and sweat bands. As I grasped that sweet, sleek, square box in my pudgy little hands, I looked from the fake lady to the real lady and back again. “Mommy,” I said, “Barbie has bigger boobies than you do!” My mother laughed heartily and held to doll next to her chest, “No she doesn’t, she’s just a little doll!”
This lesson on real boobies vs. fake boobies is one of only things I clearly remember about those dolls. I could never understand what you were supposed to do with a Barbie. Playing with my older brother’s race cars and Nerf guns seemed like way more fun than wrestling Barbie’s skin-tight dresses and ill-fitting stockings on and off her poorly-proportioned frame.
Another thing I remember about Barbie was her seemingly endless collection of outfits. That’s what Barbie taught Joan Rivers: the ever-important lesson of loving things. Here she is offering her reflections on the doll, tongue firmly in cheek, of course.
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