I’ve been watching Barbie again, it’s been a day, and I’m gonna let myself get melancholy for a second.
Y’all remember Kate McKinnon’s ‘Weird Barbie’? Cause I fucking love and relate to her.
According to their Barbie lore, she was the most beautiful Barbie till a kid played too hard with her. Her hair was cut, burnt. Her face scratched and painted on. Her legs stretched to the extremes, till she’s almost always in the splits. As a result she was then ostracised from her community, from Barbieland. She lives alone in the mountain, she has no roles in the community, she barely comes down to town because as the Barbies said: you have to GO see weird Barbie, she doesn’t come over.
They call her ‘Weird Barbie’ both behind her back and also to her face. Stereotypical Barbie is derisive of her, she screams at the mere prospect of turning out like Weird Barbie. And then later on, she legit says “I’m just like you now, Ugly and Unwanted”, AT her. By literally all accounts she’s an outcast.
And you you what I fucking love about that? She doesn’t resent them. I’m fact, she doesn’t love them any less.
Much like how her being ‘Weird Barbie’ is common knowledge to the Barbies, It’s also common knowledge that when you’re malfunctioning or having trouble you go to Weird Barbie for help. They almost expect to receive it, which suggests she’s never actually turned anyone down from asking.
Then we see her interact with our Barbie, with Stereotypical Barbie and she’s no less loving. Margot arrives and she immediately welcomes her in, she listens to her problem. She’s kind and loving, uses affectionate terms (sidenote, she’s rekindled my love for the term BabyGirl), as well as actively using her knowledge and experience to help Margot full force. Also offers her the illusion of choice just to make the decision easier on Margot, more than once, to make the experience easier.
Even when Barbie screams in her face at the idea that they’d ever be the same or similar, she doesn’t get angry or defensive. She just frowns at the reality of others thoughts about her, but even takes the brunt of the blame from Margot “nah, I set myself up for that one”. Furthermore when they part, she tenderly holds Margot’s chin, wishing her luck, telling her “I Love You”.
She was worried, loved and believed in Barbie.
Then the Patriarchy happens and she doubles down. She goes full pink jumpsuit lesbian guerrilla warrior, she picks up Margot during her existential crisis and houses her, tries to help her, even if she couldn’t find an answer herself. Then America Ferrera, Sasha and Allen arrive and HOLY SHIT WE LEARN SO MUCH!
- She welcomes them in too, just as happy and without a hint of resentment or worry!
- She’s HOUSING THE DISCONTINUED TOYS! Sugar Daddy Ken! Magic Earring Ken! Skipper! Barbie Video Girl! Everyone else who’s been truly outcasted and practically exiled from Barbieland she jumped at the chance to house and protect!
- Even Nobel Prize winning Barbie she grabbed and tried everything she could to help her! To help all of them! The second the Patriarchy arrived she wasted no time to try and deprogram the Barbies and protect them from literal hell!
AND SHE DID! WITHOUT ANY EXPECTATION OF THANKS, OR APPRECIATION! She did so with the sole explicit hope of protecting a community of women she loved, irregardless of wether or not they loved her.
Ultimately she did get some of the desperately deserved attention she more than had earned, but she would’ve done it regardless. It leaves us with the character of a woman, who’s been hurt by extenuating circumstances way beyond her control (she was being played with), and who much like in real life, was excommunicated for the scars that said situation left. The movie doesn’t treat “being played with too hard” as trauma, but the parallel is there.
A woman who was hurt and scarred by her life experiences, which made her something different than what her society expected or accepted of her. She’s someone who’s learnt hard truths; Cellulite, nudity, pain, the patriarchy, etc. she is the wisest of them all in that sense, and who knows how much of that came from the trauma, or how much of that she learnt just to be able to help her community. Who knows how much she made her house, collected her knowledge, and built her maps and resources just to help other Barbies that might go through something similar, help them handle it better than she could.
I’m trying to verbalise it and it frustrates me that I can’t do it in a way that doesn’t feel circular but holy fudge nuggets is that both cool and heavy.
And while I can’t pretend I’ve suffered much, or been as blatantly and brutally treated as her, I do relate on some level. I’m in my early 20s (not gonna give specific age cause online) and I’ve always felt and been an outcast. Gay progressive atheist from a Christocatholic conservative Latin American country to start. Starting to build a life in my birth city and then moved at age 4. Everyone else’s families knew each other better, or longer.
Bullied ages 5 to 11. At the time it really didn’t register, and to some extent I still don’t let harassment get to me, but in reflection it was. Fuck I had to be sent on errands for the teacher once just so my entire class could get a talk on bullying and harassment and to not to. Guess who was the elephant in the room but not in the room. 7/8 year olds spill secrets easy. Then we moved again, 14k kilometres away.
Now it was a new continent, a new language. I spent 6 months in one school before moving to the next one, then another year and a half before changing programs from an English intensive program to just basic High School. Then Uni. And to add to all of that, while undiagnosed because it’s expensive, the odds I’m neurodivergent are a coin’s toss or better. And at every stage it’s felt like I’m just watching other people have friendships, through an invisible wall, trying hard to connect to them but somehow never managing.
I was the type of kid and am the type of person that’s very much touch starved, yet fucking terrified of initiating contact because if I do and it’s rejected, then It becomes clear I’m unwanted. So not doing so and keeping the mystery keeps up the hope. The type of person who sees and saw a birthday invitation as a gift in it of itself, specially if not everyone in the class was invited because then maybe I wasn’t a pity invite. Maybe then I was invited because I’m wanted, not because everyone’s invited and it would be rude to exclude me.
Yet who also is terrified of throwing a birthday party and hasn’t had one since I was 11 for a myriad of reasons: Maybe someone I thought was a friend isnt and they make it known then. Or maybe other people see the weirdo I am and leave. Or maybe because my family’s never exactly been well off, but most others were. And so I’d see other kid’s birthdays with balloons, custom cakes, party favours up the walls, games, etc. and yet who’s last birthday party consisted of a soccer ball, a grocery store cake, and bootleg video games (Latin America). And who now sees people my age throw parties in private hotel event rooms, with party buses, bar tabs in the 4 digits, tailor made cakes and special outfits for the day, while that alone would destroy my family financially. Doesn’t help that I managed to get into a Uni course packed with the loaded rich kids.
So there’s so much shame to everything, to being different, to being less, where there really shouldn’t be. So much fear of being seen, yet a desperate want to be held. And so much guilt to even make these feelings known to the people I care about because my emotional problems shouldn’t become theirs. My parents did and do that with me, but that’s a whole different rant. To the point I’m writing and posting this almost with the goal of screaming into the void where nobody can hear it, but with the hope maybe someone does.
And on the same note that I kind of relate to weird Barbie I also admire her. I admire her strength upon adversity, I admire her unconditional love to the other Barbies, and I admire how hard she tries to help everyone else. Another aspect I’m right now paralleling with my degree, hoping that maybe since I understand some of this pain, I can meet others with similar experiences and tell them all the things I wish someone told me. To give them all the things that I’m trying to give myself. That maybe if I am broken, I can make sure they’re not.
This post doesn’t really have a conclusion, just that Weird Barbie is fucking amazing and we all both need a Weird Barbie in our lives, but also remember that Weird Barbie has feelings too, and she deserves to be heard, deserves to be loved too.
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i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.
He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.
And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.
And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.
Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.
Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."
There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.
It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.
Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.
At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.
"Do you like to do anything?"
Nothing. Just silence.
Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.
Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.
Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.
And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.
He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.
Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.
So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.
"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"
"Don't."
He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.
Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"
"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."
It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"
The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."
Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."
And they fall back into silence.
Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."
He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.
(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)
At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.
Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.
("Tucker told me once--")
("Tucker?")
("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")
(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)
(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)
It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."
The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."
The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.
When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.
Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.
"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."
When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.
Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.
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[BREAKTHROUGH IMMINENT: HOMO-SEXUAL UNDERGROUND (AGAIN)]
SUGGESTION -- So, some news from the depths of your subconscious. Your twenty-hour mind project is *actually* complete this time.
YOU -- Wait, I thought we were done yesterday?
SUGGESTION -- After the information Kim dropped? Oh, no. You can’t take information like that from him without being sure of your own *status*. It wouldn’t be right.
YOU -- Okay, so what is it? Am I a homo-sexual? I thought I liked women.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY -- Of course you do. It’s just that you also like men-- and probably everything else in between. You’re *cool* like that.
YOU -- Oh. So... I *am* a homo-sexual? Or am I something else?
ENCYCLOPEDIA -- The prevailing term for what you are is *bi-sexual*-- someone who likes both men and women.
EMPATHY -- Like Klaasje. She liked Lely and Ruby.
YOU -- Is anyone else bi-sexual? Or is it just me and that lady from Oranje?
LOGIC -- Not even her, now. She’s gone. She fled the Whirling-in-Rags-- and Martinaise-- as soon as she saw the Krenel mercenaries leave their posts. She could be anywhere right now. You’ll probably never see her again.
INLAND EMPIRE (Challenging: Failure) -- I guess it’s just you.
[based on this]
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