I wouldn’t be surprised if the majority of you who read this have already booked your tickets to see Barbie’s journey into the real world. She swaps her heels for flats and embarks on a life-changing adventure. But does it work the other way around? As someone who’s already blonde and blue-eyed, I consciously stray away from anything too girly in fear of not being taken seriously.
But just as Barbie must face her own fears in the human world, so must I. What would it be like to go from flats to heels, from my comfortable Scandi-minimalist wardrobe to figure-hugging head-to-toe pink, and from introvert to turning heads on the street? Would it lead to a realisation about my femininity? Would it make me embrace it or push it away even further? Or will it just be a bit of fun? I spent a week as a Barbie girl to find out.
Monday
It’s 5.40am when my alarm goes off. This is an hour earlier than I would normally get up because while Margot Robbie’s Barbie wakes up with perfect hair and make-up, sadly I do not. After a few trial and errors and momentarily looking like a Troll pencil topper, I manage to understand how my new Dyson Airwrap works and somehow magically end up with Barbie-esque hair.
I start off the week in a bright pink suit with a matching suede handbag, and I have to admit I feel nervous stepping out of the door. Suddenly, I empathise greatly with Barbie when she has to face the real world. Am I going to get stared at? Cat-called? I take a deep breath, pat my cat Doris goodbye and step outside.
Like Bambi, I take my first wobbly steps (I’m not used to heels) onto the streets of Hackney. A feeling I don’t usually experience comes over me: I’m shy. I put on my sunglasses to not have to look my fellow early risers directly in the eyes. I can’t even tell you if the people I passed stare at me or not, because I’m too embarrassed to look. It’s not until I’m on the train that I dare to look up. But much to my surprise, no one is staring at me despite being dressed head-to-toe in hot pink. I feel almost annoyed, can’t they see I’m doing a social experiment and need their reactions?! Even though I was dreading people staring, my first outing as Barbie feels anti-climactic.
This all changes as soon as I get to the office. During my first day in pink, I receive more compliments than I have over the 14 months I’ve worked there. My colleagues start referring to me as ‘Barbie’ and I find myself responding. I can feel an inner transformation taking place. The shyness is starting to be replaced by confidence. Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all? Maybe I am Barbie now?
Tuesday
It’s day two and I feel more confident in my persona. The pink band-aid has been ripped off and I’m ready to go. Today’s outfit is a bubblegum dress with matching heels; less business Barbie and more ‘yummy mummy’ Barbie (my friend’s words, not mine). The compliments for yesterday give me a boost and I consider keeping this experiment going indefinitely. If the Barbie life means an endless stream of praise, I’ll take it.
Just like yesterday, the commuters don’t bat an eye. Who would have thought that east Londoners would be so non-judgemental? On the other hand, these people have probably seen stranger things on the streets of Hackney. But just as I’m about to give up all hope on any reactions, a little girl looks at me like I’m Santa Claus. With a beaming smile, she turns to her mother and whispers: “Look at her dress.” It makes me realise that to some, Barbie really is everything. As I get into the office I notice something: I’m no longer the only one wearing pink. It seems like yesterday’s suit inspired my colleagues, and I’m spotting pink blazers, shirts and dresses all over the place!
Wednesday
Just like Kelis’ milkshakes brings all the boys to her yard, day three’s outfit brings all the boys to my DMs. I have been posting each outfit on my Instagram stories and it turns out you don’t need Hinge if you have a hot pink figure-hugging set from Dolce & Gabbana. Exes and guys I’ve never spoken to suddenly suggest that we should go out. Why have I been trying to win guys over with my personality when all I needed was to be dressed in tight pink clothes? Was it really that easy? I decide not to pursue this line of thought any further to not make myself too depressed. Instead, I head to the Barbie premiere.
Exes and guys I’ve never spoken to suddenly suggest that we should go out
While I might stand out like a sore thumb in east London, I almost feel a bit vanilla once I get to Leicester Square. I’m wearing neither a cowboy hat, a wig nor neon pink spandex. This puts me a little bit at ease; for the first time I’m not the odd one out, I’m a Barbie girl in a Barbie world. I indulge in the feeling of togetherness. We’re all here to immerse ourselves in Greta Gerwig’s world.
Thursday
Today, I’m waking up wanting nothing more than to stay under the covers. Maybe because it’s also the day I’ve been dreading — I’m being photographed for the paper. To get through it, I’m deciding to dissociate from myself. I’m no longer me, I am Barbie. It works and we smash through seven looks in three hours.
After the shoot, I feel like the air has gone out of me. How much longer can I do this for? I want my trainers, my jumpers and to be able to rub my eyes without looking like a raccoon. I slump down in a booth next to my colleague and I can barely form sentences. Hungry. Lunch? What to eat? Don’t know. Not meal deal. Pret? OK. And coffee. I wolf down my food and start to feel slightly human again.
It’s now evening time and I have a date. I usually try to look like an authentic (and slightly cooler) version of myself. This time though, not the case. While the outfit is cute and colour-co-ordinated, it’s not exactly how I dress in my non-Barbie life. I therefore give him a warning about the all-pink outfit before we meet to manage expectations in case there would ever be a second date.
And while we, of course, have to talk about my Barbie week, I’m relieved when we move on to other subjects, like my traumatising experience surfing in Costa Rica, why Zlatan is the best footballer coming out of Sweden and why Breaking Bad is objectively the best series ever made. I realise how much of my week has been centred around my looks. All I’ve talked about is Barbie, clothes and my extended beauty routine and I’m getting a bit sick of it. So tonight, Barbie is taking a backseat and I feel like I’m returning to myself.
Friday
My Fridays start with a friendly game of five-a-side football, and this week is no exception. I rock up in full pink football gear to my teammates’ surprise and delight. There’s always a friendly atmosphere in the team, everyone seems to be in an extra good mood today. And the only one who is tired of pink is me.
After slamming my laptop shut till Monday, this Barbie needs a pint. I meet my friend at one of our regular haunts, a beer garden in De Beauvoir. I look around at the crowd, and I’m the only one dressed in pink and wearing high-heel sandals in pouring rain. Understandable — if I could opt for Gore-Tex in this weather, I would too. The weather has not been on my side this week, and I’ve been freezing for five days. Again, I think of my wardrobe stacked with knitwear and I pray for an unpredicted heatwave to roll in. Alas, I’m nothing if not committed and drink my pints while slowly losing sensation in my toes.
Saturday
I stay in bed until 11 am. Being a full-time Barbie is exhausting, don’t let anyone tell you differently. And as an introvert, I need to do nothing and be alone in order to recharge, something I have not been able to do this week. I have felt like I’ve been on display as soon as I’ve left the flat, like I’ve been constantly performing.
I talk to my parents on the phone, and my dad is not surprised: “When you were little, you got bored of playing with your Barbies after an hour”. No wonder I feel done playing Barbie after six days. I cut myself some slack and go for a toned-down version of Barbie today as I meet my friend for coffee at a cool bakery — my only outing for the day.
Sunday
I have reached the finish line! One more pink outing to go and then, like a snake sheds its skin, I’ll shed into a wardrobe consisting of blue denim, white T-shirts, beige knitwear and Birkenstocks.
I get to the very cool and minimalist gym where everyone, including the instructor, is dressed in black. I place my mat close to the door, and while the room is dimly lit, no one would struggle to find the exit in case of an emergency as long as I’m here.
As I leave the studio in navy jeans and a grey jumper (hallelujah!), I reflect on why this week turned out to be such a challenge for me. By dressing up in all-pink and being (literally) dolled up, my underlying fear of not being taken seriously sailed up to the surface. Sometimes, I think I dress less feminine because I’m scared people won’t think I’m smart, strong or capable.
But while this week has exposed my insecurities, it’s also shown me that I am still smart, strong and capable — despite being dressed in bright pink from head to toe. I don’t have to choose, I can be both. This week has taught me that I don’t have to give up my intelligence just because I wear a form-flattering dress for one night, and actually, sometimes that extra attention can be a well-needed ego boost. But with that said, the Birkenstocks are calling. Barbie over and out.
