No matter what your weight or size, most of us experienced that moment when we realize it’s time to “retire” a pair of our favorite jeans because they just don’t fit anymore. Damn you, slowing metabolism. Damn you, gravity. Damn you, left over mac n’ cheese.
Yesterday while trying to dress my daughter’s Barbie in a stunning pair of silver lamé jeans, I realized they weren’t going over her thighs. WTF? Had she gained a few? Had she borrowed a pair from Skipper? Was it her time of the month? Was she spending too much time in her Barbie McDonalds and not enough on her Barbie bike?
All I know is, this scene seemed oddly familiar. Trying to yank some slim pants over unyielding thighs… where have I seen that before?
Oh right, my closet, that’s where.
At first I felt a tinge of pity for Barbie. I breathed an empathetic sigh as I resolved to get those once fitting lamé pants over her rubbery legs. It had a similar resistance to trying to pull up a wet bathing suit… no budge. Maybe a little Crisco would work? Wait, does that mean I should be buttering up my legs to get those J Brand Cigarette jeans back in the rotation? Frankly, both of us could use some form of buttering up, right about now.
Well, in lieu of greasing her down, I accepted the fact that this chick needed to drop a few. It was then that I felt an odd sense of camaraderie. You know like I could look into her painted on Barbie eyes and say:
“Yeah I know, it sucks right? You and your hot pants with the built in belt and me with my skinny jeans… we’re quite the pair, huh?
Remember the old days? You know, when we could eat anything and still make Ken’s head turn? Gotta love ’em.
We’d both sigh in unison as we contemplated the years we’ve left behind.
Oh, to be young again. What are you now Barbie, like 50? Seriously, you look good girl. You shouldn’t be looking at me with those sad eyes.
Sure, they gave you a breast reduction, but frankly those things were getting in the way of your modern career options. Pro tennis player, Doctor, Veterinarian, CEO – no one could take you seriously with those measurements.
As soon as they started calling you an “airline attendant” instead of a “stewardess,” your days with those puppies were numbered. Well, I don’t have to tell you that.
Her little head would nod appreciatively.
Now look at us? A couple of has been sexpots, zipping up our pants with a pliers. The other day I noticed that you had a grey in one of your hair plugs. I pulled it. I know, two will surely grow back, but I couldn’t resist. You were sleeping in that hammock that attaches to the camper and I didn’t want to wake you. I imagine it’s hard enough to fall asleep in that thing, not to mention the back pain you must have by morning.
Oh, what have we resorted to? Barbie, this may be a touchy subject but, I saw you throwing up the other day after my daughter fed you that plastic turkey at a pretend dinner party. I saw you, and so did that token brunette Barbie, what’s her face? Skipper, no, Stacy? I don’t know, but it was a real eye-opener.”
After our contemplated moment of bonding, I felt something I never expected… joy. Yep, that’s where I think the story gets sick. (I know you may have had that thought a while back when I outed Barbie as a bulimic.) But, for me it got a bit alarming when I felt a sudden trace of delight in Barbie’s pain. Like, “Wahoo, I’m not the only one assessing my need to go back to the gym. Now, you know what it feels like Barbie! You with your highrise, and your ship, and your camper, and your pink convertible, and your perfect hair, and your perfect tan, you’re not so perfect anymore, are you? So, suck it!”
I don’t know what this says about me, other than my need for a new workout regimen and a visit to my therapist. I like to think that I’m usually a person who is excited over other people’s accomplishments, beautification-wise and otherwise, but I realized there is some evil part of me that enjoyed watching someone else deal with less efficient metabolism and a thigh complex, even if that someone was Barbie.
Skinny jeans are for high school girls and the boys who want to resemble the Jonas brothers.
Sometimes skinny jeans just aren’t comfortable to wear, i say the looser the better!
So maybe it’s time for Barbie to give up the lame designer jeans in favor of the more “mid-life body shaping” Not Yo Mamma’s Jeans. No, no way, never give up on that 20’s bod. Who cares if you’re almost 96 and wrinkled. You can iron the jeans, dye the hair, get a face-lift, arm-lift, knee-lift yada yada yada…even weekly if necessary! Gung ho the anti-aging war!
Well, been there, done that. But not any more. Got a new bod and it feels good, let me try on the lame skinny jeans.
Bari, I will tell her to give them to good will… actually Cherie, the jeans are yours. Good Luck with that. Luc, I like what you have to say, but I sausaged myself in to a pair last night, so… on deaf ears. Karen, anytime.
my daughter has skinny jeans and looks awesome in them but them again she’s 14; I on the other hand looked like a sausage trying to bust out of it’s casing
This reminds me of the time I thought Barbie’s hair wasn’t blonde enough, so I stuck her hair on a light bulb, thinking it would make her hair lighter. Yeah…it melted right onto the bulb, and had a fantastic smell. It was hard for Barbie to walk around with melted hair. Boo hoo Barbie! Boo hoo!
And, this is why I wear PJ’s all day. The end.
Kim you are a sick sick girl. I wish we lived closer!
Ah, but the coolest thing of all is to the defy fashion dictates of teenagers. Skinny jeans on anyone over 35 are like screaming out “mid-life crisis”- like Porsche convertibles driven by gray haired men. Go for a retro look instead.
I can only hope that Barbie has listened. Now about your visit to the pyschiatrist – will you be discussing your recent hobby of talking to plastic dolls? Love your articles Jenny!
Thanks Tiff, unfortunately, I have bigger issues to discuss first. Yep, talking to dolls is at the bottom of my list of psychiatric issues.
Classic, Jenny. Thanks for the laugh (again.) But I do like her permanent makeup …
Maybe they were Skipper/Stacy’s jeans. She always did have skinnier thighs. Bitch. Barbie should dump her.
Ugh, totally she just brings her down and I saw her in the closet making out with Ken. She said she was looking for an earring that she lost. In a closet? I mean come one!
Oh, this is a really sad (actually exhilarating) moment for me. Screw that – I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel right now. If Barbie is puking up her low fat turkey what the hell is Stacey doing. I am a brunette so that’s who I would relate to anyway. I was always the one getting the non-blonde Barbies at my birthday.
Look, Barbie’s thighs may be getting bigger but until I see some cellulite there, I just can’t relate. That would be clinch the deal for me though.
Kiran
Kiran- I totally agree. A little cellulite or even a couple spider veins would do. Plus I’ve never seen her exercise EVER. Maybe a bit more effort to look so smooth and rubbery ya know?
While we’re at it, I’m pretty sure I saw a gray hair on Barbie’s head when she tried desperately to grab my eye from the bottom of the box headed to the thrift store.
Thanks Wendy, I think we’ve all noticed but no one was willing to speak up about it. I’ve caught her in the bathroom late at night with a flashlight and a tweezers – crying.
I think your article on Barbie , and responses , Was very funny. I was particularly interestoften the possible and or probable need for your theraphy If talking to little plastic dolls is not close to the top of your list with you theraphist, what is? Walking the streets late at night carrying a sharp ax, sitting on your roof beying at the moon? Making your kids watch the movie Taxi Driver over and over? Signed : A concerned parent
Thanks Dad, it’s nice to know you care. Know I have to go some of the voices want to play Boggle and you know how I hate to lose. Love You
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