Is Barbie happy at all?

twisting playfulness away from happiness

FAILED HAPPY EXPERIMENTS

Two months and fifteen drafts later, I still did not publish my first happy poem.

IT IS NOT WORKING. I cannot write happy poems—or just yet? Maybe it is because we are witnessing genocides and flooding? Not sure, might be just me.

Who decided I had to write happy poems? I did.

Who is complaining about it? Again, I am.

Who wants to change the title of this Substack and the bio? Definitely not me.

It is inspiring, beautifully written, but especially, it is already done. And in the realm of procrastination, we know it is better not to redo unnecessary things, adding more bullets to a to-do list that never ends and never begins.

I like to write to-do lists, and I like to write other things as well. Lately I have been experimenting with different formats, different themes, different tools.

So, I am twisting a bit the purpose, because I cannot escape publishing while waiting for the happy epiphany, and I am adjusting a bit the title. This is the first step of my journey towards a happy poem.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED

In the last two years, I have been performing poetry in Amsterdam. One of my favourite evenings is the one organized by those wonderful souls of Unwantedwords every last Tuesday of the month. In order to spice things up – or maybe because they were fed up with sad poems? – they decided to add a theme to each session of this season.

The first theme of the new season was Playfulness. I laughed deeply, like: I am never going to perform again on Tuesday and that’s it.

On my way to the yoga studio, the first sentence popped up in my head. ‘Let’s play a game, where I am Barbie and you are Ken’. The rest is history. I spent a weekend writing in a structured, frustrating, systematic way.

I was fulfilled and happy about it, afterward. The outcome of the piece, though, is quite far from the holy happy grail. In certain ways, it is even quite far away from playful. Doesn’t matter. The audience was laughing, snapping fingers and then laughing again, hard. Especially when I killed Ken.

So maybe this is not per se a step closer to a happy poem, but nobody cried. And I think we can consider this a success.

NB. It helps if you read the following piece imagining the voice of a child. Otherwise, it can sound a bit dark.

PLASTIC DOLLS

Let’s play a game,

where I am Barbie and you are Ken.

And I get it, I get it, that you also want to play Barbie

but for now, just for now

let’s say that I am Barbie and you are Ken.

And let’s say, let’s say…

that, for example, we go on our first date.

and we climb the desk; that can be a cliff

and we watch sunsets and sunrises

While you are playing music for me

and I dance in the night

until finally we kiss.

Which is strange because your lips

are full of dusty plastic.

But when you go on your knees,

and luckily, Ken is more foldable than Barbie is,

to ask me to be your wife

I eventually say yes

with one condition:

I want the most beautiful dress.

For now though, I will keep wearing black,

Because I hear my mum from the other room

saying the golden rule:

first duty, then pleasure

And I already feel some pressure.

So I hold a pen in my hand

And since I cannot be an anarchist or a poet,

I want to be Barbie architect instead.

And I start ordering by colour the Lego bricks

Not due to OCD

But because we have a fantastic life to build.

During the construction we realize halfway

that we finished almost all the pieces we wanted to place.

So maybe we can have a kitchen that is also a bedroom,

and a bedroom that is a living room,

and a living room that is a panic room,

and no bathroom!

No, actually, you are right.

We definitely need a bathroom.

So maybe we can move to the laundry room,

and now that I see the sink, I think

that we can organize our wedding party here.

So we group all the invitees,

also the Barbie with a strange cut of hair,

and the one that has that small problem with a dropping head

and also the one that we cut in pieces last time

- because she was not nice -

But I don’t care

Because now I am married Barbie.

And you are married Ken.

Between one dip and one dive

I hear the whispers of Midge, wondering why

from all these dolls, I chose this useless Ken.

And no, I am not saying that YOU are useless.

Just that Ken is sort of boring

unlike some of his friends

that are full of muscles, the Action Men.

And while we are celebrating our happy ever after

and I am all wet in my wedding dress,

I realize that I lost a shoe during the ballet

The action sailor, your best men,

that I am not sure it’s actually your real friend,

brings me the sparkling shoe back.

And he tells me that I am beautiful.

And I think that’s good enough for me

because you have NEVER said it.

So while nobody is watching, we kiss,

we jump in the water and we kiss.

And all of this attention

makes me feel fantastic

But also the lips of this Action Man

are tasting like plastic,

and with every kiss

we spread synthetic polymers

from the sink to the sea.

Hey, I am starting to get bored.

So, can we maybe change the game and play with the ball?

No? Ok

So, let’s say, let’s say…

that the ball is an asteroid.

And I am architect Barbie, so I am at work.

and you are Ken cooking a plastic dinner at home,

and the ball is huge,

and shines in the sky,

and when it hits the ground

it destroys our house.

And Ken is inside,

and dies.

Now, can we play another game?

No, alright, then I keep playing Barbie.

but now you can be Action Man.

And Action Man is sort of hot,

With scars, strong arms, narcissistic personality and all.

And while everything is burning

Action Man saves Barbie

and comes out of the flames

without turning.

More than a man, he feels like a god.

So he decides to bring Barbie on an adventure.

And I am not sure if I feel safe at all

traveling with a man I barely know

But hey, it’s a fun game, so let’s play!

And we go in the Amazon forest underneath the bed,

and in the sink of the bathroom again.

But this time we see the coral reefs

And I am really grateful for this

because we were just in time

-with climate change and all that shit-.

So now let’s say, let’s say…

that this shoe is a plane,

with carbon zero emission, of course.

And we go, we go, I don’t knowww

Paris, Amsterdam, the other side of the world!

And ok, I get it, I get it…

that you don’t want to be Action Man anymore.

We can agree that with his military clothes

Especially with what is happening now in Palestine and Lebanon

He definitely looks kind of toxic,

and we don’t want this.

So, so we can start a new game

And this time I am still Barbie

but you can be a Barbie as well.

And let's say, let’s say…

that we live together.

and we are besties or lovers in plastic.

And you can be… you can be whatever you like!

But maybe just not an artist.

Maybe this time you can be a Barbie

that makes money.

And while you are at home thinking

about how to break the glass ceiling

I wear synthetic clothes and I go out dating, because you are poly

and I am a hopeless romantic.

And in this soft city we built up on the bed

I hang out with many hot Barbies and sometimes a tall Ken.

And I don’t know why,

but I keep feeling the urge

to follow the game

even if I don’t like the rules.

Maybe because every time I hold hands

with one of these hotties

I feel better about myself;

until I start coughing.

My heartbeat is very low,

I never feel at ease

and Dr. Shelly says

I might have a disease:

an accumulation of microplastics

due to too many doll kisses.

While I am at the clinic, she asks me:

Barbie, but why?

You keep surrounding yourself

by basic Barbie and basic Ken

that, sure, are looking fantastic,

but you cannot complain

when the problem is you, your choices

and your heart now covered with plastic.

I stare at Shelly with my big empty eyes.

and I cannot answer because I realize

it was just an image I was chasing

and I don’t know anything about real life.

Luckily, Shelly doesn’t want to give up

so she runs to the lab

hoping to find a cure

to clean my polluted heart.

But clearly something goes wrong

because I hear a lot of noises

And everything explodes.

And we all die.

And I know you don’t like death

but that’s how it works, in life.

The difference is that this is a game.

so we can start all over once again!

No.

Why do you have to go?

Don’t leave me here alone

with my games, with my plots

with my blonde dolls

That yes – are still hot -

But I guess the cure worked

Because now I feel different

and I am lost.

And I cannot help but keep wondering why

I kept making the same mistakes over time:

choosing partners

coming from the same mold

because autopilot is easier

and through a free association, I thought

by holding hands

with a beautiful Barbie or a handsome Ken

I could stare at myself in the mirror

And see some beauty again.

And I get it, I get it…

that now I am old enough

to play a game

where I am me,

and you are you,

and we can actually fall in love.

But first,

I have to make peace with the fact

I am not a perfect doll.

And I cannot be an edgy hot Barbie

Because I am cool in my own way,

But still,

I am not

blonde.

HAPPY SCALE

The Happy Scale is something that clearly does not exist yet – and probably never will- buuuuut, it is going to be a great instrument to measure my progress on the real goal: write a damn happy poem. I am confident we will get there. It works in a simple way: 0 equals sad, 10 equals happy.

Plastic Dolls: 6+/10

And let me know if you agree.

See you at the next failed experiment.