Decades ago, I received a Dolly Parton doll on Christmas
morning. There she was in my stocking, paper- white skin, long blonde hair,
wearing a red and silver jumpsuit, holding a guitar.
I played with her, never
focusing on her most famous physical attribute, her ample bustline; I just
thought she was “pretty.”
Around the time I was diagnosed with Breast cancer, while
sifting through a box of old toys, I came across her again. Her shoes were
missing, her jumpsuit was tattered and her guitar was nowhere to be found. But
there she was. Same paper- white skin, same blonde hair, although a little
disheveled. And yes, the same prominent bustline.
It was poignant. Gazing at her, I couldn’t get away from the
reality of my life, then, and my
life, circa now. Circa now, without my breasts.
Yeah.
I recalled the hours of doll play as a little girl. I
remembered focusing my aspirations on these totems of femininity. “When I grow
up,” I told myself, “I’m going to be just like her.”
Remembering that childhood assertion, it gave me pause. How
innocent and simple.
Yet, in reality, in actual life unfolding, how complicated and even, heartbreaking. It goes beyond losing
breasts in a cancer context. It also speaks to the promise attached to image
that we, as children are bombarded with as we play. Childhood playtime exists
to stimulate our imaginations, to discover who we are, what we like and who we
endeavor to become when we “grow up.”
I’ve written and spoken extensively about the harmful power image
wields when it comes to subtle indoctrination of rigid messages. Most of that
indoctrination targets the female population. Having survived my own thorny
experiences with disordered eating, including anorexia and bulimia, I was no
stranger to unrealistic body image messages sent to us from the get-go. Turn on
the television. Flip through a magazine. Look at social media. How many filters
and editing options exist to make our avatars look their absolute best? What
about the diet and fitness industries, selling pills, powders, plans and
equipment? We learn that a pretty image is important and it pays off.
As children, who play with dolls, indeed, we are learning
rigid image messages in those formative years: long, toned legs, tiny waists,
ample cleavage, the perfect hair and the perfect face. I know it messed me up.
I played for hours at a time, daily, with this 3-D plastic form.
There was no way that child version of myself could ever know
that most little girls don’t grow up to look like the dolls of
their childhood playtime.
“The body type portrayed in
advertising as the ideal is possessed naturally by only 5% of the American
females.”
The Renfrew Center Foundation for Eating Disorders, “Eating Disorders: A Summary of Issues,
Statistics, and Resources”
Some little girls will grow up and will not have the measurements of their beloved doll; they may conclude
their bodies are “wrong” because of that reality. Some girls will grow up and
realize they have a face or a hair color/texture that doesn’t match with the doll from playtime; and they may feel
ashamed because of it, so ashamed, they decide to reject their hair and bleach
their skin. Some little girls will grow up to become adults that, yes, get a
Breast cancer diagnosis and have their breasts altered or removed; unfortunately,
they may feel like “less of a woman.”
No one thinks about this “growing up” part of life when we’re
children. Aspirations, dreams, hopes, imaginations, yes. But not loss, pain,
struggle, disappointment, life’s difficult realities.
So, how do we deal with doll play? Barbie and her cohorts are
here to stay, because, let’s face it, children still love to use their
imaginations, via dress up clothes, accessories, “dream houses.”
Within the last few years, Mattel has made strides
incorporating different body and face shapes, hair colors and textures, even
tapping into dolls with disabilities. But, I have yet to see a “Mastectomy
Barbie” or an “In-Recovery from Addiction and Disorder Barbie” doll option. And,
more than likely, if there was such a
doll, most kids probably would not play with it. It’d be considered a “weak
seller.”
One can argue creating such a doll is going too far; it’s
inappropriate. Too morbid for innocent child’s play, perhaps?
I don’t know. But I think it’s worth exploring creating toys
that are not perfect beauties. We’re making some progress. I’ve seen more dolls
with wheelchairs and prosthetic limbs; I’ve seen dolls with bald heads to
support someone with cancer or Alopecia. I have even seen dolls with “stickers”
of scars or cellulite that you can apply to
the doll.
And that’s great. But should we go a little further? As we prepare children to become adults, should we have real depictions of what some “twists and turns” look like?
My Dolly Parton doll doesn’t represent to me what I’ve lost;
my body was never her exact doll shape to begin
with. Rather, I look at her now, post-diagnosis,
post- Breast cancer surgery and I see
how far I’ve come from fixating on a
certain “image” of beauty and femininity. I have learned I’ve become a woman
who has quite outgrown the doll.
That, maybe, is the message we should teach our children:
don’t be the doll, exceed the doll…by being who you are.
Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse
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