Self-belief

Why I’m still a Barbie girl

boudicasroarLeave a comment

It’s Christmas 1985 and I’m hiding under the kitchen table. I’m on a festive ‘snoop’ mission. My parents are terse talking about “Wrapping the bloody Barbie van!”

My heart beats at the anticipation of it. The pièce de résistance of our sister’s Santa list. The fantasy gift of mid 80’s schoolgirls – the outfits, the glam, the moulded plastic bliss.

Flash forward (nearly) 40 years later and I’m watching the end of the Barbie movie in a draughty Devon cinema. Whilst my 10 year old son is ready for the off, I’ve tears in my eyes.

This surprises me. It’s less to do with nostalgia (I’ve no clue what happened to my Barbie collection) but more to do with a cinematic stirring of middle aged heart and mind.

I was banking on it being an above par chick flick. Reviews of the release from indie darlings, Gerwig and Baumbach, had stoked right wing ire in a pleasing way.

As we waited in line, I chortled to see teenies in tutus queuing for a quirky polemic on gender stereotypes, the patriarchy and empty consumerist lives.

And it started like a knickerbocker glory dream of a world. As Barbie woke to a picture perfect day the sea of west country mummies cooed at their charges.

As the screen glowed with Margot Robbie’s megawatt smile I felt my 9 year old self revive on a wave of fun. This was a world where women ‘rule’ and Ken’s ‘crave.’

But as my tweenager squirmed and I snuck Maltesers (Sorry darling – but they’re “lighter than ordinary chocolate”) the celluloid mood changed.

Barbie got sad. Barbie was lost. Barbie started to question EVERYTHING. Defeated she goes in search of the sage but scorned Weird Barbie (played by the awesome Kate McKinnon).

This encounter sets Barbie on a mission through the portal to the ‘real world.’ As she drives into the fake sunset, Ken tags along for the ride. And guess what they find – the real world falls short.

On Earth, women are ground down whilst the men rise high. This is when America Ferrera’s Gloria steals the best speech (snippet below) about society’s patriarchal pressures,

“Always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged. So find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful. You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line. It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.

Gloria, The Barbie Movie 2023

As a Mattel employee, working for Will Ferrell’s chauvinistic CEO, Gloria lays bare the reality of women’s Earth lot v the pie in the sky Barbie world.

But Ken is newly inspired by this ‘men rule’ reality. Returning home he flips Barbie’s pink paradise on its head. Suddenly the girls are catering to the Ken’s every whim.

As Barbie and Gloria buddy up to ‘save the day’ cliches abound. But overall, it was an enjoyable, thought popping ride.

For me, the film delivers a message (for girls and boys) of how, in our pursuit of Insta perfect lives, we’ve lost our way.

Whilst we’ve been distracted by looking good, hooking up and ladder climbing, we’ve been passing up on real, authentic life experiences.

In the end, the message that resonated most is that ‘Weird Barbie,’ with all her idiosyncrasies, is the kinda chick you want to listen to. These mavericks are the life guides that can help us make sense of this crazy world.

“Certainly, there’s a lot of passion. My hope for the movie is that it’s an invitation for everybody to be part of the party and let go of the things that aren’t necessarily serving us as either women or men.”

Greta Gerwig, Director, The Barbie Movie 2023

Oh middle age blues

boudicasroar2 Comments

How did I get here this near half of 90? This middle age, mid-life, midway. How do I feel when I look in the mirror; lines feather eyes, the upturn of mouth.

Society idolises the beauty of youth. Airbrushed Venus’ pout from our screens. We fight the years – buy pills and potions for fear of the ‘after.’

Middle age taunts us like a laughing clown. We run from its mirth to plough pool and pound pavement. We fight the loosening of skin that we poured into lycra.

As milestone birthdays pass it’s easy to fall into the slough. From experience, dodge the photo album’s lure – this only leads to weeping over wine.

At this middle age we can either hark back or look forward. It’s a moment to choose a cup half full versus empty. But its tempting to dwell in self pity, on the beach, in my mumsuit as bronzed nymphs breeze by – oh!

Yet we can’t turn back time. There’s still life to live. Those younger years weren’t all halcyon. My skin was smoother but insecurities hung like the beads around my neck.

I’m beginning to see that in ageing we lose and we gain. In accepting ourselves right here, right now we can start to reframe. We can map a new path.

For there’s strength in my life experience. There’s beauty in the evidence I have laughed. There’s a power in my self-knowledge – in the history that I own.

Middle age, indeed any age is bitter sweet. But life is there for living every day. It’s what we choose to do with it that counts. So I’m hanging up my hang ups. I’m saying bye bye to yesterday. I’m running towards the future with hope in my heart.

Writing: it started with a bowl

boudicasroar2 Comments

It’s 1985 and I have writers block. My 9 year old self is scratching my head. I am sitting at the kitchen table opposite my mum. She is trying to to be patient but I see the steam. She wants me to describe what’s in my bowl.

I have Mrs Briggs to thank for this. At the start of term, she gave out orange text books, “These are for writing your stories,” she said with a smile.

My ‘stories’ were already written, lined up on my shelf. Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, What Katy Did Next – I ate them up. I was a reader, a total bookworm.

Yet, when it came to writing my head was empty. Adjectives mocked me, similes vexed me and metaphors made me sad. So it came to be that I was sat there staring at my breakfast bowl.

“What do you see Tess?” my mum asks. I’m looking at the dregs of my Weetabix – what should I say? “Describe it to me” she pressed. On the spot, I felt nervous, “Milky pools?” I volunteered. Her eyes brightened, “OK, what else?” Gosh, this was painful, “Umm, muddy mountains.” She was almost buzzing, “Great! What else?” I was grabbing at straws, “A spoon, silvery like the moon.” She clapped her hands, “Yes Tess, you’re doing it!”

There’s nothing better than pleasing your mum; her happiness lights up the room. I was left with a biscuit, juice and the challenge to write.

As the midday sun shone, I started writing my story of The Magic Pen. A mischievous pen, that caused mayhem wherever it went. Do you know what I found? I found that, if I thought less and just wrote, I could end up anywhere.

Days later, when I got my story back from Mrs Briggs, my heart leapt. There on the page was a star and the words, ‘A magical story Tess.’ And so, the reader became the writer. I shall always thank my mum for helping me to find my writing verve.

Where did I go?

boudicasroarLeave a comment

I started this blog over 1000 days ago, yet I have been MIP (missing in posting).

So much has happened in the world, near and far. So many things to comment on – good and bad. How can I make up for this? How can I roll back the months, marking those moments? The world swells with beauty and pain – there’s so much to say.

The truth is, I was scared. I didn’t dare put my self out here. The cautious kid still lurking, wanting to be liked. The need to please, that yoke of insecurity that has held me back time and again.

It can be risky to tell your truth – in this age of fierce opinions, emoji judgements and cancellations. I can be thin-skinned sometimes and bruise deeper than you shall ever know.

I didn’t feel like Boudica. I felt like a mouse with a squeak in my throat. I was a younger me, standing at the waters edge, watching my friend diving down. Afraid to follow, I hung back, waist deep, until a wave toppled me. I surfaced spluttering, to find myself bathed in sun.

So, here I am, taking a step, finding my footing, raising my voice. I shall let the words fall from crossed fingers, into cyberspace. Some say, we are here once to make our mark, others believe we’ll come again. Whatever the truth, I am owning mine, from this day onwards.