I used to spend hours playing with Barbie. HOURS. I might even go so far as to say days when you consider I would go to bed with my “town” intact ready to pick right back up the next morning. I had Barbie and Ken and Skipper and Barbie’s friends. Heck I even had Barbie’s Afghan Hound. And trust me when I say the first time I saw one of those in real life (30 odd years later walking down a Manhattan sidewalk) it was like I was 7 again. Tossed right back into the middle of my make believe wonderland. And it was a magical place. Barbie was happy. She had great friends, a cute boyfriend, she took trips on the Barbie plane. Sometimes she was a passenger, sometimes she was a flight attendant. She had a fun car and drove around with her friends laughing. She dreamed big and had plans for the future. Maybe she had hard times too, I don’t remember. I also don’t remember EVER holding Barbie up and thinking to myself, “this is what I should look like.” And for the record I...