The Dehumanized Human Barbie

Nowadays, whenever I hear the name "Barbie", images of women plagued with insecurity and plastic surgery are the first things that pop into my mind. It's an automatic and instantaneous reaction that today's media and social discussions have branded onto my brain: Barbie seems to be the universal symbol of a perfect (and unattainable) image for women.

However, as a child, I have never ever looked at a Barbie doll and thought, "wow I wish I could look like that!" In fact, I never even thought she was especially attractive. To me, she was just a doll - just a plastic plaything with hair to brush and limbs to twist into unnatural but hilarious positions (yes, that's pretty much all I did with my Barbies.) Looking at her unnaturally small waist and stick-thin legs, it seemed clear to me that Barbie was not intended to look like a real human. Wanting to look like Barbie would be no less of a stretch than wanting a pink magnet on my foot and a sparkly tattoo on my butt like my beloved My Little Ponies.

Therefore, I was utterly baffled to discover that there exist people in this world who have literally transformed into a Barbie - namely Valeria Lukyanova of Ukraine, a.k.a Human Barbie. Why would anyone willingly toss away her rightful identity as a Homo sapien and reduce herself to an 80 pound mass of plastic and bones? To fulfill her self esteem? To achieve Internet fame? Side note: having a 16 in waist does not make posting half-naked photos online more respectable.

      "Oemgee mini me"                        #nofilter #justplasticsurgery

To make matters worse, Barbie isn't even the only fictional character that girls have strived to look like in recent years. Anastasiya Shpagina, also from Ukraine, has used immense amounts of makeup as well as plastic surgery to transform herself into a "Human Anime Character". And hey, surprise! She just happens to be BFFLs with our Human Barbie, Valeria.

"Just chillin wit da habibi"

People really need to realize that dolls and cartoon characters aren't real for a reason.

The Meaning of July Fourth for the Angela Chen

When asked what festivities and/or events characterize the Fourth of July during our class discussion this week, only one thing popped into my mind: my bizarre and utterly radical fear of fireworks. (I do not appreciate your condescending chuckles, dear reader.)

To me, fireworks are like silent bombs that jump out and destroy you when you least expect them. Each ear-piercing boom is enough to shatter my skull and ensure that I my heart never beats again. Year after year, while my friends and relatives are happily eating their overpriced elephant ears and silently admiring the fiery bursts of color right beside me, I am sitting there in a hunched up little ball, hands clamped over my ears as if my life depended on it.

Could this symbolize something about my perception of the American Independence Day? The Fourth of July, to a normal person, is an occasion of celebration and appreciation for the freedom and liberty of our country. However, entrenched in my dark sphere of fear and apprehension, freedom and liberty are the least of what I feel.
 *Cue wise old man voice* 
When a firework is released from the cannon, it becomes independent and harbors immense amounts of potential. This parallels America's break from Britain back in 1776, as the new nation headed towards a bright future at full speed. Once a firework reaches its pinnacle, it explodes in a brilliant flash of light and color, followed by a thundering bang that reverberates in the night sky. Similarly, shortly after its independence, our nation rose to great strength and success, boasting liberty and equality for all. However, this ironically created deeper oppression for the individuals who did not enjoy freedom glorified on the surface - the women, the slaves, and the Native Americans. Likewise, while the effect of fireworks produces joy and satisfaction for most, there will always be strange outliers like myself who will feel the exact opposite of what is intended on this oh-so-consecrated holiday. 

Okay, that analysis was a bit of a stretch. But I really do hate fireworks.

Do I embarrass myself too much on the Internet?

Life-ception

I hate to be negative, but the one thing The Scarlet Letter has done for me (other than cause me to lose brain cells) is give me severe trust issues towards anyone and anything that seems to have any credibility at all. I mean...if Dimmesdale, the venerated priest and holy role model that every Puritan holds so dearly is secretly an adulterer, just think about about all the other lies and secrets that could be out there. Who would've guessed that the reverend Dimmesdale could be not only imperfect, but the lover of the heinous Hester Prynne and the father of the devil-child, Pearl? Who am I to say that my own life isn't just an extensive, elaborately crafted lie?

The Scarlet Letter is full of hidden identities and untold secrets - Dimmesdale wears a thick mask of piety in order to conceal his sin, while Chillingworth falls under the guise of a benevolent physician to obscure his vengeful intentions. After reading this, I can't help thinking...how much of my life is actually what it seems? How many people do I know are actually who they say they are? How can I even be sure that I myself am not a product of some mysterious sin that happened years ago, as Pearl was? Who am I even? 24601?!

Just kidding, that was an exaggeration. But I still have my doubts. Just last night I found myself absentmindedly gazing at my mother as she sat at the dinner table, passively eating wonton soup as she watched the Voice of China on her beloved Samsung Galaxy Tab. I thought to myself, "What could my mother, this seemingly simple woman who chastises me to wash dishes and study for the SAT, could be hiding behind those unusually large Asian eyes?" Could it be possible that she, like Hester Prynne, is wearing a figurative scarlet letter on her own chest? A series of mind-blowing deductions and far-fetched possibilities dashed through my mind before I was commanded to start eating, and don't blame anyone but myself if my wonton gets cold.

Perhaps I'll never find out the truth. But the next time I fail a test or find myself on the receiving end of another heartbreaking Facebook message, at least I can find comfort in knowing that maybe none of it is real.

On your marks...

Is it just me or is Deborah Tannen attach an overly negative connotation to the word "marked"? 

True, ever trivial characteristic of a woman contributes to her image and produces peer judgment, but in my opinion, a woman's "marks" ultimately speaks to her identity and individuality.

At the introduction of Tannen's essay, she critiques each woman's hair, makeup and sense of style, later claiming that every woman possesses distinct characteristics that set them apart from the others. But...what's wrong with that? Every woman chooses to present herself in a certain way for a reason - to show the world that we are not simply members of the female species, but unique individuals. Even in the few frenzy filled seconds before rushing out to the bus stop each morning, I usually manage to throw on something somewhat comfortable as well as adequately stylish. (Unless I have to take a practice ACT - those days call for automatic scrub mode.) I'm sure this gives the impression that I do put some effort into my appearance and have fairly decent taste in fashion. On the other hand, a girl I know regularly dresses in baggy shirts and basketball shorts almost every day. She establishes herself as a tomboy who doesn't care much about the idea of beauty. Another girl I know usually wears outfits that, while not exactly distasteful, are very plain and far from the latest trends. She sends the message that her physical appearance is not particularly important to her and that she'd rather not draw attention from a crowd. As expected, we do not run in the same social circles - our contrasting styles of dress are in a way an indication of the type of people we are and who we interact with. Is it wrong to look like the people we are?

Of course, the downside is that society is sure to form judgments upon us superficially - I'm sure we've all looked at a random girl in the hall and thought "Ew, what is she wearing?" However, undergoing a little social critique from strangers is by far a better alternative to being unmarked altogether. I mean seriously girls, do we really want to be like the typical teenage boy whose closet consists of  approximately two sweatshirts that more or less look the same? I hope not. So embrace yourselves, chicas. On your marks...get set...go!