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Flawless hair and blinding white teeth have plagued little girls’ dreams ever since Ken doll came on the scene with Barbie’s wrist in one hand and our hearts in the other.
The stiff, plastic way he composed himself, paired with sheer stupidity communicated through his plastic grin made him the man we trusted with our beloved dolls. He faked wining-and-dining, bought plastic chocolates and if he was lucky, got to spend the night in the dream house.
The same type of scrutiny I subjected my dolls’ potential suitors to (the scrutiny Ken eventually passed) is the same criticism we as a society have begun to hold our politicians to. No longer must they have mastered just a calm manner of speaking and host a delightful range of hand gestures, but they must have a strong jaw, a good hairdo and a nice suit.
This became screamingly apparent during the presidential election when the choice came down to two men, McCain and Obama. David Sedaris was published in The New Yorker likening the choice to that between an airline’s prepared chicken dinner and a “pile of shit with bits of broken glass in it.” Do we pick prepackaged and dry or repugnant and booby-trapped? Is there a way to not have either?
In 1961, John F. Kennedy became the youngest president elected to office. To say his appearance didn’t play a role in his election is to say Ken’s personality is why Barbie introduced herself. Kennedy’s droopy eyes and good boy soldier-esque coif introduced America to a new concept. Our presidents didn’t have to be grumpy grandpas scolding us for our wrongdoings and cleaning up our spilled milk. They could be spry and even attractive.
Kennedy looked like the type of president who would take you out for a good time. He represented the kind of youthful, excited direction America wanted to move in without even opening his mouth. His Barbie, Jacky Kennedy, is still the standard to which women compare only the classiest of our friends. His tragic end only immortalized that ideal.
We had but two years to soak up what it felt like to be an all-around handsome country, with the White House showing tinges of pink with the sounds of children playing on its lawn, it was like having a wholesome television show handling the traditionally boring bits of life.
President Obama, with his dollar-ready smile and impeccably dressed family, is bringing back something we thought long lost — an injection of youth, vigor — dare we use the word ‘hope’? His campaign was brilliantly designed; the word HOPE was everywhere and it need not be tacked with any others above his red, white and blue face.
If Obama is the second coming of Kennedy, the Ken doll dream, then what did that make McCain? With his fascinating leer and impossible comb over, I see less plastic, more itchy, like the type of teddy bear you were given second hand, the one that will eventually causing you to sprout a rash where its roughly sewn and worn edges touched your skin.
However, while Ken sounds and seems more attractive, Sedaris’ comparison keeps haunting me. Ken comes prepackaged, ready to be the screen for us to project our dreams on. But the really rough-and-tumble toys are jaded by past play-dates and perhaps better suited to impending storms.
It was entirely left in our hands come voting day, but how were we to know who was the better choice? Ken or Teddy? If we are all to be Barbie that leaves us one point to consider, which would you rather have in your dream house? We chose Ken, like any girl staring into a Toys-R-Us window would. But with the recent e-passing of websites, such as the snappy named ‘What the f— has Obama done so far?,’ beads of regret are beginning to form on our waxed brows.
While I’m not saying the latter was the better choice, I do feel the need to point out the almost traditional way we have become victims of our vanity. When it comes down to it, seeing the first family on the cover of OK! Magazine is an exhilaration that burns out quickly. After a while, I don’t want to know where he bought those shoes or that adorable crewneck. I want answers that you can’t find on the side of a box.
No real political comfort can be printed next to ‘choking hazard.’ If anything, it’s incredibly alarming. Like Bill Maher said, “The time for the audacity of hope is over, now we hope for a little more audacity.” And the word ‘audacious’ has never been used to describe the color pink.
Sarah Mann is a fourth-year English student. Her columns will appear every Monday.
