Dear Barbie,
Ending our nearly decade-long relationship is anything but easy. As I placed the Rubbermaid lid over your resting spot, catching one last glimpse of your signature blue eyes, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me. I truly will miss you.
Please don’t think this is your fault. It’s not you, and it’s not me, despite my complaints about your clothes cluttering the floor or the Dream House looking like a tornado hit it. The truth is, life has gotten busier with soccer practices, piano lessons, and real horseback riding—not just the plastic kind. We’ve even stopped having those long baths that used to be our special time together.
Let me clarify: this isn’t about your appearance, which has faced plenty of scrutiny over the years. I know women in my life who embody the “perfect” image with their tiny waists and flawless features. They run marathons, do yoga, and juggle family responsibilities while supporting their communities. They’re both beautiful and strong—much like you.
You never needed to be a role model for body image; that’s my job, and I’m great at it. Your role was to ignite my daughters’ imaginations, and you did that exceptionally well. From running a veterinary clinic to hosting fashion shows and even performing pretend surgeries or flying to Disney, you’ve helped create countless scenarios filled with joy and creativity.
You never complained once—not when you were crammed in a Corvette with Princess Barbie racing down the stairs, nor when a bad haircut left you looking a bit rough. Even after a curious dog caused a mishap, you continued to bring smiles and stories to our home.
You’ve faced your own share of challenges, too, from a high-profile split to serving in the military and enduring constant comparisons to other dolls. Yet, you’ve always held your head high, maintaining that signature pose.
But here we are, Barbie. It’s time to move on. I’ve sold the Dream House (at a loss, unfortunately), listed the car, yacht, and plane online, and sent your friends—Skipper and the Disney Barbies—to goodwill, where I hope they’ll find new families. The Barbie jeep and scooter are off to new adventures, too. It’s truly the end of an era.
I’m grateful for everything you brought to our lives. Thank you for teaching my daughters that a ball gown can go with cowboy boots and for embracing every imaginary scenario they created. Even if your outfits were a bit risqué and your heels a tad too high, I appreciate that you were always there for whatever they wanted to explore—be it a soccer star, a princess, or even a doctor. I’m relieved we skipped your drag queen phase, but I know even that would have been a blast.
As I pack you away into the attic, know that your memory will always have a place in our hearts. Perhaps one day, when my daughters have daughters of their own, you’ll reemerge, and I’ll welcome you back with open arms—maybe even into a new eco-friendly Dream House.
Though you are just a doll, your role in our lives has been significant. You’ve been a beacon of imagination and a source of endless creativity. Until we meet again, my dear Barbie.
Best wishes,
Me
P.S. I’m glad you never took Ken back. I always thought he was just along for the ride anyway. And really, no one has hair that perfect all the time.
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Summary
This letter expresses a heartfelt farewell to Barbie, reflecting on the joy and creativity she brought to a family over nearly a decade, while acknowledging the inevitable changes as children grow. It highlights the importance of imagination in childhood and the deep-seated memories that remain long after the toys are put away.
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