When I was a kid, I wasn’t allowed to have a Barbie. She had a disproportionate, over-sexualized body, and she wasn’t welcome at our house. My mom always said I could have a Barbie when I was 12; we both knew I wouldn’t want one anymore by then.

I played with my friends’ Barbies whenever I had the chance, bringing over my brother’s GI Joe doll to act as a rugged stand-in for Ken in our make-believe play.

At my grandma’s house, there was a collection of old Barbies that fascinated me in a way the ones my friends had did not. This old Barbie at Grandma’s house had clothes and make up from another era. Her hair was different from the straight, blond locks of modern Barbies; she was a ginger with wavy hair and bangs.

I didn’t wear makeup much after a brief stint with black eyeliner in ninth grade. There was some blush, concealer and powder (on my beautiful, baby skin! I had no idea).

My mom didn’t wear makeup, and my dad maintained he liked her better without it. We kids found some of her old products lying dormant in a drawer and played with them, fascinated with their texture and smell.

I had to teach myself how to apply make up. For a long time, my efforts never went beyond mascara, along with lip gloss and maybe some eye shadow on special occasions.

I didn’t really learn how to do eye make up until my daughter started doing dance. YouTube taught me some new tricks, and lots of practice helped. Then, a few years after I started doing my daughter’s make up for competitions and recitals, I started doing a little more on myself.

Life got a little harder each time we had another kid. The change was almost imperceptible. I liken it to boiling a frog.  But by Seven, a marriage crisis, and a flirtation with homeschool burn out that had lasted for a couple of years, I was in need of a face to put on in the morning to help me confront the day.

I didn’t do my eye makeup every day, but there is something that says “I kick ass” about putting on a little black eyeliner.

As I put it on the other morning, I was looking at my face in the mirror, and I found myself staring at that 1950’s Barbie. It was her eyeliner that I’d been copying the past few months, without even realizing it.

I never wanted her perky breasts or abnormally long legs. I wanted that eye makeup.

At some point, that old Barbie disappeared into the basement at my Grandma’s house; I haven’t seen her for many years. But somehow, just as my mom feared when I was a kid, Barbie got into my psyche anyway and weirdly, helps me face my tougher days with style.

It was hard to find a photo of me wearing eyeliner! I probably put it on 2-3 times a week, and recycle it for a smoky eye the day after I put it on (If you know of a scientific reason why I shouldn’t do this, please don’t tell me. I do wash my face twice a day, but the eyeliner is waterproof, and I appreciate its longevity). But between my glasses and my hats, it doesn’t seem to show up in photos, so I had to go all the way back to April to find one where it shows (If you’re on your phone, then you’re probably thinking, sheesh, you should’ve kept looking). The Barbie image depicts the doll I remember, and I found the photo here. And in case you’re wondering if my own girls are allowed to have Barbies, the answer is no. I agree with my mom on this one.