#ReadWithMC-Welcome to Marie Claire's virtual book club. It's a pleasure to meet you, and in January we'll be reading Kate Kennedy's One In a Millennial: a book that summarizes the experience of being a millennial, largely through the lens of pop culture, exploring the zeitgeist of millennials and the lessons learned (for better or worse) from being a part of this generation. for better or worse), and explores life lessons learned. Kennedy is a pop culture commentator and host of the popular millennial-focused podcast "Be There in Five." Read an excerpt from the book below and find out how to participate. (1]

In the early 90s, Mattel briefly debuted an iconic doll called Teen Talk Barbie. She was the first talking doll in decades, and finally young girls could have a more modernized talking Barbie to represent their plight. Each Teen Talking Barbie says the following four randomly selected phrases (out of 270 pre-programmed phrases) at the push of a button:

"Do I have enough clothes?"

"I love shopping." "I like romantic music"

"Meet me at the mall"

"Let's plan our dream wedding" "I want to have a pizza party" "Would you like to be a lifeguard?

There were endless combinations of phrases for each doll, but these are a few of my favorites. I'm not sure what the exact statistics are, because, although I don't know the exact statistics, I couldn't receive a Barbie doll with a balanced mix of topics related to school, boys, shopping, hobbies, etc. just by randomly selecting four out of 270 phrases. In my defense, I wholeheartedly agree with the phrase that ultimately led to Teen Talk Barbie being removed from the shelves:

"Math class is tough."

In short, she is me. I am her. Math class was really tough. The mall was a third place for me. I loved clothes, boys, love songs, and pizza parties. And since I have a pulse and grew up in the '90s, of course I've always glorified lifeguard culture, as an October 1992 article in the Chicago Tribune put it, "Barbie. Even if you said, "I'm starting a business" or "I'm studying to be a doctor," depending on the phrase and the order in which you said it, Teen Talk Barbie's interests could appear problematic and narrow to young girls, and the American Association of University Women and many parents protested Barbie's presence, success. Initially, the company was asked to remove phrases about math classes, but the manufacturer had no way of knowing which Teen Talk Barbie on the shelves said which phrases, making it impossible to call them up and reprogram them.

So what were Teen Talk Barbie owners allegedly offered as a replacement for the controversial dialogue? A mute model, i.e., a doll that says nothing.

This has been my experience in life trying to navigate my feminine concerns. In my early years, I knew the truth about myself and spoke proudly about the hyperfeminine things I liked, but before I understood that they were superficial, I was told that they were not what women should like in order to be taken seriously and silenced. This is now in my thirties and I feel the need to order a Pumpkin Spice Latte (PSL). However, the backlash is genuinely understandable in the context of "math class is tough." If we want to use toys as role models, this did not help us engage more young women in STEM fields, where (especially at the time) we were underrepresented. But this doll, developed from much market research, was not something to be admired. Rather, it was something that would serve young girls where they are now, as one of their peers. And in the 90s, I wasn't so much a STEM woman as a girl who just wanted to have a nice stem." Do you have a crush on someone?" Somewhere between "see you at the mall" and "meet me at the mall," I existed happily (if not naively) with my peers.

As a child, I was shy, curious, and sensitive, so I surrounded myself with things bolder and less sober than my senses. From observing popular girls with big personalities to the glitter and glamour of pop stars and the self-expression I found in consumerism, I literally made my days sparkle a little with a tube of glittery body gel. I began by studying my sister Kelly. We were four years apart, but her world was much cooler than mine. From an early age, pop culture served as a binding agent, bridging the age gap between our shared love of music, television, and light crafts. Come to think of it, she and her best friend Monica were my original influencers, and perhaps because I was trying to gather enough data by copying their every move, I remember my elementary school days well. I marveled at the craftsmanship of their oversized sweatshirts, puffed out decals of vague iron-on provenance, and studied their efforts to match their designs under folded turtlenecks and stirrup leggings sensuously pinned to their keds. Monica said her dream car was a Mazda Miata. For years I have told people that my dream car is also a Mazda Miata. When Kelly was old enough to get her ears pierced by a 16-year-old named Trevor at the Piercing Pagoda, I was envious.

We came to love pop culture so much because of the disparate age-appropriate entertainment. But the perk of this age difference was that I dreamed of sneaking into her room and consuming more mature content. I would eavesdrop on her Romeo + Juliet soundtrack at every turn, giggle at the name of the band "Butthole Surfers," scream out "You Oughta Know," later rumored to be a reference to Dave Coulier of Full House, and my favorite Uncle Joey's He also unintentionally cursed the name. In high school, Kelly dabbled in floor-to-ceiling '90s door beads.

While door beads were stunning interior accents for teenagers (Limited Too and Britney's "Oops. I Did It Again" cover were dreams), they were also impractical. They would get caught in your hair, snag on sweater fibers, and make it incredibly difficult to get things in and out of the room. On top of that, it was incredibly loud, waking us all up in the middle of the night. When she noticed the noise, instead of removing the door beads, she resorted to the military method of wriggling under them every time she went in and out of her room in the middle of the night. To this day, I have never seen her sacrifice practicality for aesthetics. When I question her taste for spirited interior design, she throws another seasonal throw pillow into the sofa to celebrate her taste.

From One in a Millennial: On Friendship, Feelings, Fangirls, and Fitting In by Kate Kennedy. copyright © 2024 by the author, St. Louis, MO. Martin's Publishing Group