They’ve done it.
I can imagine my curly-haired, almond-skinned daughter squealing to her friends, “she’s a yoga teacher. just like my mama.” Next they roll out the tiny mat and fix her just right in a kneeling pose since that Barbie high heel permanent point won’t allow her to stand in Tadasana.
My seventies progressive parents banned Barbie in fear that my sisters and I would be negatively affected by this stereotype of woman. Their well-intentioned learning moment fell flat on my young brain that only wanted a Barbie with more fervor because of the Barbie ban. In truth, I was more of a stuffed animal than doll girl anyway.
These days, on a typical Saturday night I am cutting socks into strange outfits to make a Barbie funky to my daughter’s delight. I’m an include and transcend-ist.
Maybe, I can make yoga barbie a fat suit, or put her in drag, dress her punk rock, or give her an ethnicity makeover?
A yoga teacher is not a Barbie.
A yoga teacher is a yogi who teaches.
A yogi is not a Barbie.
A yogi is anyone who is peeling back the layers to reveal the true Self – that shiny pure light within.
The rest is just packaging.