The Living Laboratory
The Living Laboratory
On the drive home from their monthly poker game with friends—one of their few social engagements to have survived Ruth’s accelerated work schedule—Elliot brings up the subject of market research for Barbie.
“It’s time,” he says as they head down Laurel Canyon, surrounded by the Hollywood Hills. “You’ll need it for the advertising. What about that guy we met? You remember the one—Aaron or Ernie.”
“You mean Ernest? Ernest Dichter?” She laughs and flicks her cigarette out the little butterfly window. “You complain that I’m spending too much money as it is—well, let me tell you, Ernest is not cheap.”
Ernest Dichter is what they call a psychological marketing consultant. He claims he can unlock what’s inside the consumer’s subconscious mind. His company, the Institute for Motivational Research, has supposedly convinced the public that bathing with Ivory soap makes people feel smarter, not just cleaner. Dichter is also the brains behind Chrysler’s revelation that men prefer convertibles, while wives are partial to sedans.
“Well,” Elliot says, “it’s worth it to spend a couple grand to figure out how we’re going to sell Barbie.”
She thinks about this, recalling a time when they didn’t have to pay anyone to tell them how to market a toy. It was just the two of them, putting their heads together. It was fun, exhilarating. She remembers when they were launching the Uke-A-Doodle, how they would stay up late at night, working on the catalogue copy, and how together they figured out the right description: A colorful miniature ukulele with a built-in music box. Two toys in one. Turn the handle and it plays real music… They didn’t know any better and they did just fine, but with Barbie the stakes are too high, and Elliot’s right—they need to bring in a pro.
—
The following week Ernest Dichter arrives in Los Angeles from New York. He’s a bespectacled middle-aged man with a flat, boxy head and wiry white hair. His Viennese accent becomes thicker when he’s had a few drinks. Once Ruth makes Ernest sign a series of confidentiality and Do Not Compete forms, they get down to business.
After giving Barbie a close examination, Dichter lights a cigarette held in a black onyx holder and simply says, “Interesting.”
“Interesting? That’s it? Don’t you think she’s unique?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think.” He blows a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. “Why don’t you tell me what you think is so unique about this doll?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” says Ruth. “Barbie offers tremendous play value, not to mention the fact that she promotes projective play patterns and—”
“Let me stop you right there.” He seems amused and chuckles without making much of a sound. “Do not tell me from here.” He points to his temple. “Tell me what it is about this doll from here.” He thumps his heart.
“Okay,” says Ruth, taking a beat, finding a way to put it into her own words. “I think a doll like Barbie—well, I think she can unlock the imaginations of little girls. They can pretend they’re grown-up, just like their doll. And they can make their Barbie do whatever they want. She can be anything they want. She can be a career girl, a fashion model, she can travel the world. She can take those girls beyond their bedroom walls. I think she’s empowering. Certainly more empowering than traditional dolls. She can pave the way for young girls to explore all kinds of possibilities.” Ruth sees Dichter smiling, nodding. “No other doll on the market can do all that.”
This little speech of hers makes Ruth think that if only her daughter had a Barbie doll growing up, maybe she would have dreamed a little bigger, a bit bolder, set her sights on something more interesting than Allen. Ruth looks at someone like Stevie, who’s not that much older than Barbara and yet seems so much wiser. Stevie has a direction in life, a plan for herself that doesn’t appear to revolve around a man. Ruth wonders where she went wrong with her daughter. Between Sarah and Ruth, Barbara’s been surrounded by strong, ambitious women all her life. Did none of that rub off on her?
Dichter looks at the doll again. “I know what we’re going to do. We’re going to conduct a series of Living Laboratories.”
“What exactly is a Living Laboratory?” asks Ruth.
Ernest tips the ash from his stemmed cigarette while explaining that he’d like to interview a number of young girls and their mothers. “And then, after we meet with them and show them this doll”—he gestures with the cigarette like a conductor’s baton—“then we’ll devise the marketing strategy based upon our findings.”
Ruth is eager to get started. After all, if Dichter is good enough for Procter some cover their mouths. Are they delighted or horrified? Ruth can’t tell.
Ernest presents two versions of Barbie—blond and brunette—allowing them to pick which doll they want to play with. Each doll is dressed in a different outfit, which causes a bit of a scuffle, as two girls want the Golden Girl sheath dress and three want the Nighty Negligee Set , complete with a little pink stuffed dog. They grab, they scowl, and Ernest eventually makes peace, promising that they’ll get to play with all the clothes.
Chewing on the tip of her pen, Ruth studies the little girls’ body language, their faces, their smiles, and the way each one holds and caresses Barbie, how they brush her hair. She wonders what’s going through their minds. And then something rather surprising starts to happen.
“Are you seeing this?” asks Jack.
“I’m seeing it,” says Ruth, inching forward in her chair.
“What are they doing?” asks Elliot, although what they’re doing is quite obvious.
After all the kerfuffle over who got which outfit, the little girls start removing Barbie’s clothes, eager to see what’s going on underneath there. They giggle. They blush. Ernest places more outfits on the table and the girls examine the various dresses, jackets, the tiny shoes, hats, gloves and pocketbooks.
On the other side of the two-way mirror, they listen as Ernest asks them deceivingly simple questions: “Do you think Barbie’s pretty? Which outfit do you like best? Would you like to have Barbie as a friend?”
One girl says she wants to look like Barbie when she grows up. Another says Barbie is her new best friend and they’re going to Paris. A third likes her fancy clothes. One of the girls has some reservations, insisting that Barbie looks mean and acts like a brat. Ruth quickly jots this down on her notepad.
For nearly a week they observe these interviews with different groups of young girls, and the feedback is just as Ruth suspected. Barbie sparks their imagination and lets them fantasize about who and what they want to become when they grow up. She’s pleased with the results. So are Jack and Charlotte. Even Elliot admits he might have underestimated Barbie’s appeal to young girls.
Ruth is more delighted than she is surprised. From the very beginning, she knew she was onto something. The little girls have only confirmed her hunch. They are clearly tickled and inspired, and they’re speaking on behalf of girls everywhere. Ruth’s already heard what she needs and is half tempted to cancel the rest of the Living Laboratories. But the following week, Ernest proceeds to interview the mothers.
When they arrive, Ruth is on the other side of the two-way mirror with Elliot, Charlotte and Jack. There they are , she thinks. The old guard. The mothers fidget with their pocketbooks, sip their lemonades and nibble at the plate of shortbread cookies. Ruth imagines they spend their mornings poring over cookbooks, planning dinner and trying to come up with new Jell-O recipes. Later they’ll get all dressed up to go to the supermarket, gingerly maneuvering their carts, like a ladylike game of bumper cars. She envisions them standing over their ironing boards, relocated to the living room so they can watch The Guiding Light and As the World Turns as they press bed linens that no one ever sees. With the table set and meat loaves in the oven, they’ll wait for their husbands and children to return. Is that enough for them? Ruth thinks about all the women her age, about their mothers and grandmothers, too—and about all the potential that’s been stymied and wasted. She thinks about the novels that could have been written, the music composed, the scientific breakthroughs made, the diseases that might have been cured, and the political agendas that could have been set if only those women had been encouraged to follow their dreams.
When Ernest presents Barbie to the mothers, they snicker, roll their eyes and fold their arms as their disapproval ripples from one end of the table to the other. Ruth’s shoulders go slack as her bravado begins to fray.
“This is supposed to be a doll?” asks one mother. “A doll? For young girls?”
“How can that be a doll?” challenges another. “It’s a woman. And it has breasts. Disgusting.”
“So you think breasts are disgusting?” asks Ernest.
The mother’s mouth drops open. “That’s a highly inappropriate question. But since you asked, yes, breasts are disgusting when given to young girls to play with.”
“And if it’s supposed to be a doll,” says another, “why is it wearing eyeshadow and lipstick?”
“And would you look at those high heels,” another says, shaking her head.
“Only hussies wear shoes like that,” says the one next to her. “That doll looks like a prostitute.”
Ruth sits back, crestfallen, as she smokes back-to-back cigarettes. She expected some pushback, but nothing this harsh.
Ernest clasps his hands behind his back and leans in ever so slightly. “So Barbie would not be a suitable doll for your daughters, is that what you’re saying?”
That is indeed what they’re saying. The women are chattering all at once and there is nothing but negativity spewing from them: The doll’s too sexual. What’s wrong with ordinary dolls? Whoever thought this up is perverse. They should have their head examined…
Ruth crushes out her cigarette and balls up her hands. The observation room is suddenly stifling, and her head feels like it’s in a vise. Her worst nightmare is unfolding before her eyes. Mothers are going to derail everything. Three years of hard work are coming to a screeching halt. There’s no way to come back from this.
“So,” asks Ernest, interrupting the cross-chattering, “is it fair to say that you all agree that Barbie is too sexual?”
The consensus is yes. Except for one woman. “I’m sure you’re all going to hate me for saying this,” she says, “but I actually think that doll’s kinda fun.”
Ruth perks up. So do Elliot, Charlotte and Jack.
“She’s very glamorous,” the woman continues. “I just love all her clothes. And she’s just so well put together and accessorized. If only I could get my daughter to dress a little more like her.”
Another mother speaks up. “I can barely get my daughter to brush her hair.”
“Or put on a clean dress,” says another.
“I keep telling my daughter she’ll never find a husband if she doesn’t start dressing more like a young lady…”
“I’ve had that very same conversation with my daughter,” says another.
“I nag my daughter constantly about her hygiene. I’ll never get her married off at this rate…”
Ruth leans forward, pressing her fingertips into her forehead, which has begun to throb like she has a jackhammer going off inside her skull. It’s 1958, for God’s sake, and all they care about is getting their daughters married?
Ruth closes her eyes, listening to Ernest wrapping up the session. Elliot, Jack and Charlotte are murmuring among themselves, sounding frustrated and discouraged. Ruth feels sick inside. Just when Elliot’s starting to believe in Barbie, Dichter undoes it all. She can hear it now: Let’s cut our losses, Ruthie. Let’s quit before we lose our shirt on this doll…
After the mothers leave, Ernest invites them all into the laboratory room.
“Well, that was a total waste,” Ruth says, dropping into a chair and pushing the plate of cookie crumbs aside.
“Not at all,” says Ernest. He appears pleased by what’s transpired.
“Oh, c’mon,” Ruth says, “you heard what those women said.”
“They hate Barbie,” says Elliot. “They’ll never buy one for their daughters.”
“I beg to differ,” says Ernest with a smirk that makes Ruth want to claw his face off. “Those women just gave us a wealth of information. You only heard what they said , but I understood what they meant .” Ernest begins to pace, his white tufts of hair jutting out, almost perpendicular to his body. “The mothers’ number one concern is making sure their daughters can attract husbands. And what those mothers sparked to was Barbie’s sense of style, her being so ‘well put together.’ You saw how those young girls brushed Barbie’s hair, how they fussed over her outfits. All we have to do is convince the mothers that Barbie will help their daughters catch a husband.”
They’re all looking at Ruth, expecting her to explode— That’s not what Barbie is about. She’s the opposite of all that —but Ruth stays silent. Her mind has just latched on to something. She’s not exactly sure what it is yet but she’s working it, like fitting a key inside a locked door.
“You see,” says Ernest, “Barbie will encourage their daughters to dress better, to pay more attention to their grooming. That is the message your advertising must convey to the mothers.”
The locked door swings open. Ernest is right. All this time she thought they would be selling Barbie to little girls, but really, they’ll be selling Barbie to their mothers.