My Little Pony Has An Eating Disorder

When I discovered “The Pony Project” in a fit of nostalgia the other day, I was intrigued. Showing in New York City this past week was a showcase of giant “My Little Ponies” customized by various artists. But my quest for further information was interrupted by the first glimpse of one done-up-doll. When exactly did “My Little Pony” become anorexic?

Perhaps this was just an exaggerated effect, since these 18-inch ponies are for painting, not play, I thought. But confronting the actual My Little Pony toy—the one reintroduced in 2003, after a hibernation which started at the end of my childhood—presented me with a creepy Olsen-twinsesque beast. That oversized head, doe, drugged-out eyes, and sharp physique was certainly not the pony that I galloped around my bedroom mountains.

When the ’80s toy revolution began a year or two ago, I was elated. Finally, proof that it wasn’t only my own Peter-Pan-complexed self that believed these playthings were far superior to the more technologically advanced but ultimately soulless products of today. Certainly this decision was probably, in part, based on the fact that the ’80s children are just starting to poke their heads into the worlds of parenting and marketing-executive-decision-making. And if fashions come back every twenty years, surely so could playthings.

But the ’80s toy appeal seems to extend beyond this—my Lincoln Logs may have been born of an earlier time but they had evolved all along, not suddenly reappearing after a 20 year hiatus. Maybe we were all being duped by the marketing geniuses who realized that our consumer generation would more easily take the bait on buying back our youth. But if this was the case, they probably should have thought twice before they bastardized the source of all our happiness.

Forget models in magazines. If My Little Pony needed lipo and a nose job to be successful in the new millennium, we have got some serious image problems on our hands, and it’s not the only identity crisis circulating. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have gotten the injection of aggression needed to lure little boys. Michelangelo, a party-dude-no-more, doesn’t even have eyes—apparently freaky little white slits are the most recent innovation in reptile assault.

While my much tamer Turtles were wandering through the wood block world I had created them, my sister was usually busy with an itsy-bitsy scenario of her own. Polly Pocket consisted of finely painted people of plastic about a centimeter-high which you could make sit at chairs in their itty bitty little plastic house which would fold up into some sort of little girl shape and take up a wallet-sized amount of your living space.

Sadly, since companies don’t trust children of any age not to ingest everything they own, Polly was fed some growth hormones. The new genetically engineered playmate is 9 cm. high and because pockets aren’t going to cut it, you can buy a pretty Polly purse for travel, thus negating all of Polly’s appeal.

The look of a character is destined to change, it’s not like Barbie hasn’t had a makeover or a dozen. But have little kids really changed so much? Apparently the trendsetters of today need Strawberry Shortcake in a cool “Blossom”-style hat and jeans, even if the fact that Strawberry used to wear a way-old-school bonnet and dress never deterred the five-year-old-me from looking to her as my idol. Even the consistently classic Cabbage Patch form has diluted the name by adding on new products such as mini-Cabbage Patch “Pop Star” dolls, because “American Idol” is certainly fitting for a decidedly plump, dimpled kneed figure.

My vastly growing 1980s children’s movies collection is sure to ensure that in the very distant future, my children will live warped little lives where they understand nothing of current programming, because I will have deemed it unworthy and instead they will be enriched by what I deem the real classics. But if sales are still going strong, maybe I will buy them that Care Bear stuffed animal—even if its somewhat giant skull unnerves me—because they sure-as-heck won’t be watching that CGI-ed “Care Bears” movie.

Yet the exploitation of nostalgia will continue to kill me inside. Those moments our generation waited so long to relive were falsely returned, and unnecessarily so. Children of the 2000s will only beg for vamped up dolls if we tell them that’s what they should want, there’s no reason we can indulge these toys in their true form.

In my explorations, I was initially shocked to look at the recent Rainbow Brite doll with a skirt dangerously close to exposing her rainbow rear. I quickly sought out photographs of the old Rainbow Brite doll that once sat in her giant plush rainbow in my corner. And there she was skirt designed to hit the tops of her thighs. Some things never change, and at least Rainbow Brite will always be a harlot.

­—Staff writer Margaret M. Rossman can be reached rossman@fas.harvard.edu.