She’s Everything. He’s the Bomb.

In the early summer of 2023, what the internet called “Barbenheimer” seemed to be the only thing people talked about. Scrolling mindlessly through Instagram was something that I’ve done for as long as I can remember, but that summer was notably different. In addition to the usual cat videos and Taylor Swift memes, every time I opened the app, my eyes were met with a barrage of black and pink: Barbenheimer memes. 

The incongruity of it all amused the internet: Greta Gerwig’s Barbie, a fantasy comedy packed to the brim with pink and glitter, had nothing in common with Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer, a somber biopic about the father of the atomic bomb. Nothing, that is, except a release date. 

The general consensus of internet users could be summed up in four words: We are so back. For the first time since the COVID-19 pandemic, two blockbuster movies were being released the same weekend, and a buzz of excitement surrounded the event.

 But this was largely different from other such weekends. In theory, it seemed like the two movies were being pitted against each other, with the viewer having to make a choice. You were either Team Barbie or Team Oppenheimer. But no, that couldn’t be further from the reality of it. Many people – myself included – flocked to movie theaters on July 21st to see both movies back-to-back. It wasn’t Barbie versus Oppenheimer, it was Barbie and Oppenheimer, and that was the very thing that drew me to it. 

For the longest time, I felt like I had to choose between being hyper-feminine or embracing my inner edge. It’s one of the most enduring myths about womanhood, and in my early teens it manifested by shunning things I deemed “basic” like Hydroflasks or Taylor Swift or the color pink. I wasn’t like other girls, and I prided myself on that fact.

 I thought that it made me better to not follow the crowd, and that femininity was something I had to reject to be respected. Recently I realized that I didn’t have to buy into man-made concepts like comparing myself to other girls, and Barbenheimer was the antithesis of the “not like other girls” internet culture that I was immersed in growing up. Not only did people have the option of going to both movies, it was encouraged to do so. In fact, the biggest discourse around Barbenheimer was not about which film would be better, but which one to see first.

 After having discussed it at length with my friends, I opted to see Barbie first to maximize tonal whiplash. I knew people would think the whole thing was ridiculous, but I didn’t care. This was my Super Bowl. I planned the whole day out weeks in advance, even putting together outfits for both movies. 

I was admittedly more excited to see Barbie than I was to see Oppenheimer. Lighthearted things have always been more my jam, and since I have the attention span of a small child, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to sit in a room for three hours while an emaciated Cillian Murphy agonized about the fate of the world. But I forced myself, because I was nothing if not committed to a bit. 

It’s about a half-hour drive from my house in Chappaqua to AMC Palisades, a nondescript chain movie theater tucked away on the fourth floor of the Palisades Mall, but my family and I insist on seeing movies there. We’ve been loyal to AMC since we lived on Long Island, partially because of the comfy reclining seats and the fact that you can order your snacks ahead of time. 

I find something comforting about going to the movie theater. No matter which one you go to, chain or not, there’s this sameness to them – the dirty carpets that make you grateful for the invention of shoes, the smell of popcorn that permeates the air like a thick fog, the throngs of people that seem slightly less overwhelming than usual, just because I’m just so happy to be at the theater. At the risk of sounding like Nicole Kidman in that video they play at the beginning of every movie you see at an AMC theater, it’s truly a magical experience. 

 Upon my arrival on Barbenheimer day, I immediately realized that my mother and I weren’t the only people there to partake in the two films. I saw throngs of other people dressed in pink, and there was even one person wearing a T-shirt which read “Oppenheimer: A Film by Christopher Nolan” in the Barbie font. In another life, I would’ve hated that I liked the same thing as so many people, but at that moment I felt like I was a part of something bigger than myself. Barbenheimer not only brought together two very different films, but it brought together the millions of people who engaged in them. For the first time, I was, in fact, like other girls, and I was okay with that. 

Part of why I expected to enjoy Barbie was because I thought it would be a light-hearted fluff piece, full of neon and nostalgia, but there was nothing fluffy about it. It was evident to me that Gerwig, along with everyone else involved in the film, was passionate about it and its subject material. Ironically, my favorite character was not a woman, but Michael Cera’s character, Allan. Allan was neither Barbie nor Ken, and he was the only citizen of Barbie Land who was like him. Often, I feel like there isn’t one specific category that I fit into. I float between friend groups, and people at school know my name, but they don’t know me on a deeper level. Additionally, Cera brings his well-known “awkward guy energy” to the role of Allan, stammering when addressed and standing around during the iconic dance scene, which I saw a lot of myself in. Though I’m not sure this was Gerwig’s intention, I felt that Allan was an accurate representation of self-proclaimed quirky kids like myself. 

Once Barbie ended, I rushed to the bathroom, where I changed into my all-black outfit for Oppenheimer. The experience was a bit awkward, given that we had a time constraint and were in a public place, but I managed it in time and even spared a moment to snap a photo for an Instagram “fit check.” Once that was done, we took our seats for the second half of the double feature. 

Honest moment: I was almost sure that Oppenheimer would be Nappenheimer for me, that I would become sleepy, the taker of naps. The opposite was true; I was wide awake and on the edge of my seat for most of the film. I suppose a part of me thought it was going to be a war movie, which admittedly isn’t my thing, but it was more of a history movie whose timeline happened to coincide with a war. The thing I loved most about it, though, was that it was a passion project for Nolan, and that that was clear in every aspect of it. 

The more I reflect on Barbenheimer, the clearer one thing becomes to me: Barbie and Oppenheimer aren’t as different as they appear at first glance. Both films feature well-known directors and star-studded casts, but the similarities go deeper than that. Oppenheimer, as would be expected of a film about the A-bomb, grapples with tough, existential questions, but so does Barbie. The whole reason that Margot Robbie’s Barbie made her voyage from the pastel plastic cheeriness of Barbie Land to the much duller real world was because she was thinking about death; Ryan Gosling’s Ken experienced an identity crisis of sorts because he didn’t know who he was without Barbie; and one of the most emotional moments of the film involved Barbie deciding to become a human and experience the full range of emotions and experiences. 

What I’m trying to say here is that Barbenheimer proves that trying to be “not like other girls” is a waste of time. A film can be pink and sparkly while also dealing with the big questions. And Barbie isn’t better or worse than Oppenheimer for being more traditionally girly. They may be dramatically different aesthetically, but both films had a great impact on me, and Barbenheimer wouldn’t be Barbenheimer without the many people who had come together to partake in them.