Harshee's Lit Lounge

A few days ago, I finally watched Barbie. Yes, I know—“Wait, you’re just now watching it?” Believe me, it wasn’t for lack of interest. When the trailers first dropped and the internet collectively lost its mind, I was right there, fully hyped. The aesthetics, the cast, the concept—it felt fresh and fun and actually meaningful.

But then came the voices.

Some friends who saw it early told me, “It’s just forced feminism,” or “They’re trying too hard to make Barbie this big feminist icon,” or “It’s not as deep as people are making it out to be.” And while I didn’t completely agree, I also didn’t challenge those opinions. I let them sit in my head and take up space.

And slowly, my excitement dulled.

Without even realizing it, I backtracked. I kept putting off watching it, telling myself, “I’ll get to it eventually,” but deep down, I think I was avoiding it. Maybe because I didn’t want to be disappointed, or maybe because I had quietly absorbed the skepticism of others.

Fast forward to this week: I finally watched Barbie with my family—the people who approach movies with open hearts and zero social media noise. And… wow. Just wow.

It was funny, bold, heartbreaking, clever, self-aware, and visually stunning. It had moments that made me laugh out loud and others that made me pause—in that deep, uncomfortable, necessary kind of way. It’s not just a “Barbie movie.” It’s a mirror. And depending on who you are, it might reflect things you weren’t ready to see.

After it ended, I just sat there—not because I didn’t know what to say, but because something else hit me, something bigger than the film itself.

When did I stop forming my own opinions?

It’s a strange, unsettling question—one that crept in quietly as the credits rolled. I couldn’t shake it.

I used to trust my instincts. I used to be curious, even bold, about experiencing things for myself. Whether it was a film, a book, a song, or even an unpopular idea—I’d dive in headfirst just to feel it, to understand it, to decide what I thought about it. Not what others told me I should think.

But somewhere along the way, without even noticing, I started outsourcing that part of me. Letting other people’s voices speak louder than my own. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to seem naive. Or wrong. Or uncool. Maybe I feared the discomfort of being the odd one out—the person who loved something everyone else hated or hated something everyone else loved.

Social media, group chats, quick takes—they all make it so easy to skip the experience and go straight to the verdict. I’ve caught myself scrolling through reviews before watching something, reading reactions before forming my own. Not because I’m lazy, but because I’ve been trained, quietly, to believe that consensus equals truth.

But consensus isn’t the same as understanding. It isn’t the same as connection.

Watching Barbie reminded me that art—and life—is meant to be felt. It’s meant to be complicated, subjective, and personal. The power of that film wasn’t just in what it was trying to say—it was in what it made me feel. And that feeling wasn’t something anyone could’ve handed to me in a review or a tweet. I had to sit down, watch, and experience it on my own terms.

And it wasn’t just about Barbie. It was about everything.
How many other things have I dismissed before giving them a chance?
How many conversations have I avoided?
How many choices have I let others make for me simply because it felt easier?

That one question—“When did I stop forming my own opinions?”—has been echoing in my head for days now. Not in a self-judgmental way, but in an awakening kind of way. I want to be more conscious about what I consume and how I respond to it. I want to return to curiosity. To nuance. To messiness. I want to reclaim my perspective, even if it’s not perfect, even if it changes over time—because at least it’s mine.

So from now on, I’m trying to notice the moments when I hesitate to speak up, to try, to explore, simply because someone else already has. I’m trying to listen to myself again.

And maybe, if you’re reading this, you’ve felt the same thing—the slow drift away from your own voice.

If so, maybe this is your reminder too:

You’re allowed to take the long way to your own conclusion.
You’re allowed to love something others don’t.
You’re allowed to be moved by something you were told to mock.
You’re allowed to think for yourself—again, or maybe for the first time.