I almost had to be surgically removed from the doll (Picture: Mattel / Getty / Warner Bros.)

I distinctly remember the moment I got my first Barbie.

I was about four, at my auntie’s house, and playing in the bath when my cousin gave me hers.

I don’t know exactly what Barbie she was. She wore a red sequinned dress and in my head her hair was bigger than Dolly Parton’s, although it is highly likely that could be me leaning into the gay fantasy. Let’s say she was Jessica Rabbit Barbie.

I’m not sure how long our relationship lasted but for a long time she was absolutely my pride and joy.

My cousin, who was four years older than me, had clearly been an ally from day dot. At around the same time she also handed down her bridesmaid’s dress, which I refused to get out of until my eyes were starting to close at bedtime.

My earliest memories are of me gallivanting around the house in my flowing white dress, clinging onto my Barbie singing, ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’, completely care-free.

I almost had to be surgically removed from both the dress and the doll to get me to nursery and even then it’s likely I spent most of the day talking to all the other children about my two greatest loves.

Eventually, though, both the dress and the Barbie went from being the two most important items in my life to being utterly embarrassing sources of shame.

Suddenly I was struck by the alarming realisation that a Barbie doll and bridesmaid dress were not, and could never be, a part of my life – at least not openly – simply because I was a boy.

While eventually I would come to realise I am also a gay man, long before my gay shame came the shame of being a boy whose best friend was a Barbie.

I can’t pinpoint the moment when that happened, but there was a defining chapter in which suddenly the Barbie was thrown in the bin and wearing dresses felt like sacrificing myself to the wolves of the primary school playground.

My Barbie was swiftly and somewhat reluctantly replaced by an Action Man, Mighty Max and ‘gender-neutral’ Tamagotchi.

In many ways, though, the discourse around gender norms feels louder than ever

But as the Barbie was cast aside, so was a huge part of who I was – long before I had any notion of my sexuality or what really, albeit fictionally, defined what I should or shouldn’t be doing as a boy.

Throughout my teens, the shame around Barbie morphed into shame around my unbeatable but secret love for Britney Spears.

In school I would decorate every folder and notebook I had with band logos such as Papa Roach, Sum 41 and Slipknot when – to this day – I could not name a single Slipknot song.

As soon as I was home though, I would burst through to my bedroom, close the door and watch every Britney performance I’d recorded onto VHS, learning every routine with perfect precision.

Robbie is an aspirational Barbie for all boys, girls and anyone who doesn’t identify as either (Picture: Mattel/Warner Bros / BACKGRID)

In case you haven’t left the house since 2022 or you’ve done a Boris Johnson and somehow locked yourself out of your phone, you can’t have ignored that Barbie is about to conquer the box office with Margot Robbie playing the Mattel doll and Ryan Gosling starring as her hunky and dim boyfriend, Ken.

Thankfully, the movie is coming out in a different world entirely to the one I grew up in.

Everyone I know, regardless of their gender, is gagging to see it, whether it’s from sheer excitement or being brainwashed by the relentless marketing campaign of the last few months.

In many ways, though, the discourse around gender norms feels louder than ever. Piers Morgan went as far as calling the Barbie ‘an assault on not just Ken, but all men’.

While it’s trans men and women taking the brunt of the heat for sure, the totally irrational fear that the world will fall apart if men (or in this case dolls) start embracing traditional female clothing applies to anyone who isn’t restrained by gender norms, whatever they may be.

Had I not kept my Barbie a secret years ago and instead overcome the embarrassment, I’m sure the rest of my adolescence would have been so much happier.

To this day, a part of me wishes I would still confidentially wear a bridesmaid dress with the same care-free abandon I had when I was four.

Thankfully, the few young boys I know today are showing no sign of being even remotely ashamed of the toys they’re playing with or clothes they’re wearing.

I’m constantly impressed with the generations below me, they’re fearless, self-aware and engaged with the world in ways few of my peers would comprehend in their teens and 20s. I’m sure, in part, so much of that is down to being free from trying to fit in a narrow box of what others expect of them.

I’m yet to watch the film myself, but according to early reviews (including this glistening one by Metro), Robbie is an aspirational Barbie – a role model for all boys, girls and anyone who doesn’t identify as either.

Making sure the young boys of today are loud and proud of their Barbies for as long as possible may not sound like it should be every parent’s priority and as someone without children, who am I to tell them otherwise.

What I do know though is that I wish more than anything today, when I cast my Barbie aside, I didn’t throw away the chance to be someone who might have been a little bit braver, bolder and self-assured than I am today.

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Long before my gay shame, came the shame of being a boy whose best friend was a Barbie.