Snapdragons and teapots: I'm Your Barbie Girl / Living Doll

Barbie celebrates her 50th birthday this year (check out her blog! she's very internet savvy for an old bird!), and to celebrate a whole bunch of designers have created a collection for a fashion show just for her at New York Fashion Week. Ken even showed up, which is very sweet, given they only just got back together on Valentine's Day after being split since 1994. What a doll! (Even if he doesn't actually have balls, it takes a lot of balls to face your newly non-ex girlfriend's friends again!). In addition to NYFW's Barbie show, FAO Schwartz also has a section devoted entirely to Barbie, where you can even custom-dress (i.e. STYLE!) Barbie yourself! Too exciting!!

The runway looked like a lot of fun, however the show wasn't without its issues. Apparently hundreds of little girls queued for hours to see the show, only to be denied at the door. Tears aplenty.

While I adored the clothes - they had that ironic retro twist which I adore - I was a little disappointed not to see a real Barbie-esque body on the catwalk. The runway was a smorgasboard of excruciatingly thin popettes tromping down the runway in clothes that deserved some *gasp* shape. I'm thinking - hips, breasts, some meat to cover the ribs and clavicle. There's no doubt these models are gorgeous and a science exhibit in their own right in their ability to deprive themselves of adequate nutrition. However, while the homage to Barbie was suitable in that it raised the timeless issue of what body image is the right one to communicate to all those little girls crying to get into the show, it wasn't the right body image that communicates Barbie. Barbie has fed the crazy breasts-waist-hip-slender legs "ideal" female body to millions of little girls (and their brothers) for 5 decades. I never had a problem with it, but then again I was denied a Barbie until age 7 so I didn't grow up with that as the promised land for the female form from age 3. I also don't think I was ever suitably impressionable enough to look at the little plastic figure and wish I was like her (OK - a pink Cadillac, yes and maybe a dream home with the pony and Skipper as my friend... hmmm...). While it is unrealistic for a lot of girls, with a bit of plastic surgery in the right areas (and I'm not condoning this!), a fake tan, false eyelashes and plenty of blue eyeshadow and some exercise and lots of peroxide Barbie as we know her is a lot more attainable a dream than the Barbie of the catwalk with her razor-like knee caps and protruding ribs. (**PS: I loved the big hair beyond belief - I know I'm being uber-critical).

Is the plastic doll version better than the real doll version?

Maybe skinny Barbie is the sign of a broken relationship? Maybe the pressure of her relationship and break-up with Ken - with his questionable sexuality, lack of anatomy (we all know lack of decent sex can drive a girl mad) and so on - destroyed Barbie and behind closed doors she is a drunken wreck, gorging on boxes of chocolates and bottles of champagne, only to throw them up later in a fit of self-hatred and remorse, mascara smeared across her face as she scrapes the tears away. Maybe this is a cry for help for one of the Western world's best loved icons? I doubt it.