Ken Barbie Quotes

Because sometimes in life Ken doesn't always choose Barbie.

A life with Ren was harder to picture. We didn't look as if we belonged together. It was like matching up Ken with Strawberry Shortcake. He needed Barbie.

Because sometimes in life, Ken didn't always choose Barbie. (Jane Alcott)

For some reason my father saw no problem with us pplaying "barbie and ken go to hawaii to save their marriage by picking up another couple for sexy good times," but if barbie and ken had gone to hawaii to "rescue another couple from a crazed kidnapper," that would have been wrong.

You can buy a Talking Barbie anywhere, but you can't even special order Listening Ken.

If Eleanor tried to kiss Park, it would be real-life version of some little girl making her Barbie kiss Ken. Just smashing their faces together.

My boyfriend had been fucked over by Barbie and Ken. And I was more like the Bratz doll rebound. My

When Lindsey and I played Barbies Barbie and Ken got married at sixteen. To us there was only one true love in everyone's life we have no concept of compromise or retries.

We weren’t exactly Barbie and Ken living in the pink dream house. No, more like Morticia and Gomez running with monsters, and with moments of passion that burned us both to the core.

They leave the genitals off Barbie and Ken, but they manufacture every kind of war toy. Because sex is more threatening to us than aggression. There have been strict rules about sex since the beginning of written rules, and even before, if we can believe myth. I think that's because it's in sex that men feel most vulnerable. In war they can hype themselves up, or they have a weapon. Sex means being literally naked and exposing your feelings. And that's more terrifying to most men than the risk of dying while fighting a bear or a soldier.

Multiple Personality Barbie. She’s elegant, she’s fashionable, and she’s the reason that Ken has no genitals! Have fun, but remember to hide the sharp stuff!

I can still see Boo sitting there on the floor, cross-legged, holding my Ken and watching my face as she tried to make me see that between my mother'sPTA and Boo's strange ways there was a middle ground that began here with my Barbie, Sab-rina,and led right to me. "She can be anything," Boo told me, and this is what I remember most, her freckled face so solemn, as if she knew she was the first to tell me. "And so can you.

What did this mean for the ocean, the ecosystem, the future? All this plastic had appeared in barely more than 50 years. Would its chemical constituents or additives—for instance, colorants such as metallic copper— concentrate as they ascended the food chain, and alter evolution? Would it last long enough to enter the fossil record? Would geologists millions of years hence find Barbie doll parts embedded in conglomerates formed in seabed depositions? Would they be intact enough to be pieced together like dinosaur bones? Or would they decompose first, expelling hydrocarbons that would seep out of a vast plastic Neptune’s graveyard for eons to come, leaving fossilized imprints of Barbie and Ken hardened in stone for eons beyond?

I had this sudden awareness, she continues, of how the moments of our lives go out of existence before we're conscious of having lived them. It's only a relatively few moments that we get to keep and carry with us for the rest of our lives. Those moments are our lives. Or maybe it's more like those moments are the dots in what we call our lives, or the lines we draw between them, connecting them into imaginary pictures of ourselves. You know, like those mythical pictures of constellations traced between stars. I remember how when I was a kid, I actually expected to be able to look up and see Pagasus spread out against the night. And when I couldn't, it seemed like a trick had been played on me, like a fraud. I thought, hey, if this is all there is to it, then I could reconnect the stars in any shape I wanted. I could create the Ken and Barbie constellations… I realize we can never predict when those few special moments will occur, she says. How... there are certain people, not that many, who enter one's life with the power to make those moments happen. Maybe that's what falling in love means…the power to create for each other the moments by which we define ourselves.

There's no Killer Ken in the toy stores, and certainly no Fuck Her in the Ass Ken, so I've got a leg up on Barbie's little squirrel monkey.

So what's your doll's name?" Boo asked me. "Barbie," I said. "All their names are Barbie." "I see," she said. "Well, I'd think that would get boring, everyone having the same name." I thought about this, then said, "Okay, then her name is Sabrina." "Well, that's a very nice name," Boo said. I remember she was baking bread, kneading the dough between her thick fingers. "What does she do?" "Do?" I said. "Yes." She flipped the dough over and started in on it from the other side. "What does she do?" "She goes out with Ken," I said. "And what else?" "She goes to parties," I said slowly. "And shopping." "Oh," Boo said, nodding. "She can't work?" "She doesn't have to work," I said. "Why not?" "Because she's Barbie." "I hate to tell you, Caitlin, but somebody has to make payments on that town house and the Corvette," Boo said cheerfully. "Unless Barbie has a lot of family money." I considered this while I put on Ken's pants. Boo started pushing the dough into a pan, smoothing it with her hand over the top. "You know what I think, Caitlin?" Her voice was soft and nice, the way she always spoke to me. "What?" "I think your Barbie can go shopping, and go out with Ken, and also have a productive and satisfying career of her own." She opened the oven and slid in the bread pan, adjusting its position on the rack. "But what can she do?" My mother didn't work and spent her time cleaning the house and going to PTA. I couldn't imagine Barbie, whose most casual outfit had sequins and go-go boots, doing s.uch things. Boo came over and plopped right down beside me. I always remember her being on my level; she'd sit on the edge of the sandbox, or lie across her bed with me and Cass as we listened to the radio. "Well," she said thoughtfully, picking up Ken and examining his perfect physique. "What do you want to do when you grow up?" I remember this moment so well; I can still see Boo sitting there on the floor, cross- legged, holding my Ken and watching my face as she tried to make me see that between my mother's PTA and Boo's strange ways there was a middle ground that began here with my Barbie, Sab-rina, and led right to me. "Well," I said abruptly, "I want to be in advertising." I have no idea where this came from. "Advertising," Boo repeated, nodding. "Okay. Advertising it is. So Sabrina has to go to work every day, coming up with ideas for commercials and things like that." "She works in an office," I went on. "Sometimes she has to work late." "Sure she does," Boo said. "It's hard to get ahead. Even if you're Barbie." "Because she wants to get promoted," I added. "So she can pay off the town house. And the Corvette." "Very responsible of her," Boo said. "Can she be divorced?" I asked. "And famous for her commercials and ideas?" "She can be anything," Boo told me, and this is what I remember most, her freckled face so solemn, as if she knew she was the first to tell me. "And so can you.

And there they were being so responsible, practicing safe sex and all. She'd been a fool to believe all that hype, she thought. The only hundred percent safe sex was between Barbie and Ken, and she'd heard rumors that they weren't doing it anymore.

Schooner and CJ. Like Ken and Barbie come to life. They were the epitome of every out-of-stater’s fantasy of what the quintessential California boy and California girl looked like. Schooner and CJ. They were beautiful and they looked like they belonged together.

Ash has a huge customized Barbie collection. Aside from Horror Movie Barbie (head lopped halfway off, torn and bloody clothes), Commando Barbie (camouflage bandana, pistol-whipping Ken with toy guns stolen from Josh), there is my personal favorite, Fat Barbie (dressed in a muumuu, sporting extra body girth and a double chin, thanks to the discreet placement of Silly Putty), I think Fat Barbie is genius but Nancy flipped out when she saw her. Our mother, whose statuesque blond Minnesouda beauty makes her look like a Barbie, is a size four on her bloated days.

Grandpa, as far as any child is concerned, their parents don't have any sort of genitals. It's all blank down there. Like Barbie and Ken dolls.

Oooh. Barbie has a brain, huh?" The smile was gone. His voice low, gravelly. "Oooh. Ken has an attitude," she snapped back.

I think Ken should grow some balls and tell Barbie to piss off," Matt said after Ashley waved an accusing finger in Darren's (leg-puppy) face, then stomped off to a table beside a window.

So why do our churches feel more like country clubs than AA? Why do we mumble through rote confessions and then conjure plastic Barbie and Ken smiles as we turn to each other to pass the peace? What makes us exchange the regular pleasantries--"I'm fine. How are you?"--while mingling beneath a cross upon which hangs a beaten, nearly naked man, suffering publicly on our behalf?

At home, she toed the party line: “The greatest calling for a woman is to be a Catholic wife and mother.” But I sensed that she hated the 1960s convention of stay-at-home motherhood. In my thirties, when my father shipped me my old Barbie-doll cases that had been sealed in storage since my mother’s death, I found evidence of her unhappiness. My Barbie stuff was a mirror of her values. She never told me that marriage could be a trap, but she refused to buy my Barbie doll a wedding dress. She didn’t say, “I loathe housework,” but she refused to buy Barbie pots and pans. What she often said, however, was “Education is power.” And in case I was too thick to grasp this, she bought graduation robes for Barbie, Ken, and Midge.

Sometimes mothers blame Barbie for negative messages that they themselves convey, and that involve their own ambivalent feelings about femininity. When Mattel publicist Donna Gibbs invited me to sit in on a market research session, I realized just how often Barbie becomes a scapegoat for things mothers actually communicate. I was sitting in a dark room behind a one-way mirror with Gibbs and Alan Fine, Mattel's Brooklyn-born senior vice president for research. On the other side were four girls and an assortment of Barbie products. Three of the girls were cheery moppets who immediately lunged for the dolls; the fourth, a sullen, asocial girl, played alone with Barbie's horses. All went smoothly until Barbie decided to go for a drive with Ken, and two of the girls placed Barbie behind the wheel of her car. This enraged the third girl, who yanked Barbie out of the driver's seat and inserted Ken. "My mommy says men are supposed to drive!" she shouted.

But there was one girl who had a big influence over me. Barbie. I worshipped Barbie. In fact, I would say Barbie was my twelve-inch plastic life coach. She had it all, a camper, a dune buggy, even a dream house. Part of why it was a dream house to me was that she was the only one who lived there. Her boyfriend, Ken, came to visit when she--er, I decided. She had a sports car and would bounce from job to job as she--er, I saw fit.Barbie owned zero floral baby-making dresses. I craved that indepence. And her weird-ass boobs? So what? She still reached the steering wheel of her royal blue sports car. Some people thought that the fact that her feet were fucked and she couldn't stand was a problem. But to me, it meant she was free. Free from standing at a stove, or a washing machine, or with a baby hanging off her hip. She has no hip. She has no hips. Plus, she didn't have to walk; she drove her convertible everywhere. God, I loved Barbie. She was free in every way I knew how to define freedom.

A man walks into the toy store to get a Barbie doll for his daughter. So he asks the assistant, as you would, "How much is Barbie?"      "Well," she says, "we have Barbie Goes to the Gym for $19.95, Barbie Goes to the Ball for $19.95, Barbie Goes Shopping for $19.95, Barbie Goes to the Beach for $19.95, Barbie Goes Nightclubbing for $19.95, and Divorced Barbie for $265.00."       "Hey, hang on," the guy asks, "why is Divorced Barbie $265.00 when all the others are only $19.95?"        "Yeah, well, it's like this....Divorced Barbie comes with Ken's house, Ken's car, Ken's boat, Ken's furniture...

Fear and desire for pleasure. Aggressiveness comes out of fear, predominantly, and sexuality predominantly out of the other. But they mix in the middle. Anyway, both of these impulses can destroy order, which comes out of both drives, and which is another human need I haven't yet fit into my scheme. So both have to be controlled. But in fact, despite religious commands to the contrary, aggressiveness has never really been condemned. It's been exalted, from the Bible through Homer and Virgil right down to Humbert Hemingway. Have you ever heard of a John Wayne movie being censored? did you ever see them take war books off the bookstands? They leave the genitals off Barbie and Ken, but they manufacture every kind of war toy. Because sex is more threatening to us than aggression. There have been strict rules about sex since the beginning of written rules, and even before, if we can believe myth. I think that's because it's in sex that men feel most vulnerable. In war they can hype themselves up, or they have a weapon. Sex means being literally naked and exposing your feelings. And that's more terrifying to most men than the risk of dying while fighting a bear or a soldier. Look at the rules! You can have sex if you're married, and you have to marry a person of the opposite gender, the same color and religion, an age close to your own, of the right social and economic background, even the right height, for God's sake, or else everybody gets up in arms, they disinherit you or threaten not to come to the wedding or they make nasty cracks behind your back. Or worse, if you cross color or gender lines. And once you're married, you're supposed to do only certain things when you make love: the others all have nasty names. When after all, sex itself, in itself, is harmless, and aggression is harmful. Sex never hurt anyone.

LEI: Io mi alzo dopo di lui, lui va a letto prima di me. LUI: Lei va a letto dopo di me, io mi alzo prima di lei. LEI: Facciamo di tutto tranne l'amore. LUI: È sorprendentemente facile. LEI: Basta scordarti. LUI: Che hai quelle cosine lì. LEI: Per giocare a mamma e papà. LUI: Come Ken. LEI: Come Barbie. LUI: Anche se i nostri corpi non sono d'accordo. LEI: Anche se ci svegliano di notte. LUI: Anche se si cercano senza trovarsi, ciascuno girato dalla sua parte. LEI: Anche se ululano alla morte. LUI: O all'amore. LEI: O alla morte dell'amore. LUI: Qui giacciamo noi.

Eleanor didn't know the first thing about kissing. Of course, she'd watched a million kisses on TV (thank you, Fonzie), but TV never showed you the mechanics of it. If Eleanor tired to kiss Park it would be like a realise version of some little girl making her Barbie kiss Ken. Just smashing their faces together.

Was it possible to be in love with two people at the same time? It wasn’t something I’d ever considered before. My Barbie never married Ken and G.I. Joe, the idea had never crossed my mind.

Looking stoic, she was sitting in the seat closest to the casket. Genevieve. My body went rigid, an unexpected surge of possessiveness running through me. Like Liam, Genevieve also had blonde hair. My boyfriend had been fucked over by Barbie and Ken. And I was more like the Bratz doll rebound.

BARBIE GOES TO WAR There are more than a billion Barbies. Only the Chinese outnumber them. The most beloved woman on the planet would never let us down. In the war of good against evil, Barbie enlisted, saluted, and marched off to Iraq. She arrived at the front wearing made-to-measure land, sea, and air uniforms reviewed and approved by the Pentagon. Barbie is accustomed to changing professions, hairdos, and clothes. She has been a singer, an athlete, a paleontologist, an orthodontist, an astronaut, a firewoman, a ballerina, and who knows what else. Every new job entails a new look and a complete new wardrobe that every girl in the world is obliged to buy. In February 2004, Barbie wanted to change boyfriends too. For nearly half a century she had been going steady with Ken, whose nose is the only protuberance on his body, when an Australian surfer seduced her and invited her to commit the sin of plastic. Mattel, the manufacturer, announced an official separation. It was a catastrophe. Sales plummeted. Barbie could change occupations and outfits, but she had no right to set a bad example. Mattel announced an official reconciliation.

Mankind will become the new Ken & Barbie in the near future.

We have a COVENANT with WOTAN and it is the Sacred Grudge-Chore of the SubGenius to SMITE The Conspirators and Their slavish Dupes: the Mediocretins, the stupid Pink Boys, the “Hoi Polloi,” Them, the Normals, the Somnabulacs, the Great Unwashed-In-The-Baptism-Of-The-Pee-Of-“Bob,” the malignant ones who breathe down our necks and abuse their territorial urges without ever dreaming that they’re doing it, Assouls, Cage Men, Infidels, Sames, Anthropophobiacs, Conformers, Timeservers, Mole People, Proleterrorists, Philistines, Pharisees, Witch-burners, the ones who have tried to maim our self-respect down through the centuries by making SLACK and antipredictability TABOO, the Thankers and Wankers, Heilers and Smilers, Sloths and Moths, Cons and Johns, Drivellers and Snivellers, Weepers and Sleepers; CreditHeads, Cliants, Kens and Barbies, Errorists, Yes-Buts, Ordinaryans and Lick Spittles, Corpulators, Signifying Monkeys, UnderAlls, the Slackless Ones…in short, the Remnants of Man: those very False Prophets who have been holding us back and forcing Time Addiction on Themselves…and…others…

Grandpa, as far as any child is concerned, their parents don’t have any sort of genitals. It’s all blank down there. Like Barbie and Ken dolls.

am ten years old and dress my Barbie doll in Daisy Duke shorts and a halter top, and do the best I can to position her and Ken’s straight and stiff joints to hug and make out with each other. My mother sees

You were at the part where we’re Barbie and Ken with absolutely no problems.” He drops his stare back to mine, his irises swirling with beautiful amusement. “Not true. Ken doesn’t have a penis and I’d say that’s a major problem.

Sexual Homicide: Patterns and Motives (1988) by John Douglas,

Nor was Hanson the only budding sex maven to fixate on the dolls. "I definitely lived out my fantasies with them," Madonna told an interviewer. "I rubbed her and Ken together a lot. And

Not surprisingly, when Barbie achieved superstar status, her houses became more ostentatious. Yet even Barbie's three-story town house, with its Tara-like pillars and ersatz wrought-iron birdcage elevator, is an outsider's interpretation of upper-class life. Authentic valuables are to Barbie's possessions what a pungent slab of gorgonzola is to "cheese food"; her furniture and artwork would not look out of place in a Ramada Inn. For all her implicit disposable income, her tastes remain doggedly middle- to lower-middle-class. As pictured in the catalogue, the town house also reflects Dynasty thinking. Both Ken and Barbie are absurdly overdressed—he in a parodic "tuxedo," she in a flouncy confection that barely fits into the elevator.

Traditionally, the needs of ethnically diverse consumers had been met by smaller companies—the equivalent, in movie terms, of independent filmmakers. In the seventies, Shindana introduced two Barbie-like fashion dolls: Malaika, taller and stouter than Barbie; and Career Girl Wanda, about three-quarters as tall as Barbie and as proportionately svelte. But in 1991, when Mattel brought out its "Shani" line—three Barbie-sized African-American dolls available with mahogany, tawny, or beige complexions— there could be no doubt that "politically correct" was profitable. "For six years, I had been preaching these demographics—showing pie charts of black kids under ten representing eighteen percent of the under-ten population and Hispanic kids representing sixteen percent—and nobody was interested," said Yla Eason, an African-American graduate of Harvard Business School who in 1985 founded Olmec Corporation, which makes dolls and action figures of color. "But when Mattel came out with those same demographics and said, 'Ethnically correct is the way,' it legitimatized our business." Some say that the toy industry's idea of "ethnically correct" doesn't go far enough, however. Ann duCille, chairman of the African-American Studies Program and an associate professor of English at Wesleyan University, is a severe critic. After studying representations of race in fashion dolls for over a year, she feels that the dolls reflect a sort of "easy pluralism." "I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say I'd rather see no black dolls than see something like Shani or Black Barbie," she told me, "but I would hope for something more—which is not about to happen." Nor is she wholly enamored of Imani and Melenik, Olmec's equivalent of Barbie and Ken. "Supposedly these are dolls for black kids to play with that look like them, when in fact they don't look like them. That's a problematic statement, of course, because there's no 'generic black kid.' But those dolls look too like Barbie for me. They have the same body type, the same long, straight hair—and I think it sends a problematic message to kids. It's about marketing, about business—so don't try to pass it off as being about the welfare of black children." Lisa Jones, an African-American writer who chronicled the introduction of Mattel's Shani dolls for the Village Voice, is less harsh. Too old to have played with Christie—Barbie's black friend, born in 1968—Jones recalls as a child having expressed annoyance with her white classmates by ripping the heads and arms off her two white Barbie dolls. Any fashion doll of color, she thinks, would have been better for her than those blondes. "Having been a little girl who grew up without the images," she told me, "I realize that however they fail to reach the Utopian mark, they're still useful.

The whole idea of woman as temptress, or woman as subordinate to man, is absent from the Barbie cosmology. Ken is a gnat, a fly, a slave, an accessory of Barbie. Barbie was made perfect: her body has not evolved dramatically with time. Ken, by contrast, was a blunder: first scrawny, now pumped-up, his ever-changing body is neither eternal nor talismanic.

Swicord is not a New Age nut; she's a writer. And even after mega-wrangles with Mattel's management—the musical was sketched out but never produced—she is still a fan of the doll. "Barbie," she said, "is bigger than all those executives. She has lasted through many regimes. She's lasted through neglect. She's survived the feminist backlash. In countries where they don't even sell makeup or have anything like our dating rituals, they play with Barbie. Barbie embodies not a cultural view of femininity but the essence of woman." Over the course of two interviews with Swicord, her young daughters played with their Barbies. I watched one wrap her tiny fist around the doll's legs and move it forward by hopping. It looked as if she were plunging the doll into the earth—or, in any event, into the bedroom floor. And while I handle words like "empowering" with tongs, it's a good description of her daughters' Barbie play. The girls do not live in a matriarchal household. Their father, Swicord's husband, Nicholas Kazan, who wrote the screenplay for Reversal of Fortune, is very much a presence in their lives. Still, the girls play in a female-run universe, where women are queens and men are drones. The ratio of Barbies to Kens is about eight to one. Barbie works, drives, owns the house, and occasionally exploits Ken for sex. But even that is infrequent: In one scenario, Ken was so inconsequential that the girls made him a valet parking attendant. His entire role was to bring the cars around for the Barbies.

The first few were beautiful, but the sparkle and the fluff didn’t quite mesh with the boyish cut of my hair—and I looked a bit like Ken’s little brother trying to moonlight as Barbie.

Some of the male contestants were as cute as the miniature Kens they portrayed. The men in our entourage were more interested in the human ‘Kens’ than the female ‘Barbies.’ One person in particular, who was glad he joined us on the museum tour, was Sam, who cheered and wolf-whistled while the male competitors were doing their twirls. One contestant in particular caught our friend’s fancy: a Mr. Bowtie Ken who sashayed in front of Sam and gave a flirtatious wink. Before I knew it, Mr. Bowtie had returned Sam’s eye signal and chemistry flew between the two.

Oh, hey," I said, "This is Roger, my new partner. Roger, this is Jacob, my, uh...." God, could there be a worse word than "boyfriend?" It made us sound like Barbie and Ken. Or Ken and Ken. Or Ken and G.I. Joe. I told my mind to stop stalling and think of a way to say it. "My partner... at home

Because they were unsure how many days this particular job would take, Ken and Barbie had rented a two-bedroom suite at the sleek skyscraper hotel called the Borgata. The Borgata was supposedly the nicest hotel in Atlantic City, plus it had the added advantage of being away from the Boardwalk, the cesspool strip of gamblers, drug addicts, sinners, carnival barkers, and overall filth. Still,

Nejspíš bylo dobře, že Parkova máma zrovna v tu chvíli otevřela dveře, protože Eleanor uvažovala, že mu dá pusu, a to nebyl ani trochu dobrý nápad – o líbání nevěděla vůbec nic. Samozřejmě viděla milion polibků v televizi (ať žijou sitcomy), ale tam nikdy neukazovali technické detaily. Kdyby se Eleanor pokusila dát Parkovi pusu, dopadlo by to, jako když malá holčička chce, aby se políbili její Barbie a Ken. Prostě jim praští hlavami o sebe.

Remember what I said the other night. Ken and Barbie don’t always end up with each other.

I see us sort of as a modern day Fred and Barney.” Dylan answered in all seriousness. Bo must have made a face because Dylan reached over and squeezed his knee. “Okay no, Scooby and Shaggy? But I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with being either one. How about Ken and GI Joe. You’re my Ken doll. When Ken let his hair grow out long and played football and realized that cheerleader Barbie was all boobs and no dick.

This isn’t the future I’d expected. Even a glowing wasteland or Mad Max desolation would have been better. No God. No family. No country or patriotism. Just a bunch of Ken dolls without Barbies. The gays and their goddamn agenda won, or should I say transsexuals, or asexuals? Liberalism has run unchecked and ruined everything. You probably don’t even have guns anymore, do you?” “Of course not, we have no weapons of any kind,” Hex replied.

A soft knock on the door alerts me to a visitor. I glance down at my clothes; red and pinked striped shorts and a white t-shirt with hearts on it. My PJs. They'll have to be adequate 'cause I refuse to move from my current position. “Yes?” I aim a pointed look at the door and wait. It slides inward, revealing Graham. He’s in his PJs as well, which consist of gray athletic shorts and a yellow shirt with cut-off sleeves. I got him the t-shirt, hence why it reads 'Ken and Barbie For Life' in pink cursive letters. I love that shirt. Proof that he loves me in some form is the fact that he wears it.

A smile flirts with his mouth and my stomach flutters. “I'll make you a chocolate cake tonight.” My mouth waters from those words. “Homemade cake?” “Mmm. With homemade chocolate frosting.” I swallow thickly. “Why you gotta play with my emotions?” “Why you gotta be so easily manipulated? Mention a cake and you're like putty in my hands.” “I can be,” I breathe. His eyes darken and he dips his head toward mine, his lips grazing the corner of my mouth as he whispers, “Not yet.” I think I'm going to fall to the ground when the horn blares and I jump straight up. “Fuck!” Graham winks at me and moves away. “You're getting some bad habits, Ken.” “Can you be one of them, Barbie?” Oh yeah. I am back. Take that, Graham Malone. He pauses by his door, looking at me over the hood of the truck. He shakes his head. “Nah. All I'm gonna be is good. You'll see.” I love competing Graham. He's fricking lickable. I also take back every negative thing I thought about him last night when he refused to fondle me (he should just know to do these things)...and this morning...and...any other time I found him less than appealing

And you’ve always wanted love, something stable. Even before Mom and Dad died, you used to make all your dolls get married.” I huff a laugh at how disgusted he sounds. “Yeah, when the Barbie's weren’t throwing Ken to his grisly death from the top of the Barbie Dreamhouse, you mean.

She looks like I’ve slapped her. I know how bad it looks, me and Bella dressed up like a fucking Ken and Barbie doll

I was given dozens of baby dolls as a kid, which I insisted were my younger sisters. I never played house or dressed up as a bride. My Barbies, it is apparent in hindsight, lived in a very happy child-free lesbian commune with the occasional dramatic visit from Ken and my brother’s Mr. Kotter doll.

But anyways, you let me down, Ken, but I've made my peace with it. With you. With the confused girl-child who used to be me. And Barbie? I've got nothing to say to that bitch. Not till she learns to walk flat-footed, like a real woman.

¿Y si te dijera que aún me gusta jugar con Barbies? —pregunto, él ríe. —Entonces te diría que me prestes un Ken para jugar contigo

—¿Y si te dijera que aún me gusta jugar con Barbies? —pregunto, él ríe. —Entonces te diría que me prestes un Ken para jugar contigo

Honestly, I couldn't blame her for trying. They would make the perfect couple. On his own he looked like he could be a beautiful fairy king. With both of their looks combined, they looked like Barbie and Ken.

I was nineteen and still sheltered, so it was kind of bizarre to me that people felt free to ask, “How have you not had sex yet?” The interviewer would always start with me and then turn to Nick, who was twenty-six and a man. This situation did not compute for them. “And you’re okay with this, Nick?” they’d ask. He always handled it well, since we both knew the question amounted to “You’re cool with dating a girl who doesn’t put out?” “I really respect everything that she cares about and everything that’s important to her,” he said on The View. “And she talked about this from the very beginning, and so I knew going in that that was an issue with her and that was cool with me.” It gave America a story line to follow. The sexy virgin and the long-suffering, but still understanding, hot prince. Barbie and Ken didn’t have sex either, right? Nick loved the fact that I was so strong in my faith and that I had this wide-eyed innocent approach to life. He didn’t share it, though. I would get so frustrated, asking God to take the blindfold from his eyes and help him find a spiritual center. And then I would hear Sarah telling me to relax and to just accept him for who he was.

My Barbie stuff was a mirror of her values. She never told me that marriage could be a trap, but she refused to buy my Barbie doll a wedding dress. She didn't say " I loathe housework," but she refused to buy Barbie pots and pans. What she often said, however, is "Education is power." And in case I was too thick to grasp this, she bought graduation robes for Barbie, Ken and Midge.

He’s won whatever it is he came here for. I watch the slight shift in his eyes. He knows it too. I’m almost impressed. While he’s waiting, the door opens again and a psychotically cute girl walks in and scans the room until her eyes land on him. “Drew!” she yells over the commotion and everyone turns. She seems oblivious to the attention. “I’m not going to sit in the car all day! Come on!” I check her out while she glowers at him. She’s blond, like him, though not exactly; her hair is lighter, like she spent the whole summer in the sun. She’s attractive in the most obvious way possible, wearing a pink, well-filled-out halter top and carrying an obsessively color-coordinated, pink Coach purse. He seems mildly amused by her displeasure. Must be his girlfriend. A matching set, I think. Panty-Combusting Ken comes complete with Piqued Princess Barbie: unachievable measurements, designer purse, and annoyed scowl included!

That’s right!” said Dr. Nicholas. “So in 1959, Ruth and Elliot decided to make the first Barbie doll. It was eleven and a half inches tall, and it sold for three dollars. It became the most popular doll in the world. Two years later, they came out with Barbie’s boyfriend, Ken, and he was named after their son.

In the sixties, we took acid to make the world weirder. Now the world is weirder than we can handle, and we take Prozac to make it normal.

The twins had returned. "Goth Barbie and Ken, are you stopping in for a visit?" Fen asked as he came to his feet. "Just passing by?" "Fen," Laurie cautioned him. "No, it's fine. Wolf-boy felt abandoned," Reyna said. "We had a puppy once that misbehaved when we left it alone, and the trainer suggested a crate. Do we need a crate?" "Funny." Fen bared his teeth at her. Ray stepped up beside his twin. Baldwin snorted in laughter, earning a dirty look from Fen and a smile from Reyna. "What?" he said. "It was funny." When Fen didn't crack a smile, Baldwin shrugged. "I thought it was funny.

This was an aspect of Barbie-hood that Mary had never given any thought to, that Barbie created Ken, anatomically incorrect to the very core of his brain, where he understood as well as he understood his own name that Barbie was inviolable.

God made Eve out of Adam Capitalism made ken out of barbie

Why do we mumble through rote confessions and then conjure plastic Barbie and Ken smiles as we turn to one another to pass the peace?

This near-mediocrity carried its own special kind of boredom, an almost polished, plastic kind reminiscent of a Malibu Barbie dollhouse. It appears shiny and neat, but really you are trapped for eternity, looking out at a world with a smile that feels like someone else painted on you, rather than your own. I wasn’t Ken. But more like Ken’s decent looking friend, Bill.

Descubrí que con él no solo quería compartir media pizza, sino la pizza entera. Con él quería la Barbie, el Ken y la DreamHouse. Con él lo quería todo. Porque, aunque me costase entenderlo, en cierta manera, sabía que lo quería. Y solo esperaba que él también quisiese y sintiese lo mismo que yo.

I knew early on that children weren’t in my plans. I never once played with baby dolls. I preferred Barbies because it would have been illegal to dress up a baby for her Studio 54 date with Ken. I never felt a biological tug looking at children. It’s not that I’m missing maternal feelings, it’s more like they apply only to cats and dogs, possibly small monkeys. While I’m happy for everyone who wants a family, I look at the notion of having kids the same way I look at people who get tattoos on their faces, like, “Hoo-boy, that’s permanent.