I Love what you’re wearing!

I Love to read fashion magazines.

I have got a showpony!

[The first three lines are repeated rapidly, faster and faster]

Please be seated.  Presenting: The Forever Virgin.


But what am I going to wear??  Tonight is my Dream Date with Ken.  I haven’t had time to go to the Mall, I’ll have to wear something twice!  This isn’t he first time this year I haven’t been able to make it to the Mall to get a new outfit!  It’s just …. Well … I’ve had so much to do – like my hair …. Oh and career options too!  Options!  Huh!  Oh yeah Barbie you can be Nurse to Doctor Ken or Flight Attendant when he’s pilot!  When I finally did get a chance to be a doctor, I’m madam maternal, carrying a newborn baby: pink rugs for girls, blue for boys!  Last year I was presidential candidate … I wasn’t even in the running.  You know I finally thought they were taking me seriously.  Sucked in again Barbie.


Every damn year for the last thirty-five years it’s been the same deal: I can have any dress, any holiday, any pony, any shoes … almost any career … as long as it doesn’t threaten Ken’s career and as long as I’m sexually attractive to Ken at all times and always available for a date.  Then, the Dream Date. [Sigh] every year it’s part of my reward, it signifies that yet again I’ll achieve my ultimate goal: marriage.  Yes tonight on the Dream Date Ken will give me a beautiful ring, my payment for keeping both my mouths shut.  Every year it’s been the same: I get the ring, the shoes, and the wedding dress, even the groom.  But I never seem to get married.  And I never have a wedding night.


They think I haven’t noticed, the same cycle year after year, they think I’ll be distracted by all my dresses and shoes; they think that’s all I need!  Well, they never asked me what I needed.  They told me.  And when they let me speak I had to say what they wanted to hear..  [Aside, as if conspiring]  You know it was me that slipped in “Math’s class is tough”, not because I’m dumb, not because I’m a bimbo, but because, well … I did find it hard … I never could get the teacher’s attention.  He seemed distracted by the boys and they told me it’s not pretty or nice to interrupt … like the boys do.  They didn’t take “Math’s class is tough” away because it was some stereotype that women aren’t good at maths.  They took it away because it was a woman complaining, because Barbie was saying a need was not being fulfilled.  I was being serious about something, it was my mind not my body, and who wants to hear about that!


They hand me my credit card and pop me in my pink Ferrari and they think: she’d got it made!  They are so jealous … thinking she’d pretty, she’d so nice, I wish I could be her!  Well these shoes are killing me and my feet are permanently deformed!!! [Lift feet out of silver high heels showing instep at high angle].


Little girls write me letters asking how they can have a figure like mine.  They won’t let me reply though; my publicity agent does all that.  But if I could reply I would tell them, yes, well, yes, it is possible to have a figure like mine.  First remove the lower half of your ribcage and have your internal organs compacted.  Oh and your womb, sorry that has to go, forget about fertility, it’s not where I’m at, I mean how could I menstruate, they don’t make tampons that go through solid plastic!   [Aside] Ha!  At least I don’t have to worry about my bikini line; I’ve never had any pubic hair!  [Clear throat, slightly embarrassed]  so I would tell the little girls to strap their feet from age eight, bleach their hair, pluck their eyebrows and worry, no agonise about what to wear, Above all remember to be passive, pretty and nice with a capital submission.  Your face is your fortune.  All I am is beauty …


All I am … I only exist in the eyes of the beholder, I’m totally under the gaze, and I only exist in the viewfinder of desire.  All I am is beauty, all I am is the ultimate femininity missile and I’m aimed right at marriage.  But I never seem to make it, I guess a married Barbie would have to give up all the glamour, I mean I don’t think that Ken is the house husband type, he’s feel embarrassed admitting it at dinner parties.


I’m trapped between puberty and marriage, I can never progress, I can never be free except in my dreams …  I’m the first woman to enter a Game boy!  I’m a Game girl, I can do anything, be anything, but the object of the game is keeping me asleep.  While I’m pacified I can dream an adventure, perhaps one I couldn’t have in the real world.  But one thing remains the same in the dream world and the real world …  my only weapons are my charms.



 [Barbie is clearly very drunk, her clothes are dishevelled, her hair is in disarray, and she is still carrying a bottle of booze she is swilling from, which she ties to hide in her huge bra]


TAXI ! [Falls down]  I love what I’m wearing!  What am I wearing?  [looks at black vinyl g-string showing through her undone skirt]  This isn’t mine!  [Finds money in g-string]  Neither is this!  Oh … hang on – that’s right … what a night.  I sure didn’t expect his when Ponytail Number One hit town.


Oh it was great to see her again, there she was, there I was, Ponytail Number One, the first ever Barbie of 1959.  Oh she was blown out by the Nineties – especially the net.  So we surfed – that’s when the trouble started … The next thing you know Ken and I were having our first ever fight.  He was going to give me a lift home in the Pink Ferrari … but I seem to have earned the cab fare home. [Pats g-string].


TAXI ! [Falls down]  I don’t care what Ken thinks of me!  Especially not after what Ponytail Number One and I found out on the Internet.  We discovered everything that Mattel didn’t want us to know.  For instance: Ken’s namesake was a closet homosexual who died of AIDS related illnesses.  Well Ken really hit the roof when I told him that, especially when I then commented that G.I. Joe had gotten amore muscular chest recently.


Well the two of them left in a huff leaving Ponytail Number One and I to our own devices.  I didn’t even get a chance to drop my other bombshell: that I’m modelled after a German porn doll called Lilli Bild.  I used to be sold in tobacconists as a car accessory and be hung from the dashboard rear view mirror, until fluffy dice became all the rage.  Ponytail Number One did have some race memories but when we surfed the net all the proof was there in living colour.  I’m a Porn Star and Ken’s a Queen!


TAXI ! [Falls down]  My suspicions were finally confirmed!  I mean look, we’ve been dating for 38 years and he hasn’t even tired to kiss me!  He says my tits would get in the way, well my tits are porn star model perfect, unlike that unconvincing lump in his y-fronts.  And besides … he spends far too much time camping with G.I. Joe.


Well now I know I’m really Lilli, porn doll, and sexy plaything.  Now I’ve found the Inner Slut. [Tears open skirt and throws to the ground revealing black suspenders and torn black fish net stockings]  And I’m totally prepared to use it.  No more girl next-door, no more American dream, meet the American fucking nightmare. This year I want my period and I won’t settle for no fucking pretty pink box with blue liquid included.  I want blood!


[Baby Doll drinks gin from a hip flask throughout the performance]


They call me Baby Doll and I’m not a bar slag, I’m a businesswomen.  And I see a bit of eye-candy on sale tonight.  Mmmm … Sweet heart … Yes, you Sweetie, I know what I am but trust me you’re a doll too!  Boy Tour ’97 is leaving in five minutes – be on it!  I’m Baby doll and I’m blonde and I don’t have to think and if I speak like a baby I won’t have to pay for my drinks.  Remember: the bigger the hair, the smaller the hips look.  And don’t ever forget: I’m cold, I’m wet and I’m just plain scared.  Honey if they buy that line a Bloody Mary is on its way over, so grab ya coat darlin’ you’ve pulled.  Is this a sell out or a grand jest?  Let’s go shopping …


So Ladies and Gentlemen, Toy Boys and Scrubbers, I’d like to present the results of Boy tour ’97 where I put myself on the market in the search for the perfect toyboy handbag.  ‘Cause don’t ever forget you are a fucking commodity, however you identify you’ve got a fucking price tag, but you gotta earn a reputation.  [Singing]  “There’s no business like show business, like no business I know everything about it is appealing, anything the traffic will allow …”


I’m a proactive shopper so for the first entrant in Boy Tour ’97 I came across a boy with a thesis in female ejaculation under his belt, so to speak.  I seemed perfect until he uttered these fateful words: “As a feminist I …” Strike One!  Batter Up.  The second entrant in Boy Tour ’97 was a baby boy, bar slag, handbag, toyboy, whitebread, grasshopper who was fond of telling me, as we let the backbone slip: “Not bad for a white girl …”  Strike Two.  But … [Singing] “I will survive, as long as I know how to love I know that I’ll get by, I’ve got all my life to live and all my love to give, I will survive, I will survive, I will survive …”


And now Ladies and Gentlemen, Toy Boys and Scrubbers, I’d like to present the Grande Finale of Boy Tour ’97 where I took on two boys at the same time, two best friends.  Now I know you are all thinking I’m talking literally two boys at the same time but I’ve been there and I’ve done that and frankly I can’t ever be bothered being that motor co-ordinated ever again.  We’ll call these two boys the Dandy Scavenger and the Relic of the British Empire.  Now the Dandy, in exchange for a few kisses, was willing to steal me anything I desired while the Relic took a more formal approach, wining and dining me at our secret liaisons.  Secret he desired especially from his best friend the Dandy Scavenger.  Me keep a secret?  Ha!  I was on Boy Tour ’97 – I was planning t-shirts, tazos and swapcards.


The Relic refused to wear his t-shirt, which proclaimed: “I’m Baby Doll’s secret lover”.  And the Dandy, he got caught in the crossfire between the Relic, me, and another pro-active shopper on a Boy Tour ’97 all of her own.  Now I don’t want to compete with a sister over some whitebread toy boy handbag.  But don’t make my mistake and think that a competitor is on your side.  ‘Cause you throw a few dinner parties and they think your house is a restaurant, you have a spare mattress and they treat it like a hotel.  I don’t think so sweet hearts.  Strike Three!  You are out!  And all alone …  [Singing] “what’s the point in sitting alone in your room?  Come hear the music play, life is a cabaret old chum, come to the cabaret …”


They call me Baby Doll and I’m not a barslag, I’m a businesswoman - a professional Lipstick hetero-feminist.  Fuck Champagne Socialism.  Try Toy Boy Separatism.  ‘Cause sistas Boy Tour ’97 is for all of us!