The End Of Ken
Sun Herald
Sunday April 25, 2004
"I never liked him much anyway," I say to my pal, as girlfriends do when a friend dumps a dodgy boyfriend. At least I would say that if this pal weren't packed up, along with all her worldly goods, at the bottom of a suitcase in Mum's attic several thousand kilometres away. That's Barbie for you, making headlines even when she's buried alive under plush rabbits and Enid Blyton books. She's got class, that girl - or at least some good people on her team.
The announcement that she was splitting up with Ken, her plastic partner of 43 years, knocked wars and politics off the news pages so slickly that I was convinced it was a stunt. (After all, at 45, a girl needs a few tricks to stay in the spotlight and Ashton Kutcher's taken.) But it's more than two months now and I'm convinced: Ken is tiny relationship roadkill.
I was disappointed there wasn't more local gloating about the Barbster's new bloke. "California Guy Blaine"
is actually an Aussie and the first to score an American sweetheart since Russell met Meg. With such a disappointing Oscars year, the public needed a lift but no one seemed to notice what this 10-centimetre spunk had quietly achieved. Well, I did. Onya, Blaine.
Anyway, when the news came, just before Valentine's Day, the world's moralists went into angst overdrive. Who would be left to teach little girls about everlasting love? Certainly not this plastic slapper, with her new tan, wardrobe and toy boy. Angry mothers wrote to newspapers and clergymen were wheeled out to mourn the demise of coupledom. Others said she'd obviously dumped Ken because he wouldn't deliver a ring. It was as if little Barbie represented monogamy's last stand.
As if, indeed. Those people don't know Barbie like I do. There was never much monogamy going on in my Dream House. And certainly not with Ken. My Barbie had all the accessories - the Cadillac, the horse, the Afghan hound - but never boring Ken. She didn't need him while those thrilling real men Action Man and GI Joe were around. And when they were off on tours of duty, she sought solace with the Bionic Man, Buck Rogers and even, in a moment of madness, the Incredible Hulk.
My best friend's Barbie, by contrast, had five Kens all to herself. She rotated them nightly and for laughs, dangled the spare ones upside down, dressed in ballet tutus.
Even "shoplifted Barbie", who led a furtive, lonely life under a friend's bed, didn't turn to Ken for solace. He just didn't have the charisma. There may have been wedding dresses in their wardrobes but our Barbies were typical, modern women - headstrong, career-minded (mine juggled 17 different jobs) and way short of perfect when
it came to relationships. They were before their time.
Knowing Barbie, I won't be surprised if Blaine doesn't last long. They should have called him Transition Guy Blaine - the handsome, low-maintenance bloke a girl sometimes needs to ease her back into singledom. Obliging arm candy who won't take it to heart when she moves on to someone like Hugh Jackman's X-Men action figure.
And what about poor old Ken? Look out for the new model: Break-up Guy Ken. Complete with three-day stubble, bitter scowl, dishevelled clothes and with a voicebox option so you can hear him growl, "She was crazy. All women are" or "I'm seeing this 19-year-old. She digs my sports car."
Meanwhile, Barbie has just hit her independent, fun-loving prime. I just hope the factory has enough plastic to provide her with dates for the next 43 years.
© 2004 Sun Herald
Share This