“The Barbie Experience” is how I’m referring to my 5 hours spent in a daze of candy pink make-up and barely there clothing which shimmered and slithered far too much for a freezing Perth afternoon. Being Barbie wasn’t fun or, to my surprise, even remotely entertaining. Being Barbie was downright humiliating and degrading. I’m not the type of chick who whinges about carrying a few extra kilo’s. I am what I am, and I’m pretty happy with my body after pushing out a kid and living on 5 hours of sleep a day for over 10 years. But, holy hell people! Wearing Barbie’s shiny short skirts and over tight tops made me feel dirty and cheap. I felt exposed as I walked the streets and I lost all confidence to look people in the eye because I felt so ashamed of the trashy clothing I was wearing. I cringed at the thought of bumping into anyone I knew, and the disgusted looks on people’s faces as I teetered past them in hot pants and electric pink stilettos reflected how I was feeling about myself. I felt disgusting.
With the help of WA Fashion Designer Jonté, I re-created perfect replicas of three Barbie outfits to fit my exact size and for one afternoon I dressed exactly like my daughter’s Barbie Doll.
Lilli, however, was modeled after a sultry, almost pornographic caricature in a German comic strip; she was a far cry from the innocent, all-American image Ruth wanted to capture, and it was Mattel's job to change that. Several trips to and from Japan finally ended with a deal that changed the pursed lips, widow's peak, and heavy make-up of Lilli into an embodiment of the quintessential American teenager, created to "project every little girl's dream of the future"
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