Forever Barbie_ The Unauthorized Biography of a Real Doll - Lord [23]
OBLIVIOUS TO THE UPHEAVALS, BARBIE KEPT AMASSING clothes. In 1960, Mattel eliminated "Gay Parisienne," "Roman Holiday," and "Easter Parade" from her wardrobe. In their place, Charlotte Johnson concocted "Silken Flame," a knee-length white satin skirt with a red velvet bodice, "Enchanted Evening," a pale-pink floor-length gown with a rabbit fur stole, and "Solo in the Spotlight," a strapless black sequined dress with a tutu at the ankles.
Packaged with a rose and a miniature microphone, "Solo" was not the sort of thing one wore to a school dance. Its look was very Dietrich, evocative of the chanteuse she portrayed in Billy Wilder's Foreign Affair. One could imagine the Lilli doll wearing it, rasping out "Falling in Love Again" in some smoky Berlin cabaret. Patterned, Johnson said, on the outfit worn by a nightclub singer named Hildegarde, "Solo" hinted at Barbie's tainted genealogy, her emergence from the depths of an Axis-power cocktail lounge. As a counter to its sophistication, Johnson designed "Friday Night Date"— an outfit Pollyanna might wear to a church social—a blue corduroy jumper with a birdhouse applique that came with two aggressively wholesome glasses of milk.
Further evidence that Charlotte invented Barbie in her own image was "Busy Gal," a red linen suit that came with a sketch-filled portfolio labeled "Barbie Fashion Designer." Because neither Ruth nor Charlotte was a housewife. Barbie, from the outset, worked—at both dream and humdrum jobs. She served drinks to thankless travelers as an American Airlines stewardess and emptied bedpans as a registered nurse.
There was only one accessory Barbie lacked—a steady boyfriend. Consumer demand, however, overcame Mattel's reluctance to make a male doll, and in 1961 it brought out Ken.
Like Barbie, Ken was purchased in a bathing suit. His other essentials— a letter sweater, a tuxedo, and, because this was the era of Sloan Wilson, a gray flannel suit—were sold separately. Ken's blazers and trousers were intricately tailored; they looked like the fine, handmade suits that businessmen bought in the Orient for a fraction of what they would have cost on Savile Row. And, in fact, they were: the Japanese tailor who made Frank Nakamura's suits had a hand in designing them.
Making Ken's clothing was, however, far less of a problem than making Ken. At Mattel, a storm raged over his genitalia. Ruth and Charlotte, who wanted what Ruth termed "a bulge" in his groin, squabbled with the male executives, who didn't.
After the women vetoed a male doll that resembled Barbie in the crotch, three new versions were sculpted, with three degrees of what Charlotte called "bumps." "One was—you couldn't even see it," she said. "The next one was a little bit rounded, and the next one really was. So the men—especially one of the vice presidents—were terribly embarrassed. And he was a middle-aged man, you know—nothing to get so embarassed about. So Mrs. Handler and I picked the middle one as being the one that was nice-looking. And he said he would never have it in the toy line unless we painted Jockey shorts over it."
"None of us wanted a doll with a penis showing," Ruth amplified. "If the child took off the swimsuit, we felt it would be inappropriate with an adult boy to show the penis—so we all reached a conclusion that he should have a permanent swimsuit."
All except Charlotte, that is. She said: "Do you know what every little girl in this country is going to do? They are going to sit there and scratch that paint off to see what's under it. What else would they do?" Reluctantly, the men agreed. Ken got his "bump," but in a version modified to fit under trousers. "I had to work with the sculptor a little bit," Charlotte said, "because I realized