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I walk through the restaurant, which is vaguely porny, like everything else in Odessa, and Barbie gets closer and realer with every step.
Her brand-new hair extensions, the color of Chardonnay, hang straight down, reaching her nonexistent hips.
Imagine a blind date, with all the attendant "Does she look like her picture?
" jitters, multiplied by the queasy fear that she Her improbable looks—the Margaret Keane peepers, the head quizzically cocked like a sunflower too heavy for its stem, the plasticky skin and wasp waist—reached the West when her self-shot home videos began drawing gawkers to You Tube.
This gag-inducing mix, she explains, is her dinner; she is on an all-liquid diet these days.
I don't quite know where to go from there, so I ask about her nails, which feature a complicated pointillist design of pink, lavender, and turquoise.
She goes and files it down a little, and it's all good.
Still, where others had dabbled, she went for broke.Not so long ago, images of a young girl washed over the Internet.She was impossibly blonde and impossibly shaped, and surely it was all a masterly work of Photoshop. Michael Idov travels to meet with Eastern Bloc Barbie herself and discovers that her world is far more bizarre and twisted than anything in the photos Per Barbie's instructions, I enter Kamasutra, a brightly lit Ukrainian version of an Indian restaurant.Her features are the features we men playfully ascribe to ideal women; it's how we draw them in manga and comics and video games.
Except we don't expect them to comply with this oppressive fantasy so fully.A living Barbie is automatically an Uncanny Valley Girl.