"When I was 6, I got the Barbie Three-Story Townhouse, which had a plastic elevator that you operated by pulling a string. The whole place looked a lot like Phyllis's apartment on Phyllis—very hanging-ferns-and-bentwood-rocker. Though my sisters and I were not huge Barbie fans, or big Barbie players (our Fisher Price Little People, on the other hand, we played with for hours), we loved her accoutrements—I had the townhouse; my sister Andrea had her jet; my sister Stephanie had her camper. Maybe if I gave this half a second's thought, I would conclude that we didn't want to play with Barbie as much as we wanted to be rich like her."—Rory Evans, contributing editor
"My little brother gave my Barbie nipples with a Bic ballpoint. I think I shaved his GI Joe's head in retaliation."—Chris Frey, fashion market director
"My parents learned that my Barbie obsession could be used to their advantage. After trying everything to get me to quit sucking my thumb, they broke down and did the unthinkable: bribed me with the Barbie mansion I'd been lusting after. And it worked like a charm. It was a hideous piece of hot pink plastic that took up an entire corner of my room, but I adored it and played with it every day. And as a child of my word, the thumb sucking promptly stopped."—Elena North-Kelly, home assistant
"Every time I had an ice cream cone, I'd eat everything but the bottom tip of the cone, making it the perfect size for my Barbie to carry and enjoy."—Jane Sung, associate fashion editor
"The best memories I have are of cobbling together her world myself: filling the bathroom sink to give her a pool, building a bedroom out of socks and Legos, and helping my mom (who could sew) design gowns out of scrap fabric. Still, just writing this makes me want to go buy the dream house—and the Easy-Bake oven, while I'm at it—right now." —Miranda Crowell, features editor
"My Barbie's name was always, always Barbara. Ken's name was usually Steve. These were the most all-American names I knew." —Jennifer Tung, health and beauty director
"My older sister Heather and I were serious about our Barbie play, especially when it came to fashion. We refused to repeat an outfit on Barbie until we had gone through a full wardrobe rotation, which apparently made an impression on Heather—she now does the same thing with her 3-year-old daughter." —Colleen Egan, associate Web editor
"We never played with them. My sisters and I did only two things, and then the Barbies were forgotten in a drawer: cut their hair and drew pubic hair on them." —Kiera Coffee, home editor
"At a certain point, I decided that Barbie's dream house was feeling a little empty. Sure, Skipper and Ken were frequent visitors, but I was sure that what Barbie really wanted was a baby. I must have known that Mattel was never going to make a pregnant Barbie, so I took matters into my own hands. I found a small plastic baby doll and stored it under Barbie's bed. I then stripped Barbie and Ken naked and put them under the covers. I mushed them together and then, after a minute or two, Barbie said to Ken, 'I hear something under the bed! She's here!' The happy couple wrapped the baby up in some cotton balls, stuck her in a jewelry box, and promptly forgot about her." —Lori Leibovich, contributing editor
"Most of the 'storylines' that I made up for my Barbies involved either something really normal or really adventurous—from going to a drive-in (which I became obsessed with doing after I saw Grease), to going up in a hot-air balloon (which was actually my plastic hot pink Easter basket)." —Monica Perry, Web assistant
"My neighbor Susan McMillan had the whole scene—Ken, Barbie, their friends, their convertible, the house. Playing with them at her house gave me entrée to a magical world of unobtainable greatness. Really just too great to actually have myself! Then one day, Susan's mom gave me a Barbie carrying case full of Susan's old Barbies. Susan had grown tired of them and her sadistic younger brother John had cut off their hair, drawn on their faces, and severed their limbs. Their disfigurement took away from the essence of Barbie—perfection. These Barbies had lost their way, and I had lost interest in them. I cut their hair some more, making them look even worse, packed them back up into the carrying case, and tossed them to the back of the closet." —Kelly Alfieri, Web director
"My mom told me how babies were made when I was about 4 (That's a longer story, and it involves Madonna), and I used Barbie and Ken as educational tools to help teach my friends and cousins about the miracle of conception. This proved to be quite challenging as a great deal of my lesson involved explaining Ken's anatomical deficiencies." —Sarah Engler, associate editor
