Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what appears to be a miniature, plastic effigy of her species. This "Barbie Basics" creature is a tall, unnervingly flexible homunculus clad in a scrap of black fabric and what I can only assume are some sort of elaborate, non-functional bindings on its feet. Its primary features seem to be a mane of synthetic blonde fur, perfect for snagging a claw in, and a truly unsettling ability to have its entire head removed and swapped. While the posable limbs might offer a moment's diversion as a wrestling dummy, the true potential for entertainment lies in the morbid modularity of its construction. Frankly, it seems less like a toy and more like a grim lesson in anatomy, but I suppose I could be persuaded to bat the detached head under the sofa.
Key Features
- Barbie Basics is back and more versatile than ever featuring a line of timeless dolls with universal-fit wardrobe classics, swappable heads and posable bodies.
- This iconic Barbie Signature line relaunches with the Little Black Dress in 5 stunning silhouettes that's perfect for any occasion.
- Barbie Basics Model 02 doll rocks a mock neck LBD with fun side cut-outs and strappy knee-high gladiator boots. Her sleek, platinum blonde, side ponytail complements her silvery hoop earrings.
- Designed with premium stretchable fabric, her dress is one-size-fits-all dolls. Mix, match and style so many different iconic looks on any Barbie body type.
- A special head connector allows collectors to swap her head with other dolls in You Create Barbie Basics Kits (sold separately).
- With a Made-to-Move body, she's perfect for posing, photographing and posting her #OOTD and #YouCreateBarbieBasics transformations.
- Discover the whole Barbie Basics line, where every Barbie has the wardrobe essentials to wear, share and style in her own iconic ways.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a transparent prison, and my human handled it with a reverence I typically reserve for a freshly opened can of tuna. She called it "Barbie," a name with all the gravitas of a gnat. Once freed, it was placed on the mantelpiece, a silent, blonde sentinel staring into the middle distance with a vacant smile. I watched it from the comfort of the rug, my tail twitching. Its stillness was a challenge. Its perfection, an insult. That night, under the sliver of moonlight filtering through the blinds, I made my move. A fluid leap from the armchair to the bookshelf, and then a delicate, practiced hop to the mantel. I was face-to-face with the intruder. It smelled of nothing, a sterile, plastic void. I nudged its shiny gladiator boots with my nose. Pathetic. I gave a tentative pat to the stiff ponytail; it felt like cheap straw. My initial assessment was bleak: this was a monument to boredom. A complete waste of a perfectly good mantelpiece. Disgusted, I decided to remove it. A firm shove with my head should do it. I pushed, expecting it to topple over with a satisfying clatter. Instead, something far more bizarre occurred. As it fell, there was a soft *pop*, and the creature came apart. The body, now headless, clattered to the floor, but the head, with its serene and unchanging smile, rolled gently across the mantel and stopped right in front of my paws. I froze, my gray fur on end. Was this a defense mechanism? Did it shed its own head to distract predators? This was a level of biological strangeness I had never encountered. I stared at the disembodied head, then down at the limp body on the floor. My cynicism melted away, replaced by a profound sense of awe and discovery. This wasn't a dull figurine. This was a two-part system of amusement. The head was a light, perfectly rollable object, far superior to any simple ball. The body, with its clicking, posable limbs, could be dragged behind the couch and dismembered at my leisure. My human may have bought a "collector doll," but what she had truly brought into my home was the most avant-garde prey I had ever had the pleasure of hunting. This Barbie, in all its deconstructed glory, was unequivocally worthy. The resulting shrieks from my human the next morning were merely the chef's kiss.
