Stacie wasn’t with the in crowd. She had minimal friends and she didn’t know why. Everyday, when she looked into the mirror, she had to check that the pretty stranger in front of her was really her.

What was wrong with her?

Eventually she decided that she was lacking makeup, as the girls around school had faces covered in it. So, she went to the store and bought everything they had that could be used. She painted her face; red lips, blue eyes, rosy checks, white skin. And, once again, she found that she still didn’t have that many friends.

She watched everyone else; and the magnificent clothes they wore. So, she brought new clothes. Dresses, skirts, tops, even new under garments; although she didn’t understand why there were so many different patterns. But, yet again, she found she was still lacking in friends.

So, she studied the popular girls more; followed them home, and that’s when she saw it. They had better houses than her. So, she found herself buying another house: a mansion. This time friends started coming in, she gained two new friends; Males. She had become more popular, but not perfect...

Why wasn’t she perfect?

Watching how everyone else traveled to school, she saw what else she needed; they all had cars (or at least, their mothers and fathers did) and she didn’t. Asking car dealers she found out what the most popular, the most perfect, car was. And she bought it. People went into the car with her, and she found herself with yet more friends. But there were still a few people that weren’t her friends...

Why wasn’t she perfect?

With a now trained eye Stacie looked at the other girls; wondering what made them look better than she did. She looked at her self in the mirror, looked at the other girls, noting everything. Then, she walked off to the doctors and got herself new breasts. Suddenly, every male in the school became her friend. There were only three people left who weren’t.

Why wasn’t she perfect?

She went to the store, and dyed her hair. She went back to the doctors, and perfected her body; she became perfect.

And everyone became her friend.

The next day, no one saw her. And the day after that, and the day after that. Soon, two weeks had passed and no one had seen her. So, people went to her house. They broke in, after the door wasn’t being answered. They followed the footsteps of the perfect rooms until they got to her door. No one had ever been in her bedroom before.

They slowly opened her door, and found her hanging by a noose from the ceiling; she had became perfect, and with that, she had nothing left to perfect.

However, even though this was the most immediate thing to see in the room, it wasn’t the thing that shocked everyone the most.

Around her walls, on shelves, were piles upon piles of Barbie dolls. Barbie dolls were scattered across the floor; some with clothes on, some without. Stacie’s carpet had images of Barbie dolls on it. Her sheets, pillows, wallpaper, bin, lampshade...all Barbie.

That was not the most shocking thing.

Beneath her feet was a small note she had written, in pink ink, on Barbie paper. That was the most shocking thing to the teenagers. It said:

If Barbie’s so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?