Whatever next?

Barbie at 40 was last month the star resident in the window of FAO Swartz's toyshop in New York on Central Park. Where was the Barbie department? I asked an assistant on the way in. "Just follow the bubbly shoes!" was the intriguing answer.

Lo, the Barbie department turned out to be marked with several perspex tubes, within which hundreds of pink plastic shoes bubbled and swirled on their fountains of water.

While within the boundaries of the bubbly shoes (searching out the most kitsch, pink and fluffy Barbie bag on offer there, for future ironic nights out in Dublin), something wild caught my eye.

There on show in one of many glass cases, along with Astronaut Barbie and Basketball Barbie was Disabled Barbie, reclining in a wheelchair. In a week in New York, this was definitely the weirdest thing I saw; a surreal meeting of kitsch, grief, reality, and political correctness. The rest of the week was spent intermittently speculating on what I might see on my next visit: Amputee Barbie, perhaps, with a selection of prosthetic limbs, or Blind Barbie, with a kennel full of fluffy dogs, coloured canes, and assorted glasses . . .