“The Hills” is about nothing. I think the girls are beautiful and when they cry their mascara runs and that’s real, but I don’t get it!”
I didn’t get it either. When the show is on, I can’t seem to pull myself away. The show isn’t even meant for me. I am after all, past the demographic that would aspire to be BFF’s with LC and the gang. Beach party with Brody and Frankie – no thank you. I’ll choose my hubby and my grubby t-shirts anyday.
Last night, I finally understood the appeal. The scenes, the characters…so familiar…almost nostalgic…then it hit me.
Lauren Conrad is Barbie.
A pretty girl with a nice car, and dream house who has a gang of equally pretty friends who love boys and fashion. I have played out the very same dramas hundreds times with my own Barbie dolls as a little girl. The parallels are quite startling. I made clothes for my Barbie, Lauren Conrad is a fashion designer. Lauren has Brody, Barbie has Ken. Lauren is a mega-celebrity, attending red carpet galas one day, then goes to work and school the next. So does Barbie. Barbie has huge boobs and are made of plastic, so does Heidi. Each new character has a sister coming in and out of the picture (Lauren, Whitney, Audrina, Spencer and Heidi all had their sisters ‘guest star’) just as Mattel created sisters for Barbie – anyone have a Skipper/Kelly doll?
The plots, far from being real reality are sappy daydreams of a six-year-old. ‘Let’s go to the pool.’ ‘Let’s get dressed up and go to a fancy party.’ ‘Let’s have lunch. Nyam nyam nyam (chewing)… (after 3 seconds) I’m done. Let’s go shopping!’ Break-ups, girl spats and sibling rivalry are as gritty as it gets. Nobody has a drinking problem, nobody gets an abortion. It makes me wonder if any of MTV’s writers are of legal working age.
As Lauren Conrad leaves the show, it makes me question the show’s future. Like when my favourite Barbie found her tragic fate flushed down the toilet, will Kristin Cavalari take her place as the new doll out of the box. I predict a strong start, with interest waning over time. If you don’t believe me, just ask any six-year-old.

