CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: YOU'VE COME A LONG WAY, TRAILER TRASH BARBIE

Barbie's experiencing alternative lifestyles in San Francisco's Castro District.

I guess I should consider myself lucky that I didn't have to risk life and limb this Christmas searching for a Tickle Me Elmo.

But I did come close to death one Saturday afternoon as I searched through stacks of shirts to find my brother a gift. The counter was so crowded and the shirts were stacked so high that, as I glanced up, I noticed the piles of shirts were quivering and ready to collapse and suffocate us all.

No toy riots, though.

The problem with Christmas is all these really neat toys are available, but if you're over 3 or so, you're missing out.

There are alternatives, though.

In San Francisco (where there are many, many alternatives to just about everything), a shop is selling Anti-Barbies.

There's Trailer Trash Barbie, in which The Blonde sports black roots, a baby on her hip and a cigarette.

Hooker Barbie is outfitted with a negligee and condoms. (I bet Ken loves that.)

And there's Drag Queen Barbie, which is actually Ken in a ball gown and wig.

I mentioned this was in San Francisco, right?

There's no Spank-Me Barbie, though. She's always been kind of a take-charge woman.

The owners of In-jean-ious, located in San Francisco's colorful Castro District, warn their customers that they'd better buy those anti-Barbies quickly. Mattel may not share their sense of humor.

Trademark infringement, any lawyer can tell you, is no laughing matter.

On the other hand, Mattel doesn't sell their Barbies with custom body-piercings.

Barbie does get around. She has a convertible, many houses and a plethora of career opportunities.

I'm waiting for Mattel to issue the Supreme Court Justice Barbie (law clerks and Senate confirmation hearing sold separately).

Barbie is more than a doll. She's an icon. She's the ideal toward which American women are socialized to strive.

I stumbled somewhere along the way, I should point out.

Like most little girls, I had my share of Barbies. First they lost their shoes, then they died in cholera epidemics or earthquakes or other suitably disfiguring catastrophes and were buried under the sweet gum tree.

She was blonde and skinny with big boobs. She deserved to die.

A co-worker mentioned the other day that all he wants for Christmas is the Tickle Me Pamela Anderson Lee doll.

I assume she's inflatable. Bring a big pump.

Because Barbie is such a cultural phenomenon (a touchstone, if you will, of American womanhood), she's a target.

Barbie-bashing is almost as popular as Barbie-hoarding. I guess half of us are trying to recapture our childhoods and the other half (me included) are trying to recover, even if it means shredding the reputation of a 9 1/2-inch-tall blonde who wears a D-cup and who's had a series of really good jobs.

On the other hand, it's kind of pathetic that we feel pressured to emulate a piece of plastic who's knees don't bend.

Even if she is a busty little blonde with no hips.

~Peggy O'Farrell is a copy editor for the Southeast Missourian.