My quest to become a living doll

Since she was a child, Susan envied the womanly curves of her Barbie dolls. But would she take her admiration to extremes?

The sewing machine clattered noisily as I peered at the needle jumping up and down.

Taking my foot off the pedal, I scrutinised the stitches on the pink material closely.

Satisfied the seams were nice and neat, I pressed the pedal again and continued.

Ten minutes later, I’d finished, and reached for one of my Barbie dolls.

Every Christmas and birthday, I asked for the latest models of these beautiful dolls.

Nobody ever had to ask what I wanted for a present!

I pressed up Barbie’s arms and pulled over the pink minidress I’d just created for her.

‘You look gorgeous,’ I whispered.

I dressed her in the same way I longed to be able to wear clothes myself — in a loud, vibrant pink with curves on parade.

I adored Marilyn Monroe and watched her films endlessly to monitor how she wriggled, wiggled and pouted.

My desired look was a total contrast to what I had to wear at my strict, all-girls school.

My uniform was a dull-as-ditchwater green and brown hue.

The skirt had to be below the knee, and every time I tried to hoist it up, I’d get told off.

I wanted dazzling blonde hair with tresses I could shake alluringly.

But, at school, my long brown hair with a fringe had to be secured primly in a no-nonsense bun or ponytail.

But away from school I let my wilder side burst out.

In my later teens, I poured myself into a pink minidress, just like the way I’d dressed my Barbie. And I felt sexy and bolder.

But my parents and younger brothers weren’t too keen on being seen with me.

‘Walk behind us,’ they instructed, as I tottered along on my cute, low kitten heels, enjoying the stares from people on the street.

I relished the idea of throwing away my drab school uniform forever.

By the time I left, I was voted the girl ‘most likely to become a porn star’. I took it as a compliment!

When I went to uni to study history of art, I was finally able to become the person I wanted to be — a bimbo!

I worked part-time in bars and restaurants and saved up my money to put the first part of my plan into operation.

At the age of 20, I splashed out £5,000 to have my boobs enlarged from a 34B to a 34E.

‘Those are amazing,’ said one woman.

Men liked them too. But I’d flinch when a bloke tried to make a grab at them.

Sometimes I’d hear the words ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ but I held my head high.

Wobbling down the street one day, wearing tight leggings and a top, a man suddenly strode alongside me.

‘Are you single?’ he asked. ‘You’re perfect. Will you marry me?’

I’d had nasty and nice comments before, but never a proposal of marriage!

‘Thank you,’ I replied modestly. ‘But I’m not looking for a husband or a wife right now.’

He smiled and moved on.

By now, I knew I was pansexual — I was attracted to people of all genders.

Deciding I needed to be around people like me, I moved to London, to give full rein to my ‘bimbofication’.

That was the word for my form of self-expression.

But it was also combined with ‘dollification’ — a fetish which changed a person into a human doll.

I had Botox done to freeze my face, to tone down my expressions and bring me one step nearer to my goal of looking like a doll.

And lip filler gave me a luscious pout.

‘You’re ruining your natural beauty,’ a partner told me.

But, to me, it was the epitome of beauty, so I went ahead and had another boob job when I was 28.

This time, they doubled in size.

I got a kick every time I looked down to see the huge volume of plastic on my chest.

‘You need counselling,’ one of my family said, shaking their head in exasperation.

But I shook my head.

‘No! This is me being me!’ I retorted.

Why didn’t they want me to live the life I wanted for myself?

A hard decision had to be made and, sadly, I decided to cut ties with my family, leaving my collection of 100 Barbies at home.

They just didn’t understand what drove me on in my quest to resemble a doll.

Couldn’t they see I wanted to be as plastic as I possibly could be?

But there was one change I’d put off for years — my hair.

Despite all the other drastic changes to my body, I’d shied away from having my brown hair dyed blonde.

But I found the courage to go full bimbo.

I was ecstatic when the hairdresser showed me the final result — a cascade of blonde tresses shimmered around my shoulders.

But I still had further to go.

I wanted a tiny waist to give myself the perfect hourglass figure to show off my curvy hips.

So I gave myself the target of getting down to 28 inches around the middle.

But how was I going to achieve this?

It wasn’t a simple matter of going on a diet.

Then, I hit on an idea — corset training!

The first time I wore one, I wriggled in pleasure, savouring the constricted feeling around my waist.

It felt just like a warm, never-ending hug!

I was all too aware that women years ago felt trussed up and trapped in bone-crunching corsets of the past.

Flinging them away was their way of getting free.

But for me, the opposite was true.

Pushing my curves into the gorgeous garment was my way of gaining freedom to express who I wanted to be.

I wore one for a few hours and then took it off.

It worked — my waist started shrinking — but then I contemplated having some ribs removed to make it even slimmer.

It was extreme and I’d been warned that this could affect my chances of having children — but I didn’t plan on having any kids, so I wasn’t bothered by that.

Now I was secure in my own identity, I wanted to help others on the same journey.

I started designing clothes again, but this time for people, not dolls.

Streetwear for bimbos.

Naturally, pink was the dominant colour.

The tops are extra stretchy in case customers are thinking of having their boobs made bigger.

I bet not many fashion designers think of that!

I’ve called my business after the name I’ve adopted for myself — Dolly Mix. I also call myself Ditzy Dolly.

Until the beginning of the pandemic, I was much less open about my bimbo lifestyle.

But I’m not hiding away any more.

This is me — pink, fabulous and plastic!

Susan Smith, 29, east London