Ken

This afternoon I immediately notice a certain man on the six train. He is dressed for success in a crisp navy Hugo Boss suit with silver cuff links and a daringly bright pink tie. His hair is a wavy but short golden blond (very shiny) and his skin (also very shiny) is tanned like he just got back from Grand Bahama. I keep staring at him as I feel like I recognize him from somewhere. Is he somebody famous? A sitcom actor? Maybe a politician? I am notoriously bad at identifying celebrities on the street.

I think long and hard as the train barrels through the various stations on my way home. The man doesn’t notice me staring; all he is focusing on is not making eye contact with the two homeless guys belting out show tunes (quite well I might add) for handouts in the middle of the car.

I ponder him as I run my fingers over and over the “100% Cashmere” scarf I had just bought for $5.00 from a street vendor minutes before. I know I have seen this man before. It is not until he gets off at 59th street that I get it. KEN! As in Barbie and Ken! If the Ken doll was human he would look EXACTLY like this man. A precise personification. If I could revert magically back to my eight-year old self I'm sure I probably would’ve peed myself with excitement.

Now tomorrow I will just need to find his Barbie.