Ken first: at the home of Italy's greatest collector

The very rare Ken Brunette from 1962 proves this: dark brown hair, when the market only provided two variants, blond or black. "He's special because he shouldn't exist. He was born out of a mistake, and yet because of this he has become a myth. A Ken who doesn't conform, and for this reason he has always fascinated me more than the others. He is my absolute favourite.

Then there was the Campus Student, red cardigan and white jumper: quintessential Ivy League style, anticipating the university aesthetic later canonised by Ralph Lauren and photographed by Slim Aarons. The 1970s saw the explosion of Groovy Ken: red and gold brocade, white trousers, a mix of East and West that seemed straight out of Strawberry Fields Forever, suspended between psychedelia and spirituality.

Da sinistra: 1970 Live Action on Stage Ken; 1985 Day-to-Night Ken

The Nineties were the decade of the double discard: the controversial Magic Ken, a lilac jacket and earring, which became a queer icon by chance: "No one could have imagined that a simple earring would trigger such an interpretation. Instead, that accessory turned him into a symbol of transgression and freedom", continues Russo. Then the Totally Hair Ken, a psychedelic shirt that many attributed to Pucci: in reality it was a Versace quoting Pucci. Fashion within fashion, a semiotic short-circuit worthy of Barthes, a game of cross-references that makes quotation an art in itself.

There also came the bearded and tattooed Harley-Davidson Ken, a plastic translation of the cinematic biker; the sophisticated Soda Fountain Ken, with a 1950s Coca-Cola counter made of solid metal, now one of the most sought-after pieces; and the Dressed Box Ken, sold complete with tailored outfits. An absolute rarity for Barbie, whose popularity made dressed boxes extremely difficult to find, while for Ken, less in demand, more of an accessory, it was easier to find intact ones.

Da sinistra: 1972 Mod Hair Ken; 1992 Earring Magic Ken.

Today, the definitive consecration comes in the pages of I am Ken, which takes up the self-deprecating refrain from Greta Gerwig's film, where Ryan Gosling sings "I'm just Ken" and accepts his marginal role with a performance that has become a cult favourite: "Ken has taken on the part of public ridicule. He has been marginalised, ridiculed, and instead of defending himself he has turned it into character. He has dressed the ridiculous as if it were a stage costume. And therein lies all his nobility.

The final scene is at the Oscars 2024: Gosling in a pink rhinestone-studded Gucci suit, matching gloves, a musical number quoting Marilyn Monroe in Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend. Kitsch, as Susan Sontag understood it: exaggerated, histrionic, self-conscious. A glittering, self-deprecating Ken who laughs at his own extravagance, and because of it becomes unbeatable.

'I have always felt more Ken than Barbie, perhaps because we were born in the same year, 1961, and because he represents normality, the common man. And it is by declaring himself common that he becomes extraordinary,' Russo concludes.