Barbie, the doll-sized American bombshell, is undergoing a Russian makeover -- her new personas ranging from an Orthodox nun to a pail-toting peasant.


In doll-clothes maker Yulia Sultanova's vision, Barbie trades her tiara for a kokoshnik, her mini-skirts and diaphanous ballgowns for a Russian maiden's modest sarafan.


"Of course, Barbie has a Western face, and she doesn't have our figure," said Yulia. But what's important, she said, is that Barbie is like a good model, universally appealing in whatever she wears, as long as it is of good design.


Yulia's Barbie creations, made at home and sold by her husband Yevgeny at the Izmailovo market, draw on historical fashions, the fanciful costumes of fairy-tale characters and designs from Russian folk dress.


She does not usually sketch her designs first but takes instead to her knitting needles. As her fingers dance, Barbie is reborn -- as a Novgorod peasant woman, in a long bell-shaped skirt, apron and wide collar; as a Russian maiden, in a long jumper called a sarafan and a flowing short jacket called a yepancha; or as a noble lady, whose fur-trimmed coat's split sleeves hang long -- a sign of wealth.


Knit into the designs are patterns typical of folk dress -- diamonds, zigzags, and scallops. Yevgeny makes metal headdresses called kokoshniki that go with the outfits, as well as a samovar accessory and a yoke with two buckets that hard-working Novgorod Barbie carries on her shoulders.


A former engineer, Sultanova is a stickler for detail, designing the apparel, for example, with as few seams as possible, so that it will bear up under heavy play. Velcro is not an option; all the tiny clothes fasten with buttons and loops or with snaps.


Sultanova knits the most complicated models herself, and each takes about two days to complete. Her less time-consuming designs -- frilly garments patterned after high society ladies' wear of the 19th century -- are farmed out to women who want a way to earn money while staying at home.


The folk-inspired dresses are created in authentic hues; the faster-produced models run a wider gamut of color, in light of the Sultanovs' market observations on shades. "Foreigners and Russians with simpler tastes like red and white or red and black," Yevgeny, 31, said. "Scandinavians like pastels; Italians tend to like pink or red; and Germans like beige or salad (a light green). Americans, if they're more refined, would rather have a claret color; otherwise, they like khaki or blue."


Yulia's latest projects are a nun's habit -- Yevgeny will make a cross for Sister Barbie to wear -- and a Little Red Riding Hood outfit. Although Yulia has considered designing for Ken, Barbie's consort does not inspire her because he is not imposing: "Barbie is Somebody, but he's a nobody."


Yulia, 30, who started sewing for her baby dolls at age seven, began designing for Barbie three years ago, when the hip doll, frowned upon during Soviet times as too voluptuous for child's play, set off a new craze among Russia's little girls. Making clothes and accoutrements for Barbie has in fact become a small cottage industry in Russia. The Sultanovs sometimes team up with a fellow engineer who crafts wooden beds, mirrored armoires and dressers for the plastic doll.


The Sultanovs said income from the doll clothes is twice what Yevgeny makes at his engineer's job in a cosmetics factory. In the past year and a half they report selling more than 1,500 of the outfits, which range in price from $10 to $20 each.


The profits -- as well as the beauty of the clothes -- sometimes attract the wrong kind of attention. Yevgeny said that during a shakedown of Izmailovo merchants, he had to hand over two Barbie outfits as a bribe to a policeman with two daughters.