Real Dolls

See more photos of the Pussycat Dolls

From the pursuits of the soul to the demands of the flesh: With their new CD on the way, the Dolls have been put on a grueling exercise regimen that causes severe neck and back pain and requires the services of a deep-tissue masseuse. They move around a room wearing nothing but thongs with a comfort most girls reserve for a night at home in sweat pants. But thongs are one thing. The latex-heavy look that accompanies Doll Domination means the Dolls have to get powdered and lubed just to slip in and out of their outfits.

“The Dolls are modern-day Kiss meets the Power Rangers,” their manager Jeff Haddad says. But as they get ready for their cover shoot, it’s hard not to think of them as life-size mannequins, being primped and posed and getting their hair extensions tended to by a crew of about 20. At one point, a makeup artist picks up Ashley in her arms to take her to get her face painted.

During one costume change, Nicole’s boyfriend, Lewis Hamilton, looks on with something like amazement and annoyance. He met Nicole at the MTV Europe Music Awards last year. “I never knew how long it could take to get ready,” he says quietly. He has less interest in watching Nicole work it for the camera than checking out Haddad’s new white Mercedes. While the girls are inside applying makeup and getting into skintight clothes, all the guys gather in the parking lot and Haddad encourages Hamilton to rev the engine hard enough to burn rubber and create smoke.

Afterward, Lewis Web surfs on his laptop for rims for Haddad’s car. Nicole emerges in a black latex cat suit and sequined pink bra. She curls up on Lewis’s lap. He barely takes his eyes off his screen.

Another costume, another group shot. Nicole scowls unhappily. All the other Dolls are in micro outfits suited for shimmying in front of the camera. She’s trapped in a long strapless fuchsia latex dress and towering Fendi heels. “I can’t move,” Nicole complains as the flash starts strobing. The photographer tries to coax her into some sexy poses, but she’s frozen.

“This is bullshit,” mutters Nicole, strutting off the set, an act of rebellion a few clicks higher than last night’s mac ’n’ cheese binge.

Robin Antin, who’s been sitting in a chair on the sidelines, pops up to lure her back. The lubed-and-powdered Doll machine has sputtered to a halt. The music stops, and Ashley whimpers for it to come back on. When it finally does, she and Kimberly start moving again, like someone has plugged them back in. Melody pulls her ponytail up high and Jessica lunges on a white box. Nicole returns and, dress be damned, starts grinding to the beat as much as the latex will allow. Pussycat harmony restored. Their fake hair flies in the artificial wind.