Barbie's Birthday

She cost around $10 and I had begged for her for a whole year; fashion dolls were pretty new then and my mother thought they were just a short-lived fad, and that I wouldn't play with one enough to justify the cost. It was one of the few things she was wrong about.

I saved my allowance money and when I had enough - in those days, at 25 cents a week, it took a long time - we went down to the gift shop in the big town and I picked out a doll and took her home. I'm not sure the first one was an authentic Barbie, but over the years I got two more that were, one with long blonde hair and one with interchangeable Afro-style wigs. My friend L. and my cousin B. and I played with our dolls constantly. We rarely bought "outfits" - or the elaborate "settings" that were later popular for the named dolls like "Malibu Barbie" -- beach scenes, celebrity trailers, changing rooms, fantasy outfits -- just sometime a few accessories like plastic high heels or sunglasses. We sewed clothes for ours, and one Christmas my grandmother made an entire kntted trousseau from Barbie patterns published in McCall's Needlework and Crafts; another year my mother - long since won over to the cause - sewed my dolls an orange satin sheath dress with a pink hat, a la Jackie Kennedy, and a white wedding dress with a wide train, a veil, and little seed pearls studding the bodice.

Somewhere around sixth grade, there was a short-lived Barbie fan club; we used to meet at one of our houses on Saturday morning and play "The Barbie Game", bringing our dolls and their new outfits. It was boring; my close friends and I preferred to make up our own games and thought the whole "fan" thing was dumb.

I never had a "Ken" doll, or a "Scooter," but it was through play-acting with our Barbies and Kens that we all worked out the facts of life and dating and love, rehearsing for the romance we were all sure was just around the corner, if we could finally grow up. How innocent it all seems now, and how long ago. Sometime in more recent memory, I went up into the attic at my grandparents' house and looked in the trunk where I thought my dolls and their clothes had been packed, but they had disappeared - probably rummaged by a new generation of little girls. I'd actually like to see them again, especially the clothes. The dolls themselves meant less to me; I think they were always just substitutes - twelve-inch plastic actresses - playing at real life.

My first Barbie
had nylon hair in platinum
firm perfect skin
and knees that clicked
like mine do now.

Comments

[Lorianne]

I loved my Barbies, which is why I feel conflicted when well-intentioned feminists attack them. Yes, they reinforce an unrealistic body image, etc...but when I was a kid, I wasn't looking for REALISM in my toys.

All my Barbies, Barbie clothes, and accessories were either second-hand or bought by my mom on clearance at deep discount, so it was always a huge surprise to see what Barbie-gear "Santa" brought each year. Over the years, I acquired Barbie's Corvette, beach RV, and *shopping mall* complete with a working escalator. In retrospect, this makes me sound like a raving materialist--why would a DOLL need a SHOPPING MALL?!?--but the fact that I'd receive these elaborate toys without specifically asking for them, simply because my mom had found them on sale somewhere, made them seem more like objects of grace than objects of greed.

I also had the beautician Barbie: a life-size Barbie head with makeup and adjustable hair you could "do" into short or long styles. I was a complete & utter failure as a Barbie cosmetologist, which I think is one reason why I don't even try to wear makeup and/or "do" my hair now. If I couldn't make a blonde beauty like Barbie look good, self-styling is pretty much a lost cause.

[beth]

Lorianne, you're really making me laugh. You should have posted this great little Barbie essay on your own blog and gotten more mileage out of it!

[Kaycie]

I remember having several Barbies, a couple of them were hand-me-downs from my aunts. Over the years I had that beautician Barbie head, a Malibu Barbie, one that was a ballerina, and one called Growing Up Skipper. If you turned left arm clockwise, she grew little boobs; when you turned it back the other way, the boobs disappeared. Well, for a while. After many, many turnings of that arm accompanied by peals of ten-year old laughter, the boobs just mostly went away.

Ah, Barbie.

[Lorianne]

Oh, I'd forgotten about the ballerina Barbie: I had her, too. But I missed out on Growing Up Skipper: that one might have been too risque for my mom's liking. :-)

[Dave]

I don't know if y'all've seen this image - it was making the rounds of Tumblr yesterday. Makes me shudder.

[FrScott]

OT - Fr. Jake is up and running again...see my blog.

[Julie]

You see? This is where I have been going wrong all my life.
I had a Sindy doll!
No wonder I never fit in!

[Julie]

PS While all my teeenage friends looked like living Barbie's I was the one who resembled Skipper, until I was 40!

[Pica]

I never had a Barbie doll, living in Spain as we did. But I coveted the barbie dolls of American neighbors. I love it that you sewed clothes for yours, Beth.

[Dick]

Middle one Rosie is heading deep into Barbie territory now, which fills me with dismay. And Ken will get his ass kicked if he appears the other side of my front door.

[beth]

Don't worry too much, Dick. Barbie doesn't seem to have done me any lasting damage, and it's only the adults who fixate on her, um, Barbie-esque attributes. But Ken could be trouble, I agree.

[Jean]

Yes, I loved my Barbie and Sindy and all my other dolls too. Like you, Beth and Lorianne, I suspect, my interest in dolls was all about acting out imaginery scenarios and was no doubt an important component of my emotional/psychological health and development. So, while I cannot but agree with the feminist discourse re Barbie's shape etc, no I don't think it made much impression on me either at the time.

[aruba beach weddings]

i just love barbie dolls. i like to collect them with my daughter.