Kirsten
found herself in a country she grew to understand and love. Samantha found
adventure and love though her parents were both dead. Molly braved the war on
the home front while her father treated soldiers on the battlefield. Three
beautiful girls, Kirsten with her blonde braids pinned in loops, Samantha with
her dark, wavy hair pulled in place by a bow, and Molly with her beret jauntily
atop her brown braids—three beautiful girls, and I spent a good deal of my
childhood wishing that I owned them.
Kirsten,
Samantha, and Molly were the first three American Dolls released by Pleasant
Company. They came on the scene in the 80s, and at some point, the books
appeared in my school library, and the catalogue in my mailbox. The catalogues
were full of wonder, the dolls elaborately dressed, with a different outfit and
accessories for each book. They had play food, school books, toys, and outfit
changes. Even the dolls’ dolls were fancy. I would imagine what it would be
like to live in their rooms and own their things and play with their toys.
While I wanted one of the dolls, quite desperately, I spent more time imagining
what it might be like to be one of them.
At
first, there were three books about each girl: Meet X, X Learns a Lesson, and X’s
Surprise. Each play set for the
girls corresponded with the books. While I never got to play with one of the
dolls or see the accessories in real life, I did read, and eventually came to
own, all of the books about the original three, and many of the books based on
the later dolls.
The
stories were creative, if predictable. They contained a lot of historical
information, and their struggles were based on the time period in which they
lived. For example, Molly contributed to the war effort and Samantha rode in a
motorcar. After the story, each book included more historical information and
pictures of machinery, tools, and people of the era. These were not fashion
dolls, and while they were meant for play, they were also meant to teach, not
only about history, but also about equality, empathy, and standing up for one’s
beliefs. It certainly did not hurt that everything in the catalogues was fancy
and expensive. The message was very clear: these dolls were exclusive.
Eventually,
each doll got three new books, with three new sets of accessories and outfits.
Later, there were new dolls, from different eras. And then, Mattel bought
American Girls from Pleasant Company. By that time, I was too old to play with
the dolls, even if by some magic one would have happened into my hands. Still,
I had an inkling of the changes that were made, including expanding the merchandising
and creating new dolls. When I hear that you could make a doll that looked like
you I marveled, but was not surprised.
The
American Girls store in New York City held an aura of both fascination and a
bit of disdain. I had heard that there was great difficulty to reserve teatime
in the café, great expense to take your doll to the hospital, and an overall
feeling of consumerism. It was not until I was wandering in the city with my
husband that I had a chance to go inside the store.
My
husband is what some would call a good sport—he supports most of my notions,
even if they seem a bit silly or misguided. He likes to see me happy, and he
has a deep wealth of patience. He agreed to go inside the American Girls store
with me simply because I was curious. I told him of my time spent hiding in my
bottom bunk, pulling my sister’s reading lamp so it craned not over her desk,
but over my mattress so that I could look again at Samantha’s holiday outfit.
The
first thing we looked at were the books. There were no covers of the design I
was used to, and many characters with whom I was not familiar, as well as
non-fiction books about good money sense and how to keep friends. There were
not any of the titles I recognized, and I surmised that the original titles
were no longer published. As I explored the store, I discovered that of the
original three, only Samantha remained. The other girls had been archived. And
their replacements were less historical and more topical—the latest was a girl
from the 1970s, who seemed to be most interesting because she had a funny
chair. While I did not look at any of the books for the new characters, there
seemed to be something quite different from the spirit of Pleasant Company
being expressed.
Though
I did not pick up or hold a doll, I did see them up close, and some of the
newer outfits were not as modest. The skin of the dolls’ shoulders and necks
were exposed. It was easy to see the seems that held plastic limbs in place on
the cloth bodies. Not only was any kind of illusion dispelled, but the dolls
did not look nearly as fancy when I could see the plastic up against the cloth.
And the more current time periods were less exotic. There was just something
missing from these new girls.
My
husband found my story about going through the catalogues touching. He claimed
that it was a simpler time, when things had to be ordered through the mail, and
there was no email, and long distance phone calls were expensive and therefore
not as common. I don’t agree that things were simpler—because there were other
problems created by the complications of communication, as well as the human
problems that have always been with us and always will be—but the times were
certainly different when we were kids.
It
did not occur to me until we were on the train ride home what the bigger
difference between Pleasant Company and Mattel was. As we wandered through the
store, we watched many girls with their parents carrying dolls, both old and
new. We saw them picking out outfits and accessories. The different families
had little in common with each other, beyond the girls all being in the same
age bracket. There was not a homogenous group of moneyed white families, as I
picture to be the owners of American Girls dolls from the early days. By making
the clothing less elaborate, the stories less learning centric, and the dolls
presumably more affordable, Mattel made the toys more attractive for all
American girls. They were no longer elitist and meant only for the very
wealthy, but they also became a possible possession for most girls.
My
husband declined to buy me a doll that looked like me, as he claimed that it
would simply end up in a closet, and I admitted that I was disappointed with
what they looked like in real life. Also, since I don’t play with dolls
anymore, she would not have much of a purpose in our house. But there is a
piece of me that wishes to have a Samantha, just to have a Samantha, just to
own the girl who adventured through my imagination often
when I was a child.
Traveling Through Time & Space
