Dolls always have
fascinated me. When I was young, I asked for dolls every
Christmas and birthday because no matter how many I had, I always longed for more. And to
me, they were like real babies, so I refused to part with any of them, even the old worn-out
and decapitated ones.
Any time my mother tried to sneak one of my ratty old dolls out to the trash, I knew it in an instant and would whine until she brought it back. The neighbors probably wondered why my poor mother was outside fishing through our trash barrels so often.
But in 1959, something happened that changed my entire opinion of dolls…the introduction of the Barbie doll.
I still vividly remember the first time I saw Barbie, prominently displayed in J.M. Fields department store. My mouth dropped open and my eyes bulged as I stared in awe at her. There she stood in her black-and-white striped swimsuit, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She also was wearing high heels and…oh, my heart...earrings!
But the most shocking feature of all was she had boobs!
To me, dolls always had been my babies and I was their Mommy. But this doll was no baby – a real “babe,” perhaps, but definitely no baby. She was priced at $2.98, which, on my 50-cent per week allowance seemed like a small fortune, and meant I would have to wait weeks to get Barbie. I was scared she would be sold out by then, which would have been devastating.
So I was forced to do what most kids my age did…I shamelessly begged in public.
“Pleeeeeze, Mommy! Can I have her?”
This, of course, was followed by a list of dozens of chores I promised to do that I had no intention of ever actually doing.
My mother eyed the doll, especially her chest area, then frowned and gave me a look that told me she thought Barbie had been designed by someone who probably produced porno movies.
But my persistence paid off and I ended up leaving the store that day with my first Barbie doll…and what would turn out to be the beginning of a lifetime obsession.
I religiously saved my pennies to buy Barbie’s latest fashions at a place called Toy City in Manchester, NH. Believe me, Barbie’s wardrobe and accessories weren’t cheap. In fact, some of them cost more than my own clothes cost, even though Barbie's had a lot less material (especially since I wore a humiliating brand of clothing back then called “Chubbettes" and just one of those dresses could have doubled as a bedspread).
My friend Janet decided to be different and buy a Ken doll. The first thing we did when she brought him home was de-pants him – purely for scientific research, of course. To our disappointment, he pretty much resembled Barbie in that area except his crotch was just slightly bulgier.
Over the years, I collected many Barbie dolls – everything from Star Trek Barbie and Holiday Barbie to Butterfly Art Barbie, who had a tattoo on her abdomen (which was an epic fail with parents). I haunted collectors’ shows, flea markets and yard sales until my collection required the rental of a temperature-controlled storage unit of its own. Even so, when people asked me what I wanted for my 60th birthday, I still was saying “Barbie dolls.”
The only problem with collectors’ dolls is that if I want them to be worth decent money in the future, I can’t handle them or change their outfits. I can’t comb their hair or braid it into a bunch of knots. I can’t even break the seal on the boxes they came in. Basically, all I can do is admire them from afar.
For this reason, my husband never could grasp the reason why I thought collecting Barbies was so much fun. One night, for example, I showed him a gorgeous faux-fur coat I’d bought for Barbie.
“Which one of your 5,000 Barbies is that for?” he asked.
“None of them,” I said. “I can’t undress any of my dolls. They won’t be worth anything if I do.”
“Then why on earth did you buy the coat?”
“Because it’s a
collectible!”
He gave me a look that clearly told me he thought I needed a long vacation in a totally Barbie-free environment.
“But what fun is collecting stuff if you can’t even touch it?” he asked. “Knowing you, I’ll bet it’s just killing you that you can’t dress those dolls in wild clothes or give them beehive hairdos!”
He had a point. There had been many times when I’d been tempted to throw caution to the wind and listen to the devilish little voice in my head that was telling me, “To heck with the fact that’s an original Bob Mackie designer Barbie that could be worth $500 in a couple of years! Tear open the box and see if she’s wearing any stockings or panties underneath that fancy sequined gown of hers!”
Over the years, I did manage to part with a few of my precious dolls when I needed some extra money, and they sold extremely well on eBay. So to me, they were better than having money in the bank…and a lot prettier to look at. But a few years ago, the Barbie collectors seemed to vanish, and suddenly, trying to get as little as $15 for even the expensive dolls became a chore. So my Barbies have been sitting in big plastic tubs in my basement and collecting dust and cobwebs for ages now.
Enter the new Barbie movie that was released just last week and grossed over $155 million over the weekend. The news reports said the movie was creating renewed interest in Barbie dolls and their accessories, and many stores reportedly have sold out of all of their Barbie items already.
A smile of satisfaction slowly spread across my face.
I think maybe the
time has come for me to venture down into the basement, shoo away the spiders
and start dusting off my collection.
# # #
Sally Breslin is
an award-winning, syndicated humor-columnist who has written regularly for
newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several
novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction.
Contact her at: sillysally@att.net
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| BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS |
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