All Dolled Up

Saturday we dropped nearly $300 in a couple of hours at The American Girl Place. The occasion was my daughter’s eighth birthday, and the outing required a two-hour trek (one way) from our semi-rural home to the upscale Los Angeles shopping center where the store is located. The multi-level doll emporium is truly a little girl’s dream, housing every American Girl doll, book and accessory, plus a movie theatre, photo studio and café – really, it is retailing run amok with glassy eyed little girls running around clutching $95 dolls while helpless -to-say-no- moms, dads and grandparents belly up to the cashier with credit cards extended. But…as someone who can sort of remember what it was like to be an eight-year old girl, I have to admit the place had me at hello. The bright airy feel, the delightful themed alcoves, the heart shaped cakes and chocolate pudding served in tiny flower pots? LOVED it.

I was a girly girl who loved dolls – baby dolls, Barbie dolls, talking dolls…you get the idea. As a child, I remember feeling intoxicated when I opened a new doll and inhaled that oddly toxic plastic odor unique to toys manufactured in the 60s. So when I bought my daughter a huge furnished doll house several years ago I was dumbfounded to find her bored with the whole concept. What was the point, she wondered, of rearranging the tiny furniture in each room or setting the miniature family in front of the itty bitty TV? I admit I had no answer for that, except that I did it when I was little and I kind of thought she would too. Sexist and backwards I know, but some parental expectations are simply pre-programmed.

Still. I respect my daughter’s independent streak – she knows what she likes and isn’t afraid to say so. For the next few years we steered clear of dolls in favor of more purposeful toys like Legos, board games and puzzles. Then she got an American Girl book and her perspective changed. For the uninitiated, nearly all American Girl dolls come with a back story – some are historical characters who grew up as slaves or during the Great Depression. Others are modern day heroines facing 21st century challenges like bullying and peer pressure. These dolls have a point. A purpose. My daughter was ready to be initiated and I jumped on the opportunity – a quick catalog call and the first doll was on a UPS truck to our door. Having already mothered a son through various phases of trucks, trains, guns, dinosaurs, cars, guns and more guns, I was selfishly eager to mix and match tiny outfits, style stiff synthetic hair, host doll tea parties, and rack up some serious mother/daughter time.

That was two years ago; we now have three American Girls in our collection – the third came home with us on Saturday. When we pulled in the driveway with our big red bag, I watched as my daughter raced from the car to show her drop-jawed little friends the bounty of her shopping spree. Shaking her head, one neighbor girl exclaimed with envy, “You are so lucky!” My daughter sighed, a beaming smile playing across her face. “I know.”

As flashbacks of my long-gone girlhood played across my mind, I thought “So am I.” Then I went upstairs to set up the tea party.