My daughter never cared much about dressing up dolls, paper or otherwise. We went through an early phase with Barbies and their "sweeties," little Kelly dolls. She had a collection of Madame Alexanders on shelves in her room. And, since she was a middle-class child of the early aughts, we had lots and lots of American Girls and even more of their outfits.
But, acquisition is one thing (one thing that my daughter has always been quite good at). Actually playing, dressing and undressing, is another.
I, on the other hand, loved dolls. Especially paper dolls. I had a vast collection of Betsy McCalls (a new one arrived in my mother's magazine every month). They went to "boarding school" in a long shoebox and each lived in her own "room," a plain white envelope that contained each Betsy, her two outfits plus various possessions I cut out of my grandmother's Sears and Spiegel catalogs each summer.
In keeping with my true packrat (I prefer "archivist") ways, I still have them. My daughter has never shown any interest whatsoever. Not. One. Iota.
For a while, having a baby girl was sort of like having a wonderful, living, breathing paper doll. She was a little on the small size when she was born (probably all that booze and all those cigarettes while I was pregnant ... kidding!). So, the first couple of weeks, she wore preemie pajamas and onesies donated by the generous mother of twin boys. They were blue and green and since my daughter was rather hair-challenged (try completely bald), the young lady was constantly mistaken for a young gentlemen. Soon enough though, she grew some hair and grew into the countless pink ensembles various friends and family had showered us with from the moment they heard "It's a girl." I was fortunate that she wasn't much of a blurper. Her clothes stayed crisp and clean and sweet and p-i-n-k.
Once she had a mind of her own, she took the pinkness even further. There were about two years of preschool when she would only wear pink and she would only wear dresses. Basically, if I was at Marshalls or the Gap or the Children's Place or pretty much anywhere and I saw a pink dress on sale, I bought it. She paired these feminine frocks with red sparkle Mary Janes (think Dorothy after she landed in Oz) from Target. They only sold them during the holidays so I tended to buy up a good stock in her current size and a size or two up. (All that glitter made them particularly scuffable.)
There was a brief period in elementary school when she wanted horses on all her clothes (you'd be amazed how many My Little Pony options there are). Then, as if all that dressing up was just a dream, it was over.
Don't get me wrong, my now teenage daughter still puts a lot of thought and effort (and my money) into her wardrobe. It's just that, at this point, I have very little say about it. There also seems to be an aversion to anything that's new looking ... well ... new. Tee shirts are pre-faded; jeans are pre-ripped. I had a bit of luck on the sale page of Urban Outfitter's website last Christmas. But, most of the time, I let her make clothing decisions for herself.
Nevertheless, I think she and I would agree that a new site launched to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Clueless could make the whole dressing up (or down) thing a lot more fun. If you remember that iconic movie, Cher Horowitz (the ditzy and adorable Alicia Silverstone) had a special closet interface that allowed her to mix and match outfits until she found the perfect fit. It was kind of Betsy McCall meets Steve Jobs. Today, a company called Metail has created a virtual fitting room called "CherWears." You put in your height, weight (you'll need to convert it to "stone"), select a head and start trying on. There are outfiits inspired by the movie's main characters, as well as categories called Glamour, Stand Out and Wedding.
Cherwears is a great way for teens (and, let's face it, moms) to try some wardrobe additions in a no-risk way. And, as I sit at my desk — with deadlines looming — it's also proving to be fun.
Almost as fun as my Betsy McCalls.
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I just spent a delightful afternoon walking down memory lane. My five-year-old niece is visiting.
My niece and my teen daughter are very close. They are both only children, so they refer to each other as "sister cousins." Now to some, this phrase may evoke a backwoods clan with a rather loose interpretation of intermarriage. But, for all of us, it just reinforces a special bond the girls have despite nearly ten years difference in their ages.
Alas, my daughter is in the throes of an extended date with one David Copperfield. Yes, Charles Dickens' autobiographical novel was assigned as Summer reading for ninth grade Honors English. (There's nothing quite like lugging a 7 pound, 950 page book to the beach, is there?)
So, what's a visiting sister-cousin supposed to do? Play with her doting aunt, of course!
There was no need for me to plan ahead. A sentimentalist at heart, I've kept many of my own playthings not to mention my daughter's. It's not entirely my fault. Our school district's thrift shop won't accept toys anymore and neither will the local children's hospital. So, they sit here in fairly pristine condition, safely housed in labelled storage boxes, just waiting for young guests.
First, I got out the paper dolls. I adored paper dolls as a girl, spending hours cutting Betsy McCalls from my mother's magazines, then setting up a boarding school for them with decor and accessories clipped from the Sears Roebuck catalog. (Remember that massive tome?) My daughter was less than interested, despite a fairly impressive collection which included Jo, Beth, Amy and Meg from Little Women, great scenes from the ballet, Madeleine and Mary Engelbreit, among others. Which classic figures did my niece immediately gravitate towards? Barbie! Yes, that famous blonde's infamous curves are available in paper as well as plastic. And, her outfits? Let's just say that she should be able to make an excellent living on the Vegas strip.
When the paper dolls ceased to amuse, I sent my niece up to the little playroom under our eaves where my daughter keeps her American Girl doll collection. My niece insisted on undressing and re-dressing each doll, piling up elaborate hairdos and then putting them to bed. I surveyed the chaos (the room had been perfectly organized mere minutes before), and sighed with satisfaction. I firmly believe that toys — even overpriced "collectibles" — should be played with.
Next, we moved on to coloring books. We happily decorated flowers and fairies. Until, she found a fabric crate filled with Polly Pockets. The one in black boots and cropped blonde bob was Gwen Stefani. The rest of the dolls were her backup singers. I kid you not.
From there, we made necklaces and suncatchers with a never even opened tub of Perler beads. For the record, arranging the little plastic beads on the pegboard is a challenge for fifty-year-old fingers as well as five-year-old ones. And, the instructions say to iron the finished design for ten seconds on medium. Ha! Through much trial and error, I am here to tell you that it's more like ten minutes on high.
Finally, I pulled out a card deck and we played "War." It's a quick and easy game, and a great way to reinforce counting and math basics. (For the record, she whooped my sorry butt — then laughed her little head off because we said "butt.")
At this point, I was fairly wiped out. My daughter needed a break from Mr. Dickens and I happily handed off my charge. The last thing I saw was the two of them, curled up on the couch with goldfish crackers watching Scooby Doo.
My niece is a bright, verbal, energetic little thing. She can exhaust her parents with the best of them. But, while my brother and his wife were probably happy to have a bit of a respite, I had to warn them to treasure every minute. The time does fly.
And, whether they believe it or not (and I'm quite certain they do not) ... it's going to get so much harder.
