When I was a little girl, I thought I would grow up to be a house builder. At the time, I had never heard the term architect, decorator or interior designer. My mother had very good taste when it came to furniture and accessories and even though we lived in military base housing, I was quite aware our house was "different" than those of my friends and neighbors.
|Last year when we re-did the storage room I found my Barbie trunk. Only recently|
when I was stuck in the basement during the floor refinishing, did I actually take a peek
inside out of sheer boredom. I found lots of clothes, accessories, dolls, and doll heads.
My older sister sent just about every Barbie we ever owned to the beauty shop.
Only some didn't come back beautiful. The only solution: pull their heads off.
I even found clumps of cut hair in the trunk. EW.
I was also one of those kids who did not dread cleaning my room every weekend. Every Saturday morning I had chores that I was expected to do. I would hurry through them as quickly as possible just to get to the part that involved my room. I enjoyed the domestic ritual of dusting and rearranging things, at least on my side of the small room I shared (with my older sister, who was a total slob) and dreaming about what my own home would look like one day.
In the meantime, I focused my efforts into implementing all my great ideas into my BF, Barbie's needs. Specifically, my vision for her dream house. Barbie shared our space and lived in a small, but groovy box that we called her apartment. The inside was void of any detail. No furniture or wallpaper. Clearly the only things a house needed in my emerging decorators mind.
|One of the many pairs of Barbie and Ken still in the trunk. This one clearly went to the |
"beauty" shop. At least she's wearing a fabulous dress. It was one of my favorites.
My older sister, however, was far more concerned with what Barbie was wearing and making sure she was with Ken. I couldn't understand this. So while my sister spent her time annoying me with this obsession of dating and wearing just the right outfit, I pondered the disarray of Barbie's wardrobe and lack of stylish furniture. I mean seriously who cares what she's wearing, if there is no where to hang the outfit up? And, more importantly how do you have friends over to your apartment without adequate seating and a pretty room?
|I remember the Christmas I got the new "Barbie" version of the plastic hangers.|
Finally a way to hang all those outfits! Only 2 were found in the bottom of the trunk.
Unfortunately, before I ever finished the dream house that would clearly be my masterpiece, Barbie moved to Malibu, got a tan, a ton of flexibility and a pink car. And her parents, who I never met, produced a little sister named Skipper. Then as luck would have, the world's worst architect, named Mattel, beat me to it. He designed a pink and purple plastic nightmare and called it Barbie's Dream House. And of course, she loved it! It was the end of my friendship with Barbie.
We both moved on. I ended up in the corporate world, and eventually design. Barbie went on to live in the dream house with Ken. Although, I heard they broke up in 1999 amidst rumors he was spending too much time surfing and working on his tan. It would seem the "dream house" did not yield a happily ever after since they never married or produced any little plastic kids. Ken turns 50 this year (according to a recent Parade magazine article) and Barbie is even older, but no doubt, as fashionable as ever. I honestly think it was the awful color palette of the dream house and so much emphasis on looking perfect that were the cause of their relationship woes.
|I found several outfit catalogues in the trunk. I wish I could remember why it was decided #1907 was not a contender|
for the birthday or Christmas wish list? It has a purse afterall. I used to hate that shoes shown weren't included!