It was during a marathon storybook session with my daughter, somewhere around the 19th mention of a charming prince, that I decided to kick Belle and Cinderella and the other sweet young things out of the house and get us an Addy or a Molly. My daughter's literary world had become steeped in the cult of the Disney Princess, and it was time to get her head out of enchanted castle airspace and put it back down here when the real girls breathe.
That's how I discovered the American Girl. Those of you with daughters older than 4 know about American Girl; they are a line of dolls depicting typical young girls growing up during key decades in American History, from Native Americans of the 1770s to slave children of the 1860s to the children of World War II soldiers in the 1940s. The dolls are beautifully made and authentically clothed, wholesome, interesting and (Amen!) refreshingly indifferent to young men, handsome princes included. No, these American Girls are too busy surviving on the prairie or adjusting to lean times during the Depression to worry much about whether a certain young man will choose them. The American Girl dolls seemed the perfect antidote to the doll mania that had for so long gripped our household, that of the pert princess as played by Barbie.
Many of my friends had already given their daughters their first doll, and in almost every case, these mothers chose the doll that most closely resembled their girls. I was impressed with how all these women knew the names and stories of each of the dozen or so dolls. Knowing little or nothing about them, I asked for advice.
"Which one should I get for Grace?" I asked.
Nobody had an answer. I was about to find out why.
There is not a doll that looks anything like my daughter, not even close. It's because of the hair. On the company's Web site I found that every one of the dolls has smooth hair of chin length or longer. Kaya, the Native American girl, has long, black braids and dark eyes; Molly has long, dark braids; Kit has a chic blond bob.
Did no little girl in American history have short, curly, light brown hair with hazel eyes⢠Because that's what my little girl looks like.
I understand the historical imperative of all this: for centuries, women wore their hair long and either in braids or pinned up, probably for the ease of it. I wouldn't expect the Native American doll to have short curls, nor the Depression-era doll. But by the '40s, weren't all the movie stars wearing curled dos⢠And wouldn't you think there was just one little girl around back then who would have wanted the same⢠Hadn't Shirley Temple already tap-danced her curly head through the culture by then?
Discovering all this was especially disappointing for me because my daughter wants nothing more than long, straight hair. She's 5 now, and it doesn't look like she's getting any closer to that goal; her hair grows in ringlets that spring upward, and gravity seems not to be a factor. In hopes of growing her hair, each morning she asks for a Flintstone vitamin, which she calls her "hair medicine." She spends a fair amount of time talking about the long, straight hair of her preschool classmates; I do a lot of reassuring and esteem-building. Too bad about the dolls; having one that looked like her would have been helpful around here.
I'm reminded of a story I read several years ago when a crayon company decided to retire some long-standing colors. A little girl wrote to the company in protest, saying that without "burnt sienna" she would no longer be able to draw pictures of herself.
It would be so great if my daughter could see herself in one of the American Girl dolls. She doesn't see herself in her Barbies, and although there's a Bratz girl or two who might have shorter hair, I find that whole Bratz concept rather cynical and vain and I won't allow them in my house. I like how American Girl dolls are different; they have good hearts and big brains.
I wanted one for my daughter, regardless of hair. After perusing the selection for what seemed like hours, I decided on a compromise between hair color and hair length. I went for Nellie, who has medium-length hair a bit lighter than my Grace's hair. Nellie is a turn-of-the-20th-century orphan with a compelling story.
Grace squealed when she opened the box Christmas morning. She held Nellie to her chest and stroked her hair.
"Do you like her?" I asked.
"Yeah," she yelped, planting a big kiss on the doll's head. "When will my hair be long like hers?"
