So, I’ve been wanting to buy my niece a doll for Christmakkah this year. She’s 4, and a girly girl. (She got her first Dooney at age 3 and gets manicures more often than I do.) I have boys, so shopping for Emma twice a year (the holidays and her birthday) gets me my pink sparkly fix. I love dolls. I was raised with about a jillion of em– Fancy dolls. Pretty dolls. Dolls with horses and corvettes. Dolls that could be doctors or lawyers, because not just boys can be doctors or lawyers. Dolls that blinked. Dolls that cried if you turned them over. And the, ever so coveted, American Girls’ Collection doll. In shopping for such a thing as one of these, I have been supremely disappointed.
It seems as though many of the dolls on the toy store shelves today either have potty functions or look like whores. Such a shame that a 4 year old should be expected to change a poopy diaper, even if it is only full of mechanical, plastic, raisin turds. Worse yet, the doll industry, much like the clothing industry, has become hyper-sexualized. I’m horrified to see miniskirt-clad, voluptuous, teen queen, check out my phat highlights and my stripper boots, dolls lining each and every shelf of the “girls toys” section of Wal-mart. (Brass pole sold separately.) Gone are the days of Madame Alexander. And unless you’ve got a cool buck-twenty to drop on a toy, American Girl Dolls are out of the question. I flat out refuse to buy a doll whose clothes cost more than mine. Sorry, Felicity.
So the conundrum still presides… buy Emma her 104th Disney Princess likeness? Or give in to the warped sense that a dolly should either shit itself or appear to turn tricks on weekends. I think I’ll go with Poopsie Penelope… the lesser of the two evils. Or I could always buy Emma a pair of tiny yoga pants with the word “JUICY” across the tush.