A Magnifying Glass and Barbie's Butt

Several friends were involved in collecting antiques.  Someone mentioned Vintage Barbie and my ears perked up. I could take part in the collecting fun, too, because I had a Barbie. I surmised she must be an antique, checking the dates online. I wondered what collecting Vintage Barbie entailed.

In the Antiques and Collectible section of the local bookstore, books and magazines published on the topic of Vintage Barbie sported nostalgic colors and caught my eye. As I flipped through the magazines looking at the pictures and checking out the Index, I began to blink, not certain I was seeing correctly.  I reached into my bag for a calculator.

I grabbed up the magazines, bought them and a Barbie Collectible hardback, making a swift exit for home and the telephone.

“Mother, is my Barbie still in the attic? You’re sure? And her clothes, too?”

Indeed they were, so on my next trip home, I picked up Barbie, after I explained to Mother what was going on in the collecting world.  Barbie had no car and no friends, no Ken; no one else – just Barbie, and me.

As a member of the Tonsils-Out-Club in the Spring of 1960, I recuperated on the sofa, an ailing and pitiful sixth grade girl. Through our back door Daddy brought me a new world: Fashion Model Barbie and one outfit. Barbie would entertain me for several years. After those years of imagination and glamour, Barbie and clothes retired into her blue plastic wardrobe carrying case.  She waited through the decades until she was discovered for a second time and was poised to bring great pleasure and entertainment once more.

Once home from Mother’s attic, I called friend Gina and she rushed over that Sunday night with her Barbie. Like two young girls, we sat in the den and pulled out all our treasures. We read, looked at pictures with critical discernment and became more thrilled and excited by the paragraph, wide-eyed as we marked and underlined the Price Guide.

That explains why, when my teenage son came home and walked into the kitchen, he beheld two grown women under the kitchen light, head to head, with a magnifying glass, peering with furrowed brow, examining naked Barbie’s bottom in great detail.

“Let me go out and come in again,” he said in disbelief.  “What are you doing?” An explanation that the markings on the buttocks could get him a sizeable inheritance or a nice trip somewhere changed his disrespect into awe.

“Really?  Let me see!”  Now, I wish I was the one with the camera.

I have Blonde Ponytail Barbie #2, a somewhat rare edition. 

I also still owned classic high fashion wardrobe pieces sporting the Mattel TM label; that tag made each item more valuable.  From the classic striped swimsuit with sunglasses and “Friday Night Date” to the stylish gold sheath and full length coat, those outfits brought back many memories. Dressing Barbie once again evoked a wave of nostalgia.

During this Barbie Period, my obsession became therapy. I dressed Barbie #2 for display in various ensembles by the season and the holiday.  Friends humored me, as I was using Barbie as a diversionary tactic:  avoiding being consumed by chemotherapy.  My spirits were elevated as I filled every open moment with this crazy obsession. I did not watch television or read novels.  I worked, was mother and wife, behaved as a model cancer patient, and played with Barbie and her wardrobe.  It beat anti-depressants any day.

All I needed was a glance at Barbie and I’d transport from the ills of present day to childhood 1961, with affordable couture and an imaginary life to rival Carrie on Sex and the City.

The story of Mattel and Barbie is an exciting one, a jeweled time for the toy company and for the girls who idolized their one and only Barbie. As a postscript to this Barbie saga, I sold Barbie #2 to Marl of “Marl and Me,” a major Barbie collector.  I felt she’d be in good hands with Marl and I needed the money for my younger son’s college tuition.  He had that semester’s expenses paid in full.  Thank you, Marl, and thank you, Barbie.
(I'm sending this story to Reminisce Magazine with a couple of photos.)