I haven’t seen the new Barbie movie yet (although I have every intention of doing so), but like many women, I have my own memories of Barbie — or, in my case, Midge.
Let me begin by saying that I didn’t like Barbie from the beginning. I felt that she looked “stuck-up” and not at all friendly — perhaps because I grew up in a housing project with kids who were largely Jewish, Italian Catholic, or Black, and neither they nor their teen-age siblings (nor their parents) looked anything like thin, blonde Barbie.
However, most of the other girls I knew had Barbies and I was informed, in no uncertain terms, that if I was going to play with them I had to have one too. But I didn’t like her, and I didn’t want her in my bedroom and among my other toys. I was in a quandary — until I saw ads for Barbie’s Best Friend Midge.
Midge had a rounder face, curly red hair and freckles. She had the same body shape as Barbie (so they could wear the same clothes), but I felt a little less put off by her. She was, well, friendlier. So I asked my parents to get me a Midge instead — which they did. (I understand that the Midge in the movie is the later “pregnant” version; this was not that.) So now I could play with the other girls — although, because it was Midge and not Barbie, she always took second place. But at least I could take part in the make-believe. I was content.
More than content — because she had a wonderful woolen coat.
My father, and some of my relatives, like many Eastern European immigrants and their children, worked in the garment industry. Soon after I got the Midge, we went to visit relatives, and one of my parents’ cousins presented me with clothes for my doll that she had made herself out of scraps from the cutting-room floor. There are two I especially remember: a long black cocktail dress that flared out at the bottom, and, my favorite, a green and black checked woolen coat with a real mink collar and a matching mink hat.
I loved that coat. It was really pretty, and the fur felt fantastic to the touch, and none of my friends had anything like it. And it had been made just for me. It made up for the snubs by the other girls, and I treasured it until I grew to high-school age, when Midge and her clothing was given away to a younger relative.
I have no photos of that Midge doll and her wardrobe. The photo here is one I found of what may have been a similar doll (apparently there were several Midge types over the years). But that coat and hat are strong in my memory. And even though I don’t remember the name of the relative who took the trouble to sew up some doll’s clothing for her cousin’s little girl, the care and love that went into it is something that stays with me today.