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On
my December shopping
at the mega store
Costco I was struck
by a doll house for
sale. Not just a
doll house, a doll
mansion replete with
spiral staircase,
lake view and ample
greenhouse. What
stopped me was that
this mansion for a
girl had only one
bedroom and only one
narrow twin-size
bed. There was no
accommodation for a
husband or family.
No playroom for
kids. No nursery.
Instead, on the
lowest level, at the
foundation, there
was a computer room.
A house with a celibate bed – a bed that turns into a book case --
and a computer room.
Was this a glimpse of the utopia Virginia Woolf tried to call up in
her stirring essay “A Room of One’s Own” (1929)? There won’t be
a female Shakespeare, she stated, unless a woman has a room of
her own, plus a monthly stipend that guarantees her creative
independence.
Here then was a girl’s bright future to be dreamed up and
conquered by play. A girl with money, moving freely in ample
space, under high-beamed ceilings with a chandelier, sustained
by a well-equipped fridge with milk, chicken and cake on a
pedestal. For companionship a dog; for relaxation from her
computer hours, a hot tub.
Admiring this vision, I sent texts and photos to my friends with
little girls. I recalled the primitive doll house my sister and I
shared in our Berlin childhood. It had been traded on the Black
Market for I don’t know what: four empty rooms under a red
-painted roof made of plywood. We had to decorate it as well as
we could, hunting for tiny boxes that could be turned into
furniture with matchsticks. Bits of ruffled fabric for curtains, bits
of felt for rugs, tinfoil candy wrappings for lamp shades. We had
to barter with other kids for miniature dolls, cups and plates. I
remember the baby cribs we made from walnut shells and stuffed
with cotton.
Who had come up with this future version of single luxury living
without family or babies?
Made in China , was all I could detect. I don’t know how kids
today play with toys where everything is provided and ready
-made. All you have to do is take the “66 accessories” out of the
box and place them in preordained rooms. Not much, it seems,
could be added or redecorated. Nevertheless, once the dolls
enter, perhaps dreams awaken and the girl can imagine herself in
her residence as a future computer programmer, startup
entrepreneur, or as Viginia Woolf’s next Shakespeare.
Dora Helmer (to stay with literature for another moment), the
heroine of Ibsen’s play A Doll House (1879) would have found a
perfect refuge here after walking out of her husband’s
“doll house,” the golden cage with a marriage bed and nothing of
her own.
And how about the boys?
Interestingly, one Costco ad online showed a boy in action with
the house, but I had my doubts. I went on the internet and had a
look. Most doll houses had the allure of the American Dream.
Between $100 and $200, they were called “Villa” or “Mansion.”
They were called “immersive,” but would they attract
testosterone-driven activity? Some had a a garage or a slide going
from the top floor down to a painted pool. Some came with an
app to turn on the lights and the mock TV. None had a man cave
or club room. None had a computer room.
When I googled “doll houses for boys” I had to laugh. What came
up were parking garages with slots for many tiny cars, and Ghost
Houses in the shape of Gothic castles. Would one of the doll
houses “with an elevator” call to a boy? Or the one with the
telescope in the roof top? Then I saw “The Little Chef’s Kitchen”
doll house. Aha, a professional play invitation: high-end
equipment, copper faucets, well-stuffed shelves and a two-door
fridge. The accessories did not include an apron to reveal the
Little Chef’s gender.
A more non-binary doll house seemed a signal to the future
architect or interior designer: a “bohemian” doll house, bohemian standing in for original, creative. It was in fact a
designer house, advertised on Amazon for only $79. It featured
only minimal, stylish furniture, all of white wood and cherry. It
sported a sun sail for “privacy,” a skylight over the bed, white
muslin curtains on floor-to-ceiling windows, a love seat with foot
rest at the fireplace, a kitchen island, and a floor lamp in
geometric shapes. Among only 37 accessories, a crib and a dog
with dog house stood out. What could this mean? I imagined the
girl or boy living here in their fantasy play as they tried out being
a single mom or single dad, a professional with a good salary, a
dog companion-- and a bed with two pillows, just in case.
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