Gearhead Mom

Monday, September 29, 2008

PollyNation

Posted by Jenny M. @ 8:39 AM

For those blissfully uninitiated into the World of Polly Pockets, “My Pollies,” as my daughter affectionately calls them, are miniature Barbie-like dolls—less busty, perhaps—with stretchy plastic clothes and tiny little shoes and accessories.

Our daughter first fell in love with these infuriating little vixens when she was about two years old, when her interactions with the dolls consisted of bringing them to us for outfit donning or removal. If you’re the parent of a little girl between the ages of two and eight, then you’ve likely uttered nasty expletives while wrestling a centimeter-sized rubber skirt onto a rubber two-inch tart. Or you won’t allow Polly Pockets in your home. 

The benefit of Polly Pockets is that three years after our daughter’s first foray into Polly’s World, she’s still happily wandering around in there. In terms of toy acquisition, we’ve been able to draft off the Polly Collection, adding few accessories over the years. Our firstborn spends hours, even days, making up stories and variously rearranging her Pollies inside her Sleeping Beauty Castle (Santa Gift ‘06). If we are gone for a day, or (gasp!) overnight, she runs into her bedroom first thing to reacquaint herself with the Pollies she left behind.

It’s kind of cute, when it’s not emotional.  Because we’ve had plenty of times when her passion for them has incited irrational requests (e.g., “MOOOOMMMMMMMMY, please find that [microscopic] pink necklace and Brown-Haired Polly’s left shoe.  NOW!  I NEED them!  MOOOMMMMMY…” (Both of which probably found a new home in the vacuum cleaner last week).  When it comes to Polly Pieces, I am ruthless.  I don’t have an attachment to tiny plastic hair dryers, nor do I understand their play value, so they’re trash if they’re not in the Polly Box after clean up.  Because our daughter has had periods of Polly Throw Downs, we’ve taken them away on occasion.  And my husband has held handfuls of Plastic Polly Parts over the trashcan out of pure Polly Perturbation.
But the bottom line is that Polly Pockets have been the main actors on the stage that is my daughter’s imagination.  And for that, I am grateful.  She is not so much interested in their hair, figures, wardrobes or makeup, as she is in the roles they play in the dramas she enacts daily on her desk, bookshelves, bed, and carpet. 
On the Hussy scale of Plastic Dress-up Dolls (from 1, signifying “As Innocent and Flat as Skipper,” to 10, meaning “Plastic Prostitute,”) I would rank Pollies a four.  They don’t meet my school’s dress code, but they aren’t as obnoxiously curvaceous and unrealistic as Barbie.  And don’t even get me started on Bratz, which tip the scale. 
Notes:  The original Polly Pockets were truly tiny and have reappeared on the market.  My experience with Polly doll accessories—habitats and cars, in particular—is that they break or never fit together properly to begin with:  usually cheap, useless.  Polly plastic clothing will tear and denature eventually.  Beware the choking hazards and ubiquity of tiny Polly pieces everywhere, all over your house. 

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