A Perfect Childhood Balance in Dollhouses and Racetracks
During kindergarten roundup, I was asked to refrain from playing with the kitchenette — not because I was a boy, but because it was “out of order.” I still don’t completely believe that justification, although it was the first time I remember anyone telling me I wasn’t allowed to play with a certain toy.
Growing up with a big sister, we had a pretty diverse collection of playthings. Nothing was totally off-limits, and we were pretty cool with sharing. Barbie would hang out with Ninja Turtles; my Hot Wheels track would strategically loop around dollhouses. We knew who owned what, but toys were toys. And sometimes, Barbie’s adventures were more fun for me.
You see, my sister had this epic homemade, wooden dollhouse crafted by my grandpa. (He’s always been a craftsman.) Every granddaughter got her own dollhouse; every grandson got a barn. I loved my barn, but it just wasn’t a sprawling 4-foot-tall dream home that hinged opened like a book with eight windowed rooms. It was even carpeted it with those samples swatches you can get from home improvement stores! There wasn’t much furniture for it, but we got creative.
Every future gay man develops his penchant for home decorating through boyhood dollhouses, right?
Except I wasn’t really that boy from the Moschino Barbie commercial. (God, I wish I were as cool as him.) We didn’t have stylish dolls. I remember one time dressing my couple in curtains and calling them “Kurt & Anne.” Not for fashion reasons, but because we literally didn’t have any other clothes for them. I hadn’t even seen The Sound of Music yet for inspiration.
My aunt from Nebraska got me my own Ken doll for Christmas once, and I wasn’t even ashamed about it. I hadn’t learned about multiplication yet, but I already knew my Ken doll was hotter than my sister’s. Ain’t that something?
My grandparents’ house was the best, though. They had this antique yellow Barbie “Star Traveler” RV straight out of the 1970s. So when we were on vacation, the Barbies were, too. But VINTAGE.
The way we played with dolls was similar to the way people play The Sims, so I never understood why only girls could play — I just knew that no other kids could know I did. (Much like several other scenarios down the line.) And they didn’t. I’m actually not sure what I would have done had my elementary school friends discovered my interest.
I feel like I owe a chunk of my maturity to those dollhouse days. When I was playing there, I was an adult with my own home and family to manage. It didn’t matter whether store aisles labeled those as girl toys; I knew what they meant to me.
This was sibling bonding for me. I’m sure if I had a brother, I’d be a little more apt to set Barbies on fire. But my sister never once told me it wasn’t okay to play along with her dolls — only that it was our thing. Whether we wanted to take the dolls on a scenic car ride across the painting of a country road on our basement wall or have a cliffside wedding atop a coffee table, my imagination was at its best with these toys.
I’ve always wondered if I would still be gay if I didn’t grow up wanting to play with my sister’s toys. Or if I were straight and still ended up playing with them, would I be even more ashamed? My childhood was still filled with the raddest collection of toy cars and action figures.
I feel like I owe a chunk of my maturity to those dollhouse days. When I was playing there, I was an adult with my own home and family to manage. It didn’t matter whether store aisles labeled those as girl toys; I knew what they meant to me.
So of course I’m cool with Target’s decision to neutralize gender in their toy aisles. But will that make the stigma go away? Probably not yet. Hell, even I’d still be caught off-guard if my son wanted a pink bedroom. It’s societal, but if other places follow in Target’s footsteps, a revolution could still happen. For now, at least I know from experience, a balanced toy selection won’t ruin a kid’s life. Spread the word.
