Unboxing the Doll Collector
I rejected the social stigmas of my hobby, and now I’m striving to be a conscious collector
Pictured: The wide world of dolls represented in Jackie’s collection.
By Jackie Powers
Instagram
Hi, my name is Jackie, and I’m an adult who collects dolls.
There are perhaps some stereotypes that come to mind when I say I collect dolls. Maybe that I am some kind of old lady hoarder, or that all my dolls are the creepy ones from horror movies. Yet doll collecting isn’t that uncommon — it probably makes most short lists of things people collect. Doll collectors, however, carry the weight of stigmas unique to this hobby. Unlike records or sneakers or even comic books, dolls are looked down on as being non-utilitarian knick-knacks or toys for kids. Or more specifically, toys for girls. I’m reminded of the trope where calling an action figure a “doll” is considered an insult. I imagine a male-identifying collector would feel even more pressured by these gender expectations, and that also probably contributes to this hobby not being taken seriously. While I can understand dolls creeping people out (there are certain kinds that do that for me too), I think social restrictions on the age and gender appropriateness of doll collecting is pretty absurd.
Pictured: Jackie (proudly wearing a Bratz T shirt) poses next to a shelf displaying her doll collection.
My goal in writing this is not to confess — I don’t have much personal shame in my hobby anymore — but to help destigmatize the practice of doll collecting.
Nine years ago as a 19-year-old in my second semester at City College San Francisco, I was experiencing my first breakup. My days were spent alone commuting into the city via train for a sewing class in the morning and an illustration class downtown at night, with hours to kill in between. This gave me plenty of time to dwell on the breakup. Sewing wasn’t going well either. I thought I was at least pulling a solid C, but I realized I was flat out failing the class around the same time as the breakup. My only choice was to withdraw and reevaluate my entire future since that class was critical to getting the associate’s degree in fashion design I thought I wanted.
“I felt like I released something I had been repressing...I wasn’t about to go back to regulating this part of myself to memories and boxes tucked away in closets.”
To distract myself from pining for my ex and the existential crisis of what I was going to do with my life, I spent a lot of my free time in San Francisco wandering the shops around Union Square. My favorite place to hide was the Disney Store. It was a comforting reprieve from the hard transition into adulthood, a break where I could surround myself with familiar characters and lots and lots of toys. I was especially drawn to the dolls, and one line in particular of the Disney Princesses redesigned as toddlers by the original animators had me going back just to look at them. Not that I originally intended to buy them — I was 19, would they even let me? Would they ask to see my ID to check my age and take the toy from me when it was determined that I was too old? I knew these thoughts were absurd, but in a way I still believed them.
Pictured: Two of Jackie’s exceptionally fashionable dolls, one in a gingham skirt and printed button-down and the other in a white frilly dress and hat, posed next to an embroidery of the map of California.
Except, after the breakup, I had an epiphany. If something brought me comfort or joy and felt like me, there should be nothing to stop me from incorporating it (or keeping it) in my life. And that spring, I wanted a Disney Princess toddler doll.
So eventually, I bought it. I felt so giddy walking out of the store with it and kind of rebellious although no one even tried to stop me. Some may think this was to soothe a part of my psyche that was experiencing a rough transitional period from adolescence, and there is probably a bit of truth there. For me though, it felt like releasing something I had been repressing. After that first purchase, I wasn’t about to go back to regulating this part of myself to memories and boxes tucked away in closets.
“Dolls combine my lifelong interests in fashion, character design, storytelling, art, and an appreciation for the small details in all those things.”
I’ve loved dolls all my life, and the more I reflect on my influences, the more dolls come up. They combine my lifelong interests in fashion, character design, storytelling, art, and an appreciation for the small details in all those things. As a kid, I often drew a single character surrounded by a personalized wardrobe, like my own take on a fashion doll. I even drew fanart of my favorite doll lines like American Girl and My Scene Barbie. By high school, this evolved into fashion illustration which fueled my ambition to enter the fashion industry. Failing my sewing course may have led to a graphic design degree, but I still ended up working in apparel as a T-shirt designer. In my free time, my art still heavily features characters and clothes. If I did college all over again, I would definitely pursue industrial design and the toy industry.
Pictured: One of Jackie’s childhood drawings of a girl surrounded by a complete wardrobe and accessories that Jackie designed for her.
Although there is no time in my life where I haven’t loved dolls, there was a time in my life when I felt like I wasn’t supposed to love dolls. I can trace this shift into shame to another rough transitional moment in life — age 12. As I’m sure it was for many, for me, being 12 was awful. It was a time when I felt like I was trapped between leaving childhood behind and facing the unknown world of being a teenager and all the social pressures that came along with it. Luckily, I was also developing a healthy sense of self around this time. I knew what I loved and I wasn’t about to let anyone tell me I should change to fit in. Despite my best efforts, I was also internalizing the alienation that comes from realizing I had interests that my friends didn’t really understand or care about.
Dolls were one of those things. Around this time, the internet introduced me to the greater world of doll collecting: Japanese ball-jointed dolls, customization, doll photography, and adult collectors. These dolls were sophisticated and expensive, vessels for creativity, and they were definitely not for kids. Although I’d had display-only “collector” dolls before, this community showed me that dolls could be for other things besides play or a shelf. I became obsessed with a particular line called Pullip, big-headed cartoon-style, Korean-Japanese fashion dolls that are similar to the slightly more well known Blythe, but less expensive than the Japanese ball-jointed ones. My life’s purpose was dedicated to convincing my parents to get me one for Christmas, even though I was about to turn 13. This operation was not successful; they didn’t understand why I was still asking for dolls. Instead, I saved up all the cash I received as gifts and bought two Pullips for myself once I had enough.
“At what point does adulthood mean you can’t carry the things you loved as a child into maturity with you — and why is ‘maturity’ and ‘growing up’ and ‘changing’ so often conflated with letting go of enjoying childhood things?”
These would be the last dolls I bought for myself until that day in the Disney store six years later. Part of that was due to not having my own income — working part-time in college changed that — but a lot of my hesitation was due to a feeling that the only dolls I should have were those expensive collectable ones. This I internalized deeply, even when I started openly and proudly collecting any kind of doll I wanted. Something collectors (of all kinds) do a lot is bring up the monetary value of their collection. We justify the impulse purchase of some rare object found for a relatively good price on eBay because the chance may never come again and it could be sold someday for even more. We tell friends and family who might be getting a little concerned that it’s not childish, it’s an investment! We tell this to ourselves because of all those deep, dark feelings that our useless collections are just for kids, and that maybe we have collected too much.
I’m guilty of making such justifications, even though I’ve always known in my heart that I was probably not collecting my dolls for profit. For one, I’m a deboxer collector. This means I usually rip the dolls (carefully and lovingly) out of any packaging they come in pretty much right away with very few exceptions. Sometimes I delay unboxing just to prolong the joy of taking a doll out and seeing it for the first time, but, sooner or later, they come out. When they do, their value goes down. I also have yet to sell a doll I’ve bought in adulthood. While I may sell my less-loved dolls eventually, I remain fully on the “pro” side of pro/con arguments about unboxing (a hot ticket debate within doll collecting communities).
For one thing, dolls do decay after some time even if they remain boxed. I have bought vintage dolls that were never removed from a box to discover brittle elastics, crumbling vinyl clothes, and pieces falling apart where the glue has gotten dry. I also think dolls are meant to be appreciated, and, yes, played with. Only when they’re out of the box do they feel like my own, and therefore, worth having.
Pictured: A close-up of Jackie’s collection of Rainbow High dolls.
I collect dolls to appreciate them, not because of their fluctuating value. Having them around is a source of sentimental comfort and relaxation, and I like looking at them the same way I like looking at art and clothes. At what point does becoming an adult mean those reasons aren’t reason enough? At what point does adulthood mean you can’t carry the things you loved as a child into maturity with you — and why is “maturity” and “growing up” and “changing” so often conflated with letting go of the enjoyment of childhood things? For me, collecting dolls also represents defying these social expectations. The older I get, the more I plan to do so.
While I am coming to terms with this, I do have consumeristic and environmental concerns about my hobby. In the last few years, I have turned my attention to doll lines no longer on shelves. This means buying only second-hand dolls. This was more out of necessity for my interests than a conscious decision at first. However, after listening to Clotheshorse and watching a YouTube channel called A Thousand Splendid Dolls, I began to look at collecting a bit differently. The YouTube channel introduced me to tutorials on how to rescue and rehabilitate messy, thrifted dolls that would otherwise end up in a landfill. This inspired me. I found the process of repairing dolls myself much more rewarding than looking for good condition vintage dolls at higher prices online.
Doll collectors online are acting essentially the same as other consumeristic influencers — buying one of everything new coming out to promote on social media and show off how much stuff they have even if they don’t love the doll itself. The more of this I saw, the less I wanted to be part of it. I questioned if I wanted to support these big toy companies. I started consciously stopping myself and meditating more on whether or not I really wanted to buy something and quelling that feeling that I might miss out on it forever. The chances of that, no matter how rare something seems, are actually pretty slim. There is a lot of stuff in this world.
It is also important for me to always consider my finances before adding to my collection. Dolls are an unnecessary luxury. Like all addictions, the line between collection and obsession is crossed when it really negatively impacts one’s life. In doll communities, I often see people half joke about how much a new release will hurt their wallet or express other versions of buyers remorse. This is not a situation I want to be in. There are times that I find myself scrolling used markets just to see what’s out there; it eats away at my free time and is far more likely to result in an impulse purchase. My goal is to reduce this behavior so that it doesn’t cross over from hobby into obsession or ever become a financial burden.
Additionally, dolls are almost always plastic. Their bodies are plastic, their hair is a variety of plastics, even their clothes are made from the same synthetic plastic materials that ours are (and, like ours, they also seem cheaper than in the days of classic vintage Barbie). Fancy art and ball-jointed dolls are usually made from epoxy clay or resin, which are not great for the environment either. Not to mention the dolls often come packaged in even more plastic. Unlike our clothes, doll boxes don’t have labels detailing exactly what materials went into creating them. Plus, as I mentioned before, plastic decays. Those two Pullips I bought when I was thirteen have a myriad of issues related to the breaking down of faux leather, crusty glue, and yellowing after just fifteen years. It fills me with anxiety since I want to keep them for the rest of my life, maybe even pass them down to someone who will love them after me. The thought of them ending up as garbage someday horrifies me. It sounds counterintuitive to talk about wanting to preserve plastic, but it is an issue toy collectors face.
Buying secondhand, rehabilitating old dolls, and caring for the ones I already have is the only way to continue this hobby and feel okay about it. I may be thinking more consciously about my consumer habits as a doll collector, but I am still actively working on putting these habits into practice. Sometimes I slip up on my secondhand rule when new releases come along that I get excited about. I distract myself from bad days and negative feelings by making impulse purchases. But I am trying to find a balance between improving these behaviors and enjoying my hobby. Dolls mean so much to me because of the lifelong influence they’ve had on my creativity, personal style, and self-confidence. Dolls represent being unapologetically myself. It's important to me that they remain in my life for these reasons. But what’s equally important is that I continue to strive to be a more conscious collector.
Editor: Anna Hou | Designer: Kelsey Wolf | Photographer: Jackie Powers | Copy Editor: Katie Frankowicz | Communication/Support/Outreach: Meg Chellew
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