Dear American Girl Dolly People,

The first time I received your catalog, I laughed at the irony. The second time, I was all, “Wait a second. Someone is totally punking me. Which one of my smartass friends with girls thought, ‘Let’s taunt the frat house den mother with girly girl stuff for snarking she’s gonna get the last laugh when they all hit their teens.’ ” Then I thought, maybe it was payback for all the people who’ve asked me, “Are you going for the girl?” and got the eye roll and stock snark,  ”Girl? Come on. One more and it’s an instant golf foursome,  the hubs will be cut from the team, and then how will I ever get him outta the house?”

 But now I’ve received your doll mag at least three or four times. It’s you. All you. I gotta tell you, American Doll people….seriously? You really need to get your s*&^ together. I have three BOYS. Ninos. MuchachOS. Not AS. I don’t know who you bought your mailing list from, but you’re getting like zip for a return on your invesment if I’m any indication. I mean, do Pottery Barn and Restoration Hardware send catalogs to prisons? (Although grey walls are quite the thing now. Coincidence?) It’s called targeted marketing, doll people. I think you need to put on your Go Girl Sunglasses and New! Active Sneakers and step on out of the doll house and into the big girl world.

I’m sure these catalogs aren’t cheap. I don’t think Kit Kittredge, “a bright light in the dark days of the Great Depression”,  would approve of you squandering your resources in this way. And Lanie, who seems hip to the world’s bounty, has to be squirming in her shorts adorned with “I love nature” at your blatant waste of paper! Just don’t lie to Lanie and me.  How many trees did you kill to send me all these catalogs? I’ll grant you, I’m no Al Bore, but tsk tsk! You are wasting nature’s gifts like nobody’s biz!

I have to be honest though. I’ve kind of taken a shine to little Lanie. If I had a girl *cough*, I would totally dress her like Lanie. Her striped blue and green short sleeve rugby polo dress is, well, just the right balance between sporty and feminine. You overlooked no detail with the tiny bow on her shoes and green messenger bag with embroidered butterly. Nice touch. And the garden outfit? For real? Could you even make a fab hat like that for my big squash? Love! And the a-line deep pink dress with tangerine cardigan? Does that come in misses? Dress me up muffintop!

I'M NOT TOTALLY SOLD ON THE DO...BUT THE DRESS AND SHOES? SHE OWNS IT!

But the boys? Were not so impressed with Kit and Lanie.

Here’s what the informal focus group had to say about your doll catalog :

“Is there any boy toys in this book?”

“Ugh, this is bo-ring.”

 ”It’s a girl book!!!!”

 The tribe….has spoken.

"COME ON GUYS! THERE ARE SOME AWESOME ROCKS RIGHT OVER HERE!" *PHOTO COURTESY OF DEBBIE ELLIS PHOTOGRAPHY

I’m not trying to be sexist. I’m not. The hubs is perfect example of salty and sweet. Real men cry. They mop. They rock the clearance racks at Marshall’s with the best of the fashionistas. They cook. (As my husband said to me one weeknight as he made dinner….”I bring home the bacon AND fry it up in a pan!” But? I shop for the bacon! And Tretorns. If one of my sons picks up a doll at a playdate and wants to get his pink on, I never interject.  But they’re not exactly jonesing to break the sabbath with Rebecca Rubin or have a spot of tea with Felicity Merriman. Right now in this house? We’re bugs and worms, Power Rangers and Transformers, and Matchboxes and mudpies.

And girls can do anything a boy can do. I know that. Because I’m the girl who came home from playing outside when I was little with caked on mud down the front of her shirt. (And you know, besides the dirt rollers, there’s the doctors, lawyers, CEOS, Secretaries of State, blabbity blah.) Ahem. Anyhoo, when my mom asked me, “Janet. What are you DOING? You come home and the front of your shirt is always covered in dirt that I can’t get out!”, I had to explain that rather than walk around to play king of the hill with the boys next door, I’d burrow underneath the stockade fence behind my house. E-ffi-cient! See? Grace really is inherent.

The truth is, I didn’t even play with dolls when I was little and I AM was a girl when Carter and the Gipper were Prez and saturated fat was all the rage!! I take that back. I had one Barbie. One. Can you guess which one? Give up? Suntan Barbie. A most wonderful choice for someone with skin the color of a Word document. The tan lines so fascinated me! (It’s a crying shame Mattel didn’t follow up with Suntan Barbie cruising with Ken in the ‘vette to the dermatologist!)

Listen, Rebecca Rubin, Josefina Montoya and my girl, Lanie Whatsherface, all seem really lovely. The spa days, hikes, and cultural lessons neatly rolled into your catalog are truly remarkable. And I thought Transformers were more than meets the eye. Who knew?

But I have one last thought…. maybe if you stop sending people who have kids who only pee standing up 5,000 glossy pages of fun dolly clothes, you won’t have to charge like $95 bucks for Lanie and the crew. ($95 bucks? $95 bucks!)  For $95 bucks Lanie better make me my coffee. With milk. That’s all I’m sayin’.

So, unless you start selling suntan melanoma Barbie, let’s save the rainforest and stop the madness. Or Imma gonna have to get in my girl Lanie’s camper and serve up some STFU sammies on your American Girl arses! Cucumber of course!

In muffintops,

Muffintopmommy