Poor Tressy

 I’ve seen the Barbie film and I thought it was great. A proper film-nerds film that was funny and subtly irreverent. It is not a kids film, although I suspect how you see the film will vary depending on who you are. I can imagine people in their early thirties tipping into existential crisis while the Long Suffering Husband was agreeing with every word of the Godfather mansplaining while I was laughing (probably too loudly) at her feet.

If you look up film times Google will annoy you

Before I went I had seen a lot of commentary on the issues around Barbie, as a doll that feminists had issues with. Women slightly younger than me. My generation were just grateful to not have to play with babies, although the gross fascination of Tiny Tears’ bodily functions will never not be cool. Admittedly, having grown up dolls whose sole purpose was to teach you how to look pretty wasn’t great either but it was, at least, a different kind of future. 

During my childhood in the UK in the early Seventies Barbie had been rejected by children for the more realistic looking Sindy. Sindy was the doll we all wanted. Barbie was, well, just a little spiky. 

History will tell you that it was a feminist rejection of Barbie because of her tiny feet, too-skinny frame and huge knockers that made Mattel dream up all her jobs but it was just that girls preferred Sindy, especially in the UK.  Mattel used the feminist argument in its marketing to create the choice. Were you team Barbie or team Sindy?

Women slightly younger than me will tell of how they secretly wanted Barbie but weren’t allowed because she was the ‘wrong type of woman.’ This was still a slight hangover when my daughter was wanting dolls. I remember mums (slightly younger than me) recoiling with horror that I let my daughter play with Barbie. My argument was that I let her play with a teddy bear but I didn’t expect that she’d grow up to want to be one. 

Maybe I should have been more concerned with the rampant consumerism and production of plastic but I grew up in a household where we couldn’t always have what we wanted, so she had all the Barbies. 

I remember really wanting a Sindy doll. I must have been about six or seven and a new ballerina version had come on the market. She was me. She had blond hair and big blue eyes, ballet tights and shoes, a purple tutu and a crossover sleeveless jumper. I can picture it because it was exactly the same as what I had to wear for my ballet lessons in the dusty-floored church hall, opposite the pub where Dad stopped on the way back from ‘emergencies’.

Money was tight then. My sister had just been born, my parents had brought a new house for £5000 and the overtime emergencies, where Dad was called out to fix any problem in any telephone exchange in Essex, hadn’t properly kicked in. Mum was sympathetic to my want but it just wasn’t possible. 

Our neighbour, Aunty Mary who had a canary up the leg of her drawers, had a grown up daughter, Caroline, who didn’t play with her doll any more and so a solution was found. I inherited her doll and all of the clothes.

However.

Horror of horrors. She wasn’t even a Sindy. No. This abomination of a free gift was a Tressy doll. She had dark hair that pulled out from the middle of her head, so that she could have long or short hair. And she always looked sideways as though she were a spy on a street corner. 

I hated her.

At first.

Then she grew on me. The hair thing was cool and with  the amount of clothes she could look different three times a day and not get boring. I embraced her implied job with MI5 and she helped me notice things.

With all the talk of Barbie vs Sindy I thought I’d share this memory for all the other forgotten Tressy dolls, who never really got mentioned in the controversy.