Curiosities: A Christmas (Tree) Story

Even Anna Wintour covets Barbie's wardrobe.  (Image courtesy of Black Cat Vintage.)

My “origin story” has always been that I developed my fondness for vintage couture by hiding inside my mother’s dresses as a child. But when a local museum asked me to design a Christmas tree, another possibility emerged.

I should not have been surprised when The Rosson House museum asked me to dress one of their annual Christmas trees: 35 years ago, my mother was asked to do the same for a Tucson non-profit. The path of our lives has always been eerily similar, and this was only a further example.

My mother next to the tree she sponsored in 1983.
(Image courtesy of Maly Photo Archives.)

I had agreed to design the tree without hesitation, but as I considered possible themes my options suddenly looked limited. As a vintage clothing collector, I would naturally want to design a tree centered on vintage fashion…but how? I couldn’t hang clothing from the limbs. Or could I?
 
My mind immediately went to the hours my sister and I played with Barbies as children. At 1/6 the scale of human clothes, Barbie’s enviable wardrobe would be perfectly sized to use as ornaments, and a vintage Barbie herself could substitute as the treetop angel.
 
Despite my sister’s and my constant ribbing of her as a highly-functioning hoarder, my mother is actually a “collector’s Collector,” one of those people who has somehow saved all the right things and knows exactly where they are. Barbie and her clothes were no exception, and I soon returned home with three suitcases of perfectly-preserved vintage Barbie clothes I hadn’t seen in over 30 years.

Three suitcases full of 60s and 70s Barbie clothes: a Christmas miracle!
(Image courtesy of Black Cat Vintage.)

I had forgotten what I had, and opening the cases was like re-living every Christmas morning of my childhood. Like a scene out of Toy Story, hundreds of outfits in every color and style begged to be loved after three decades in storage.
 
As I sorted them into ensembles I was astounded to notice the same minute details that are the cornerstone of vintage dressmaking and so familiar in my work. I would certainly have been too young to appreciate such craftsmanship when I played with them, but had the quality of these garments—reinforced by the jewels in my mother’s closet—inspired me to pursue fine fashion as a career? Quite possibly so.
 
Turns out, though Barbie was introduced in 1959, it took three years of research, design and development to bring her to fruition. An entire year of that research was devoted to her wardrobe, the proper execution of which, Mattel reasoned, could catalyze revenue long after the original $3 doll was purchased. Charlotte Johnson, a 20+ year veteran of the garment industry, was tasked with the job.

Barbie clothing designer (and doppelganger) Charlotte Johnson with her charge in 1964.
(Photo courtesy of barbielistholland.)

At 5’10” in heels and sporting many of the same facial features and hairstyle as the final version of the doll, Charlotte Johnson knew firsthand what garments would be most flattering for Barbie’s debut. A single “career woman” just like Barbie, Johnson also understood the doll would require professional attire to sell her image.
 
Mattel chose to manufacture the dolls in Japan, where workers were more familiar with the materials and processes required to make Barbie soft, pliable and life-like. To boost efficiency, Barbie’s clothes could also be manufactured in Japan, where legions of “homework people” (seamstresses who worked at home) would sew the doll’s clothes for little money.
 
In 1957, Charlotte Johnson was dispatched to Tokyo where she worked with a Japanese designer and two principal seamstresses six days a week for a full year. Multiple versions of Barbie’s original eight outfits were produced, but none met Johnson’s rigorous standards until Japanese manufacturers fabricated custom components like micro-printed fabric, 1/8” zippers and 1/16” buttons, all of which were then hand sewn onto Barbie’s clothes. Barbie’s sales were so impressive after the first year that Johnson also began attending the Paris couture shows so she could mimic the designs of Christian Dior and Yves Saint Laurent.

Barbie's "Belle Dress" circa 1962 and the Oscar de la Renta that inspired it.
Note Barbie's version has a hem!
(Images courtesy of (l to r) Black Cat Vintage and Wikimedia Commons.)

The results were breathtaking. Just like the clothes I found in my mother’s closet, Barbie’s clothes were lined in silk; her sweaters were hand knit; her coats had fur collars. Even hems and seam allowances were present so Barbie could alter her wardrobe as her needs changed, just like adult women did. No detail—including pastel underwear—was left unnoticed in order to allow the child to fully participate in the adult world she longed to be a part of.

Barbie's 1961 "Open Road" duffle coat is silk lined.
(Image courtesy of Black Cat Vintage.)

Ken's 1961 "Saturday Date" vest is reversible.
(Image courtesy of Black Cat Vintage.)

Japanese companies fabricated minuscule closures and "home workers" hand-sewed them into clothes.
(Image courtesy of Black Cat Vintage.)

Though Charlotte Johnson designed Barbie’s clothes until 1980, their production was moved to Korea in 1973 and quality suffered. The individual mix-and-match pieces like blouses, skirts and jackets so prevalent in the 1960s were replaced by all-in-one garments like jumpsuits, and details like zippers, darts and buttons were eliminated in favor of elastic or Velcro.
 
The fact that the same changes occurred in human fashion is only more evidence of how Barbie has changed with the times. But how many children have those changes deprived of the opportunity to experience something exquisite, even if only through a toy? Can we blame people for looking like slobs if they were never exposed to another option, even on a much smaller and more accessible scale?

Details like Barbie's American Airlines flight pins disappeared after 1980.
(Image courtesy of Black Cat Vintage.)

Thanks to my detours into my mother’s closet, I’m certain I would still have understood the power of clothing even without Barbie. But I feel having such perfection sized for my little hands at such a young age made its preservation both more attainable and more imperative.
 
Thank you Charlotte Johnson.

The finished product--dedicated to my sister Monique--on view at
The Rosson House Museum until December 31, 2017.
(Image courtesy of Black Cat Vintage.)