History, Memory, and Marketplace

Abstract

Sarah H. Case and I met for our monthly editorial meeting, little expecting that this special issue of The Public Historian would be one consequence. Sarah had, the day before, returned from Los Angeles, where she'd taken her two daughters and niece to the American Girl Place in The Grove, downtown Los Angeles. As she explained, a visit to the store is more than just an opportunity to buy a doll; rather, it is itself an experience that can last an afternoon. On two floors, the store offers a wide array of dolls and doll accessories-most unconnected to the brand's historically themed merchandise. There is also a salon, where doll owners must make an appointment, sometimes several hours in advance, for their dolls to have their hair styled, their nails painted, or receive a facial. Hungry visitors (who have reserved in advance) can visit the second-floor café. Food is mostly kid-friendly and prix fixe, so that at their lunch Sarah's sister's salmon and her younger daughter's pasta with butter both ran $25. Both, however, came with starters and desserts, soft drinks, and service that is sweet towards the girls and a bit cheeky to adults ("Ladies, will we be adding a prosecco this afternoon?"). Dolls are given booster seats and tiny plastic cups and plates. Leaving the café, feeling overwhelmed by the sugar, the signature pink branding, and sheer amount of doll-sized stuff (and perhaps wishing that she had agreed to that prosecco), Sarah found herself among the alcoves to each of the historically themed dolls. Here, small rooms dedicated to a specific character offer dolls, books, and meticulously created furniture, clothing, and accessories that tell their stories. Staring at Josefina's 1824 Christmas outfit, Samantha's 1904 bicycle, and Julie's 1974 flower-power bed, she wondered: could these, along with the books accompanying each character, offer a meaningful affective connection to the past for girl consumers?Those who know Sarah's central role in maintaining the scholarly rigor and timeliness of our journal might, as I did, arch an eyebrow at this news. I soon, however, found my eyes wider open to an historical "gateway" that launched us toward this issue. Our question, as public historians, involved a wish to better understand how American Girl dolls came to "life" as historically situated characters, and how their lives, in the play of their owners, spurred historical curiosity and knowledge acquisition. Although the dolls and their extensive accessories seemed frivolous (and are certainly expensive), the books associated with the historical dolls provided Sarah's then-seven-year-old daughter with stories that she found compelling about girls during the War of 1812, New Mexico in the 1820s, and