Why Is Fashion So Obsessed With Dolls?

My earliest interest in the field of fashion history stemmed from playing with American Girl dolls—Samantha Parkington’s steamer-trunk wardrobe and all its Edwardian-era accoutrements still have me in a chokehold. It’s a common path for fashion historians, or, really, anyone interested in fashion: the same goes for Colleen Hill, senior curator of costume at the Museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology (MFIT). She “pretty much exclusively” played with dolls as a kid. “My first chapter book was called Henriette: The Story of a Doll,” she recalls, “and it was about a 19th-century porcelain doll who needed to make a tough cross-country journey to her new owner, but her clothes kept getting in the way—her hoop-skirt was getting caught; her corset was a little too tight; but she has to wear these clothes because she’s a fashion doll.”

The New Yorker’s Critics at Large podcast declared 2023 “The Year of the Doll,” nodding to the doll-like appearances in Barbie, Poor Things, and Priscilla, each released that year. That compounded with a lifelong love of dolls prompted Hill to deep-dive into the complex, centuries-long relationship between dolls and fashion. The result is Doll Dressing, a critical exhibition on the history of dolls—as both toys and concepts—on view through January 3, 2027, at MFIT. Featuring more than 170 objects, including dolls, full-size garments, accessories, videos, art, and ephemera from the 18th century to the present, the show acknowledges—yet fundamentally challenges—the stereotypes with which the toy and collectible has long been associated.

Given how historical fashion dolls are closely linked with the 19th-century European or North American porcelain doll, Hill was initially concerned that an exhibition on the topic could feel inaccessible or limiting to many. “However, as I started looking at how dolls were represented in fashion throughout the 20th and certainly into the 21st centuries, the exhibition naturally revealed itself to be very inclusive of race, age, gender, and sexuality,” she says.

Setting the tone is one of the exhibition’s first sections, entitled “We Can All Be Dolls.” Objects include a 2022 Laverne Cox Barbie; a doll wearing a “Black Dolls Matter” T-shirt representing the nonprofit organization of the same name, which makes and provides Black and brown dolls to children of color; and a Conner Ives “Protect the Dolls” T-shirt, which the American designer created to benefit the Trans Lifeline charity (stemming from Black and Latina drag-ball culture during the 1980s, the term “doll” has become a term of endearment for a feminine trans woman). Also featured are photographs of models donning the viral “glass skin” makeup look that Pat McGrath created for the spring 2024 Maison Margiela Artisanal show, eschewing the notion that porcelain skin must be white. Nearby is Mattel’s 2019 Creatable World figures—the brand’s first gender-inclusive series of fashion dolls—which have mix-and-match wigs and clothing.

Of course, Barbie’s hyper-feminized wardrobe features in the exhibition (visitors will learn the origins of Margot Robbie’s Barbie: The Movie pink gingham dress, which recalls London boutique Biba’s wildly popular 1964 mail-order dress of the same print). Likewise, the exhibition’s scenography references the translucent neon-pink plastic that would furnish Barbie’s dreamhouse (speaking of, dollhouse lovers will also rejoice in a section devoted to perfectly petite abodes). But before life in plastic, paper reigned supreme. Projections of Claire McCardell’s paper dolls, published by Whitman in 1956, join trompe-l’oeil odes to the 2D toy by Jeremy Scott for Moschino and Jun Takahashi for Undercover.

Like McCardell, who, as a kid, would cut fashion magazines to make customized paper dolls, many designers attribute their passion to early childhood play. Doll Dressing’s “Modes in Miniature” section spotlights designers whose processes entail model-making, as well as those who frequently collaborate with toy brands or incorporate dolls into their practices. Early 20th-century designers include Jeanne Lanvin, who made and sold rag dolls before working as a milliner and couturier, as well as Madeleine Vionnet, who draped designs on a two-foot mannequin because she never learned to sketch. Designer Jason Wu was able to fund his namesake label thanks to earnings from designing dolls professionally while in high school (he continues designing dolls for Integrity Toys today), as well as Emily Adams Bode Aujla of Bode, whose fall 2025 collection was modeled on handcrafted cloth dolls, are among the designers represented with full-size garments and matching minis. Another highlight is a 1950s cotton sculpture doll made by Harlem-based fashion designer Ruby Bailey, who painted and customized Barbies (even adding natural hair) as an expression of Black pride before crafting her own sculptures.

Eagle-eyed fashion historians will delight upon seeing two dolls from the Brooklyn Museum collection that use the same wire-framed bodies as the legendary Théâtre de la Mode dolls. (Fashioned by leading French couturiers, these dolls traveled around Europe and the United States after World War II to raise funds for survivors.) In fact, there are several period dolls in the exhibition, most notably an 18th-century one with real human hair, on loan from Colonial Williamsburg.

Doll Dressing additionally chronicles how fashion dolls’ function and audience evolved. From the 16th through 18th centuries, fashion dolls were primarily designed as miniature models to be circulated among women between different cities or countries. Dressed in the latest fashions, they often came with dressmaker manuals explaining how to scale up the designs for actual wear. As fashion plates (printed illustrations, often in magazines and journals) became an increasingly popular method for disseminating trends at the end of the 18th century, dolls transitioned into a premium children’s toy. They were also a means of incentivizing young girls to learn how to sew in order for their dolls to maintain a diverse wardrobe. During the early 20th century, baby dolls were the doll of choice (in Doll Dressing, a 1939 Louis Vuitton baby-doll-wardrobe combo gives Samantha Parkington’s a run for its money). Baby-doll fashion, from nighties to youthful frocks, is a natural segue to display frilly examples from the 20th and 21st centuries.

One of Doll Dressing’s most compelling sections, “All Dolled Up,” delves into the “living doll” through three archetypes: the 1920s flapper (who loved toting around a doll as an accessory), 1960s dolly bird (think Twiggy, though both “dolly” and “bird” were derogatory terms for sexually desirable young women), and the 20th/21st-century Lolita. The latter two have been fetishized and trivialized, which Hill says is a complete misreading. “There’s a lot more agency in women or anyone dressing like dolls than most people assume,” says the curator. Speaking of Lolitas, whose frilly fashions draw from Rococo and Victorian styles, she adds, “You may think that they want to be children, but it’s actually an empowering way to dress because it’s basically a way for women to express themselves in a society that’s very much about uniformity. They’re dressing for themselves. It’s not for men or to impress others.”

Hill hopes that as visitors walk through the exhibition, “they’ll see themselves and recollect playing with dolls.” But she also recognizes not everyone is a fan. In a final section, entitled “Broken Dolls,” Hill addresses dolls’ subversive side, from being a common trope in horror films to influencing the “kinderwhore” grunge aesthetic of the ’90s (made popular by Courtney Love). Hill adds, “Even if visitors hate dolls, I think that kind of reaction is actually really productive and fun.” Nevertheless, most visitors will find it impossible to leave the exhibition without a heaping amount of nostalgia (and a yearning for Greta Gerwig to release that sequel!).