Small Worlds: Strawberryland

On the morning of my eleventh birthday, there was a giant present waiting for me in the “good room,” and my parents had led me to believe it was a sewing machine. I knelt in front of the parcel and sighed, preparing myself to fake joy but when I tore the wrapping paper, I saw that what was inside was a Strawberry Shortcake Berry Happy Home.

If I’d had the language at that time, I would have identified as non-binary, but this was the 1980s. It was a confusing time, and I dealt with it by lying in the bath after school and reading Judy Blume novels for hours. I’d never been into dolls before, but I was obsessed with Strawberry Shortcakes. Each doll was named after a dessert, and had a dessertnamed pet; each doll had the strong scent of that dessert. The premise of the toy line was that the dolls lived in Strawberryland and spent their days making and sharing desserts. There were two camp and magnificent villains— Sour Grapes and the Purple Pie Man—who tried to rob the kids’ cakes and pies, so they also needed to spend their days defending their desserts. This was the sort of imagined future I could live for. I felt that, if my gender were any single thing, it was Strawberry Shortcake.

At eleven, I knew that most of my friends had moved on to ask for stereos for their birthdays. I had asked for this dollhouse for my birthday only once, a few months earlier, because I was embarrassed. I knew I was too old for dolls and I also knew it cost a few hundred dollars, much more than my parents could afford. Somehow, my parents had intuited how much I wanted it, had got the money together for the dollhouse and had then snuck it into the house. Somehow, they didn’t think it was ridiculous that their tall and unusual child wanted a giant plastic dollhouse.This thing is huge. I still have it. It lives in the bedroom I share with my extremely patient partner. Due to the miracles of 1980s plastic manufacturing, it is still shiny and bright. Two whole shelves of our built-in wardrobe are also packed with Strawberry Shortcake dolls, sealed new in their boxes, in neat rows. I also have playsets and spin-offs. I’ve joined a number of Facebook groups where people post photos of their dolls, sell and buy them, and talk about their love for the Berry Happy Home. The origin stories have two main themes: class and gender. Many of the people now obsessed with Strawberry Shortcake never had them as children, because their parents couldn’t afford them. There are also a number of queer and nonbinary people who couldn’t have them as children because they were considered the wrong gender. Some people make customised dolls, and I’ve bought a few extraordinary dolls from a guy in Michigan, who has re-imagined a whole line of new dolls. Every now and then someone will post a photo in the group: “I’ve found one!” and they’ll proudly show a photo of their first Berry Happy Home, sourced from a thrift store or Marketplace.

Honni van Rijswijk @honnivanrijswijk