The American Girl’s Felicity Merriman: 

Not in My House!

The latest American Girl catalog arrived in the mail today, featuring a special invitation for young ladies to attend an elegant tea-cum-coming-out party. The party, to be held in Williamsburg on August 23, 24, and 25, costs $50 per child, which does not include entrance to the historic area. The occasion is to introduce the Pleasant Company's latest doll in the “American Girl Collection.”

These catalogs are the slickest, most seductive brochures ever marketed to girls aged 8 to 12. My daughter and her friends can recite, from memory, the features of each of the three American girls and their accessories. They have also picked up on the “educational value” of the dolls, which is used to justify their exorbitant cost.

You need only buy the $85 doll, plus up to $860 in paraphernalia (including matching outfits for living American girls) to learn all about the history of the time. (Sort of a scratch-and-sniff John Jakes to “reinforce the learning experience” for the younger generation.) “Kirsten” is a Swedish immigrant who became a pioneer girl in the American frontier of the mid-1800's. “Samantha” lives with her wealthy grandmother in the early 1900's, and “Molly” helps out in the war effort during World War II. (If you buy the $210 fur boots from the “Kirsten Collection,” you can presumably learn to keep your feet warm, just as she did in 1854.)

But there is something seriously strange about this latest catalogue. Unlike the other three, the newest creation is -- to put it bluntly -- ugly. She could play a sweet-but-stupid parlor maid in a Miss Marple mystery, or Little Miss Muppet, or a decidedly unspunkly Becky Thatcher. One friend likened her to a female “sad Sack,” another called her “bovine,” a third said “frumpy,” and my husband just gasped. I'll stick with ugly, although, to be charitable, I might call her a “plain Jane.”

But that's the rub. Her name isn't Jane. It's Felicity. And Felicity should conjure up visions of ethereal beauty and happiness. (Felicitys are not necessarily sexy, but they are definitely smart, serene, secure….)  They may not be beautiful, but they are never ugly.

I ought to know. I have enjoyed the name for 44 years, and all of the Felicitys I have known (two) were lively, dynamic, unforgettable women. This doll is so forgettable that only her name saved her from instant trashing.

But that's not the worst of it. This latest “American girl,” Felicity Merriman, lives in colonial Williamsburg, where she dances with the Governor's children in the Palace, and rides her “beloved horse Penny” down deep-shaded streets.

Now this is where I really take offense. It is bad enough that the Pleasant Company exploits my daughter's love of learning into pleas (a.k.a. tantrums) for beautifully hyped and extravagantly priced trinkets. It is bad enough that it created the ugliest, dumbest-looking doll in the collection, and named it after me. It is bad enough that Felicity's first coming-out party is the same date as my wedding anniversary. But now they have taken my mother's name and given it to a horse! Whoa!

So now I have a dilemma. At camp tomorrow, my daughter's friends will be abuzz with talk of Felicity Meriman. After perhaps some initial confusion, my daughter will see her opening: she will want Felicity Merriman and the beloved horse Penny as a way of honoring and valuing her mother and grandmother on a regular basis.

That tactic won't work. (Can you imagine two Felicitys in the same house? -- And it certainly wouldn't help my digestion to look at this doll during dinner...) But, if she reads the brochure carefully, she will learn that the party, which lasts approximately one-and-one- half hours, includes a segment on the “proper way to take tea.” When in doubt, I always stress the importance of good manners, and my daughter will no doubt see this as a worthy investment in her etiquette.