My First Barbie: POPSUGAR Editors Share Their Most Memorable Barbie Moments

I don't have a memory of my first Barbie (but can almost guarantee it was a hand-me-down from my older cousin's legendary collection), but my favorite Barbie came in the form of a cake topper from my 4th birthday party. I can still see her clearly — she had puckered lips as if they were blowing out a candle, crimped hair, and a pink and orange dress. I was a Barbie Girl™️ through and through, dancing to the Aqua song in front of all my friends and family in celebration, being decked out head-to-toe in Barbie gear, and even having real-life Barbie at my party. Yes, I was the most popular girl in Pre-K after that.

I had two Barbie dolls as a kid. I don't remember how I acquired them, but I do remember a desperate mission to expand their wardrobes, attempting to craft new outfits using transparent tape. My aunt had a massive collection of Barbie clothes, which I found in a closet once at my grandparents' house. Rather than just asking if I could have the clothes (everyone probably would have said, "sure," since my aunt had long outgrown Barbie), I decided to steal one thing. In kid logic, I took an outfit I didn't even like that much, because I figured no one would miss it.

My true first Barbie is a hand-me-down of Great Shape Barbie from the '80s that my mom gave me when I was a kid. (Think: teal spandex and a high ponytail.) That Barbie has since switched outfits hundreds of times and become lost in a pile of nostalgic childhood memories back home. Another of my first — and favorite — Barbies, though, was "The Wizard of Oz" Dorothy Barbie from 1999. A gift from my parents, she came with a basket, a pair of ruby slippers, her classic gingham dress with the puff sleeved blouse underneath, and a Toto figurine. Best of all, she was my first TALKING Barbie, and her ruby slippers lit up thanks to miniature lights implanted in her feet — basically the coolest present a 4-year-old in the '90s could ever imagine.

I watched "The Wizard of Oz" a lot as a kid, and even though the flying monkeys freaked me out, something about seeing Dorothy switch from black-and-white to technicolor was always magical. Plus my signature hairstyle as a kid was a pair of braids — usually tied up with knocker bead hair ties and butterfly clips from Claire's — so I definitely felt a kinship with Dorothy whenever I played with her. She was also one of the few Barbies I had who remained in her original outfit most of the time — mainly because her arms were rigid and it's hard to navigate tiny sleeves over stiff elbows.

I definitely had other Barbies that frequently fell victim to fashion faux pas and became the center of whatever drama my preschool-age mind imagined, but Dorothy was like the cool older sister that oversaw it all. Nowadays, her batteries may be dead, but I know she's stowed away safely with the rest of my childhood mementos if I ever need a reminder that there's no place like home.

I cannot tell you the story of my literal first Barbie because I was always a true Barbie girl. I had a lot of Barbies. I remember once, late in my Barbie-playing career in the early 2000s, when I would have been 8 or 9, looking at all my Barbies together (I had a pink play chest I kept them stored in, lined up like little logs). I realized you could tell the difference between the first Barbies I'd been given as a baby and toddler and the more recent ones just by the color of their hair. My earliest Barbies were all platinum blond, often with bangs. The later Barbies had a more honey-blonde hair tone, and some of them even had highlights. I could see the trends of my entire life laid out before me (included the incredible, bendy "jewel girl Barbie," who was extremely beloved).

But this photo showcases an iconic birthday haul from my 4th birthday with one of the most classic Barbies of all time, the Enchanted Evening Barbie. My mom also got me her Christmas ornament, starting my collection of Barbie ornaments. Looking back, when I think about how I would play for hours with my Barbies, I see little me as an early storyteller, coming up with massive dreams for her dolls to act out. I see a little fashionista, who always wanted her Barbies to match perfectly. She meant a lot.

I don't recall my first Barbie, but I do remember having a favorite Barbie that, in my memory, had a head of long, frizzy, reddish-gold hair and wore an extremely short, extremely glittery purple-pink dress. A true horse girl at the time, I used to spend a lot of time setting up elaborate horse farms (I had many more toy horses than Barbies, as well as a fairly elaborate stable set). In my mind, the red-headed Barbie seemed extremely beautiful and powerful, and I appointed her as the stable CEO and labeled her the best rider in the business — a true proto-girlboss from long before the term was coined or critiqued.