Mod Barbie Fashion Find

Mod-era Barbie clothes are just fantastic things, reflecting the daring, day-glo designs of their time (1967-1972). The individual outfits were given creative names by their designers, like "Maxi 'n Mini," "Knit Hit," and "Velvet Venture." They are also fragile things, made of glittery metallic and foiled fabric, velveteen, vinyl, and synthetic fur. These two factors combine to make mod-era Barbie fashions desirable, scarce, and costly. I've not been willing to pay the extortion-level prices usually asked for such pieces, and so my mod Barbies have sadly remained naked. Until now.

 While browsing some sales late last week, I stumbled upon a "bargain box" full of modern (1990s-2000s) Barbies. I was going to pass over them, as modern Barbies don't interest me much...but then I thought I better take a closer look at the box "just in case."

Well, it's a good thing I did: the contemporary Barbies were all clothed in original 1960s mod-era fashions, including some of the most highly sought Barbie clothes out there. Each doll was priced at $2.00, and at the bottom of the box was a plastic baggie filled with more mod pieces, the whole bag labelled $3.00. The score was about $250.00 worth of vintage Barbie clothes for $9.00!

 In the bag were the sleeveless minidresses "Knit Hit" & "Togetherness" (upper right), Francie's far-out and furry turquoise corduroy poncho (center), and 2 pieces from Sears' exclusive "Glamour Group" (bottom right), as well as a cool bowling bag and some vintage shoes.

The bag also included a couple of "mommy-made" pieces (top, left and right: stripey dress and yellow sweater/floral skirt ensemble).

After I recovered from my swoon, I rushed the Barbies home, where they were stripped and given to a friend who likes the new dolls. The vintage clothes were gleefully adopted by my mod Barbies, who model them below.

My blond Hair Fair Barbie sports the fabulous, and rarely found, "Maxi 'n Mini," a turquoise foiled maxi coat with a metallic striped mini dress. This outfit originally came with matching thigh-high boots, which were incredibly fragile and seldom survived. 

 

Check out that fab faux fur collar!

My blond TNT (Twist 'n Turn) Barbie models the coat from "Velvet Venture," a cool pale green plush with gold braid trim.

My brunette Hair Fair Barbie showcases one of the mod-era's day-glo outfits, which was named "Hurray for Leather" by Mattel designers who were apparently unaware of the naughty allusions this title could stir up amongst a certain group of sex fetishists. Unfortunate naming aside, this is one of the coolest of the mod fashions, consisting of a leather-look yellow vinyl miniskirt with day-glo orange shag trim that matches the sweater, completed with yellow "pilgrim" shoes.

She's ready for a night of go-go dancing...

My mod Barbies are thrilled with their extensive new (and cheap!) wardrobe.

To see lots more mod Barbie fashions, check out Carnaby Street at modcolors.com.

A Photogenic Family...Not.

Here's the last picture I saved from a stash of antique cabinet photos I came across this week. I don't know if there was something in the local water, the photographer was intoxicated/inept, inbreeding was rampant in the area, or there was a combination of all the above, but for some reason this cache of photos held an enormous number of odd-looking individuals (see the "Crazy-Eyed Baby" and "Funny-Looking Guy" previously posted below).

This example just begs for a retake: Little Brother, on the far left, has his eyes crossed; Big Brother, standing at the back, has a tragic, haunted expression; Big Sister, on the right, looks like she's about to cry; and the bear rug appears to be eating the Baby.

My apologies in advance if someone recognizes these 

as their ancestors.

Funny-Looking Guy Photo From the 1800s

Found recently in the same stash of antique cabinet photos as the Crazy Eyed Baby, this gentleman gave me pause. He's got a New Wave hairdo going on a century early, but even without that, there's just something odd-looking about him, no? He's definitely a keeper.

McKee's Moving Puzzle

A few weeks ago I stumbled across one of the most amazing advertising premiums I've ever seen. Made in 1927, "McKee's Moving Puzzle" in its nondescript, 4 by 3 1/4 inch box holds a remarkable toy inside: a wooden furniture puzzle complete with some clever copywriting.

The McKee Moving & Storage Company was based in the city of Saskatoon in Saskatchewan, Canada. In 1927 they distributed this puzzle as an advertising premium to potential customers. The box cover reads,
"We can solve all your moving, packing, storage, and shipping problems." 

Inside, the puzzle consists of 9 wooden pieces labelled as various pieces of furniture: piano, chairs, rug, mat, lamp, table, clock, and sofa. The trick is to move the piano from one corner to another without jumping, raising, or turning any piece, one piece at a time. (It's incredibly difficult. I gave up very quickly.) Clever ad copy inside the cover reads:
"Moving is always a problem. Placing the furniture is frequently a puzzle...we can solve this puzzle, as well as your Moving, Storage, Packing or Shipping problems. Write for solution." 

Thank goodness the instructions were included, or I would never have managed it. The text ends with a final advertisement:
"If you have followed the above directions you are now an expert piano mover as far as this puzzle is concerned. However, should you have a real piano or other  household goods to move back, store, or ship don't fail to call on us." 

McKee's is apparently still in business, and if I lived in Saskatchewan, I would definitely hire them to move some of my furniture around, just to show my appreciation for this fantastic toy.

1916 Hoosier Cabinet

I have a thing for Hoosier cabinets, somewhat strangely I suppose, since I don't cook or spend any time in my kitchen (it's used for displaying my PEZ collection). These cabinets, loaded with specialized compartments for groceries and utensils, were a mainstay in American kitchens from the 1900s through the '40s, and were repurposed as storage units in garages and basements for decades after.

They have appeal to collectors of Americana, and many people remember them fondly from visits to their grandmothers. The cabinets can be things of great beauty, but after years of neglect are often found in this condition:

 My mother and I discovered this Hoosier in an alley behind a Salvation Army store, where it had sat all night in a torrential rain storm.  As apparent in the above photo, it had been badly overpainted many times, and was totally waterlogged. But it still had its original etched glass doors and most of its hardware, and I could tell it was old. We felt it didn't deserve such a miserable end after almost a century of faithful service, and we determined to save it. It took a year of sanding, sanding, endless sanding, but finally it was finished last week. When we cleaned the latches, we found a patent date of 1916, which enabled us to identify the cabinet.

Here it is now, restored to its original golden oak finish:

I use it for storing my vintage board game and puzzle collection, which I imagine the cabinet is really enjoying after all those years of holding greasy tools (we think someone had it in their garage for a long time, after its kitchen duty ended).

The silverware drawer is perfect for small puzzles:

Hoosier cabinets are really fascinating things, and you can learn more about them in a great new book that just came out last year: The Hoosier Cabinet in Kitchen History, by Nancy Hiller.