The Playmobil dream house
An old catalog is a time capsule into the toy I coveted as a kid.
The article about Barbie, Her House and the American Dream seems to have struck a nostalgic chord with New York Times readers. The piece explores how Barbie’s iconic house has evolved over the decades, incorporating emerging real estate and social trends.
Barbie’s body, careers, lifestyle and house — a hot pink monument of decadence and desire, now equipped with a swimming pool, slide and elevator — have all been qualities designed for children (and adults) to crave for themselves.
- Anna Kodé for the New York Times
While I played with Barbies, I did not covet her signature pink McMansion. My eyes were on a different dollhouse prize. Its design has hardly changed in 30 years. First released in 1989, my dream dollhouse has always represented an architectural style of the past.
How badly I wanted the Victorian Playmobil mansion. Similar to my obsession with Titanic, this dollhouse was a way to envision what our real house might look like when it was done.
The Playmobil Victorian Playhouse retails today for $199.99. Its product description reads like a Zillow real estate listing.1
The white mullioned windows are decorated with flower boxes and the historic gabled door invites you to enter. Walkers can catch a glimpse of the interior from the street through the high round-arched windows. In five rooms on two floors, the inhabitants of the house have plenty of space for the turbulent everyday life of the family. The walls of the rooms are decorated with floral wallpaper and old pictures, creating a cosy atmosphere. An enchanting toy house with lots of details that invites imaginative children to retell exciting stories.
I first discovered the wonderful world of German-designed Playmobil while accompanying Dad to visit Berwyn’s Toys and Trains. As he talked shop about model train components, I would ogle the shelves lined with the miniature toy sets. The bright pink boxes with Victorian-themed miniatures drew me in.
With no TV at home, I was rarely exposed to commercials targeted at children. I relied on catalogs and toy stores2 to keep me informed and fuel my dreams.
I still have the Playmobil 1994 catalog from Berwyn’s Toys and Trains. I’d often linger on pages 36-37. The Victorian dollhouse was the only item with a two-page spread. I imagine that I left these pages open on the kitchen table where my parents would be sure to see.
“Oh Betsy, must really want this,” they’d say to themselves. “We’ll buy it for her!”
My parents never took the bait. Not only was it expensive, I already had a dollhouse. Just one problem there. The big yellow dollhouse that sat on a table in the center of our playroom wasn’t finished.
Dad had only gotten so far as to build the structure of a dollhouse kit. It had cut-out holes where stairs, windows, and door frames should’ve been installed. Because Dad never added wallpaper or carpet, the sandpapery unfinished floors and walls were a drab cardboard color.
I gotta give him some credit for building the dollhouse kit. The 1-star reviews on a similar model I found online are funny.
⭐
Do not order this.. it is SO complicated
If you’re not a contractor…DO NOT BUY THIS!!! I’m so disappointed! There must be 1,000 pieces! This is just a huge mess and anyone who says, oh it’s so easy… no it not!!!
⭐
An absolute hellscape
If I could give it zero stars I would. Incredibly hard to put together, overly time consuming, poorly designed, pieces didn't fit well. The instructions were convoluted and the pieces poorly labeled and organized. It was the worst experience of my life.
When Dad put his mind to something, he could do it. He could build a 1,000-piece dollhouse. But if he lost his energy or momentum, it was game over. That left me stuck with the rough-around-the-edges dollhouse until Dad felt like returning to the project.
Over several birthdays and Christmases, I acquired almost all the Victorian Playmobil box sets. I arranged my little smiling people with their ornate Victorian furniture and accessories inside the unfinished dollhouse. I used my imagination to fill in the blanks. Instead of walking up and down stairs, my dollhouse people floated between floors.
My Victorian Playmobil people always threw big parties because whoever owned the big house was rich. Servants ran around with food and drinks while a band played in the corner. Kids were given carriage rides. If I could only get my hands on their mansion, the scene would be complete.
I don’t remember when I gave up hope that Dad would ever finish my roughed-out dollhouse. At some point, it just became obvious it was not his priority. I was starting to outgrow dollhouses anyhow.
When it was time to move from 110 Akenside, there was no question I’d take my Playmobil sets with me. I carefully packed all the figurines, furniture, and accessories into their original boxes. I also packed the 1994 Playmobil catalog.
I left the unfinished yellow dollhouse behind. I always kind of hated it.
When I rediscovered the catalog recently, sandwiched between my 7th-grade diary and old school reports, I remarked at its delicate condition. Its pages are worn from the countless times I’d turned them, studied them, and dreamed about owning the mansion inside.
Yet not a single page is dog-eared or torn. The catalog has no scribbles or marks. I took care of it. Of the dreams I had.
More from Betsy
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Who writes the product descriptions for Playmobil? They’re so good! See also: Modern Luxury Mansion and Playmo Circus.
R.I.P. North Riverside Toys “R” Us.