Vintage Barbie Museum Pop-Up
216 N. Main
December 1, 2024
I walked through the candy-pink door that's magically appeared between Chimera and the Tulsa Violin Shop, and there she was: Golden Dream Barbie, with her body-skimming gold lamé jumpsuit, her weird translucent cape-slash-skirt, and her volumized blond hair, plumped up with strands of metal that made it actually hold a curl.
How long had it been since I’d thought about her? About being her? Since I was, like, six years old?
It was incredible to see that Farrah Fawcett bitch again. Likewise: Western Winking Barbie, a personal favorite (whom I always thought of as a lost Mandrell sister) whose left blue-eyeshadowed eyelid always got drunkenly stuck halfway down when I pressed the button to make it wink.
Western Winking Barbie (L); J. D. Houchens (with Golden Dream Barbie at his shoulder, R). Photos by Alicia Chesser
At the Vintage Barbie Museum Pop-Up, curated by J. D. Houchens and Karl Jones and open through January, you too can reconnect with your childhood self—and with the many selves represented in the world of Barbie. Like any icon, she contains multitudes, and the collection on display here shows more than a hundred of them, from the very first Barbie (1959) in her iconic black and white swimsuit to Barbies in Yves Saint Laurent-inspired dresses, Diahann Carroll-esque gowns, ’60s mod fashions, ‘80s workout wear, and even lingerie (complete with a tiny working garter belt). Displayed in groups in glass-fronted cases, the dolls—Barbies, Christies, Kens, even a Midge and an Allan—read like a timelapse of American cultural life.
When I signed up for a guided tour, I was expecting a basic walkthrough of the collection, which Houchens has assembled over three decades. I wasn’t expecting what it turned out to be: a two-hour full-immersion experience that involved a glass of wine, interactive elements, personal stories, a touch of sociopolitical discourse, and engrossing shelf-by-shelf detail about the dolls, their history and their impact.
Houchens kicked things off by telling us about his own journey as a collector, and Jones followed up with his own Barbie story. A skeptic weaned on second-wave feminist critiques and first-hand experience in the world of children’s toy licensing, Jones was brought up short when the guy he’d just started dating (Houchens) uttered the words “I collect Barbies.” Cue a spirit of curiosity that resulted in the two co-curating an entire exhibit about Ken, who has his own fascinating history, at the Sherwin Miller Museum of Jewish Art earlier this year. They’ve struck gold again with the Vintage Barbie Museum, where, as Jones said, “the two of us together have gone on this journey of presenting J. D.'s meticulous and beautifully built collection in ways that I think keep the stories going and growing.”
J. D. Houchens and friends. Photos by Alicia Chesser
Odds are you have a Barbie story, too, whether you actively played with them, were actively discouraged from playing with them, or only caught surreptitious glimpses of them in your best friend’s sister’s room. (Or just, like, watched that one movie.) As it does for Houchens’ collection itself, this inclusive museum activation gives guests permission to consider their own Barbie journey as something more than a silly childhood trinket.
We were invited to write down our personal “Barbie secrets” on pink sticky notes, which Jones then read out anonymously. (Some were hilarious, some heart-rending.) We got to create our own Dream Barbie ideas (Dockworker Barbie! Judith Jamison Barbie!) and everyone was welcome to chime in throughout the tour as more ideas and memories flooded to the surface. I wasn’t the only person to blurt out “Oh my God, I totally had that one!” when Houchens brought out a particular doll.
Houchens’ knowledge is as wondrous as his world-class collection. During the tour, he shared facts about these dolls—from the cultural shifts they reflect to their impossibly detailed accessories—in a way that was as engaging as it was encyclopedic. Jones supplemented with industry tea about corporate Barbie scandals and the collapse of an Oklahoma Barbie collectors group after its secretary embezzled something like $100,000 from the organization. (The curators are working on a podcast about Barbie Crimes.)
Photos by Alicia Chesser
A strong museum activation fills in knowledge gaps, brings artifacts to life, and connects the objects on display with the experience of the viewer, letting you see your own story as part of the larger story the exhibit tells. Inside its pink fantasy door (really, was there even a door in that spot before?), the Vintage Barbie Museum Pop-Up does all that—and the curators noted that it was important to them to have it happen in Tulsa. Sure, the Barbie Experience at Manhattan’s Museum of Arts & Design might have splashier lighting and wall text. But in Jones’ words, “You can fly to New York and see just as good a collection, spend $2,000 on flight, hotel, and all that stuff, or come downtown and see, in some ways, a better collection, even tighter and denser,” with a guide who is himself the collector.
It’s a perfect little instance of how personal memory, curation and placemaking can play well together. What is Tulsa, anyway, if not a place where a western wink and a golden dream are always standing side by side, making up new stories together as the years go on?
