I was not a future engineer: GoldieBlox and doll-shaming models of feminism (or, the dolly post)

When I was six, I fell in love with a doll. We’d received an American Girl catalog in the mail and there, at the back, was a two page spread of Molly McIntire, shown at actual size. She wore her hair in braids; she wore a jaunty beret; she wore glasses. The copy told me she was a nine-year-old girl growing up during World War II. I had never seen anything like her. I was filled with want.

I read all her books, penned by the inimitable Valerie Tripp. And I found myself reflected in them. Molly...