Do you remember the Cabbage Patch Kids? Back in the ’80s, it felt like every child was clamoring for one of those adorable, chubby dolls with their round faces and sweet dimples. Recently, I found myself chatting with friends about that iconic craze. One friend recounted how her grandfather rose at the crack of dawn to stand in line at a toy store, hoping to score one for her. Others shared tales of acquiring their dolls through clandestine channels, with whispered phone calls and secretive basement meet-ups. Some even had grandmothers or mothers who crafted the dolls by hand.
We reminisced about names like “Marigold Plum,” “Cyrus Finnegan,” and “Lila Bree.” My favorite was “Jasper Juno.” Of course, we all recalled how the name “Xavier Roberts”—the creator of these beloved dolls—was tattooed on their bottoms, which now seems a bit odd in retrospect.
The peak of the Cabbage Patch frenzy occurred during the 1983 holiday season. Stores were flooded with shoppers, and chaos erupted as people scrambled to grab the coveted dolls. The demand far exceeded supply, and with the dolls being a relatively new phenomenon, it became a battle to procure one.
Many of my friends’ parents avoided the madness, but some vividly described how they were nearly trampled by other eager shoppers fighting for those yellow boxes wrapped in shiny cellophane.
A big part of the allure was that each doll was unique. The narrative behind them claimed they were born in a Cabbage Patch and needed loving homes. Each doll came with official adoption papers, a birth certificate, and an “oath” to recite while raising your right hand. Do you remember the words? I do:
“I promise to love my Cabbage Patch Kid with all my heart. I vow to be a kind and caring parent. I will always cherish how special my Cabbage Patch Kid is to me.”
One friend shared the story of her doll, named “Carina Belle.” She wasn’t fond of the name and sought to change it to “Elena Grace,” but it required formal paperwork. Everything about these dolls was so charmingly official, steeped in myth, and perfectly designed to resonate with girls who were already daydreaming about motherhood.
While not every child was enchanted by the adoption aspect, I certainly was. The Cabbage Patch phenomenon captured my heart. However, I faced a long wait before I could finally have one. My mom was a newly single parent after the tumult of 1983, with a newborn sister in tow. At $30 to $40 each, these dolls were a significant expense for her. Despite the tight budget, my persistent requests never wavered.
Finally, in 1984, I received my very own Cabbage Patch Kid, named “Rowena Adora.” She had short, curly blonde hair and sparkling blue-green eyes. Ironically, I recall desiring her more than the actual moments spent playing with her. Although she remained in my stuffed animal collection for years, my memories of playing with her are vague compared to the longing I felt before getting her.
Yet, whenever I come across a Cabbage Patch Kid today, a wave of nostalgia washes over me, rekindling that childlike joy. They continue to exude a charm that is undeniably comforting and magnetic.
How did you get your Cabbage Patch Kid? What name did you choose? Do you still have it? Share your story!
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