Okay, I'll start: 
Here's MY Dolly Story—

Once upon a prehistoric time, when I was a little girl of ten or so (we were still little girls—and boys—at ten in those days; maybe we dolly people still are?) I had a baby doll that had a headful of lovely short auburn curly, curly hair (really lambskin, I'm sure, but I don't want to think about that). Her name was Victoria Elizabeth and she was almost real baby size. She was made of something washable because I could bathe her. She drank from a bottle, and that of course necessitated changing her diaper. She could sit up and she could be bathed. An older German lady, a longtime friend of the family, was a sort of substitute Granny to me since my real grandparents were all gone to a better place—except maybe one grandpa but that's another story. 

On the first Christmas after I got Victoria Elizabeth for my birthday in July, this wonderful older lady made a complete wardrobe for her, including a lovely white organdy and lace party dress with a pink crocheted jacket and cap. A little aside: there was absolutely nothing one can do with thread/yarn and some sort of needle/hook/bobbin that this lady didn't know all about and do to perfection. I was thrilled with the enormous box full of beautiful handmade baby things. I still have those tucked away. Too bad I have no little girl of my own to give them to!

Not too many weeks later, to go on with my story, we went to the beach (we lived in the tropics so Christmas was the beginning of dry season). Of course, I had to take Victoria Elizabeth with me. She had a bathing suit after all, carefully knit by my surogate Gran, in red, white and blue—very beach-worthy! But there lies the tragedy. When we came back from our morning swim, after hosing the salt water off of her, I left Victoria Elizabeth out in the sun so that her hair and swim suit would dry properly  ...and forgot her. 

When I looked for her the next day, I suddenly remembered where I had left her. There she sat, in the blazing tropical sun, on the little stool I had set her on the morning before. I burst into tears! She had MELTED in the intense heat. Victoria Elizabeth was a lumpy mess everywhere, all the drip and flow had resolidified in the cool night air and she looked now no longer a beautiful healthy baby but the pitiful victim of some dread disease with her skin dripping like candle wax down her arms and back, ruining her darling little swimsuit in the process! All that was left—shining with its previous glory—was the beautiful curly auburn wig. I scalped her before burial, I'm horrified to report!

I saved that wig. I had no idea why or what I might do with it. I just couldn't get rid of that last vestige of Victoria Elizabeth. 

When I was in 8th grade, I bought a teenaged doll with my carefully saved allowance. Her name was Maggie. She came with blond pigtails and braids, a green plaid dress with white piqué collar and cuffs on her puffed sleeves, a circle skirt with a "leather" belt—and SADDLE OXFORDS, complete with bobby sox! I made her a lot of clothes. There was a pink prom formal, a white taffeta and rhinestone-spangled net bride dress with a veil, a squaredance dress in a green material with flowers on it including a straw bonnet with matching ties, and a negligée and nighty out of pink batiste with white lace trim—I made up the pattern for that! 

Then came highschool and college. After two years of college, I stayed home for a semester to think about changing schools and majors. I think best when I am working with my hands—sewing, knitting, and so on. So, when clearing out a closet, I came upon Maggie AND Victoria Elizabeth's wig in a big box of all my dolly things, I started to imagine... 

Elizabeth Taylor had just played Cleopatra in that movie. And people were wearing trapeze dresses and such. Blonde pigtails? Off came the blond wig. I cut down to size the lovely red curly wig and pasted it on Maggie: instant red-headed Gina Lolobrigida! I was going back to school at a different university but not for about six months. 

I played dolls while I waited. Doll, I should say. Maggie/Gina looked way too plain for her beautiful hair. India ink eyeliner and eyebrows a la Cleopatra/Elizabeth and ballet slippers painted on to replace the saddle oxfords fixed that. Then out of scraps from my back-to-college wardrobe which was in production, I made her a red wool trapeze dress with a turban to match: Voilá! A proto-fashion doll. I still have her. Her face kind of looks like Horsmann's Rini. I'll "shoot" her soon and see if you agree!