We call it "porcelain", but it's really not. The word is a polite lie hiding the truth beneath.
True, the process by which it is made shares some similarities with the production of ceramic; it is meaningful to speak of doll-kilns and the ways badly formed feedstock can break—and oh, that's another euphemism. "Feedstock" is a much politer word than, well ...
It's easier to think of them as if they were artificial beings. Not merely inhuman but entirely divorced from biology: a triumph of modern thaumatology. Fashioned out of nothing but clay and imbued with a spark of divinity, given life and meaning and eager to thank the world with their service.
Feels good to think of them like that, doesn't it?
No one has ever accused a thaumatologist of not wanting to feel like a god.
But here's the truth of it: porcelain—true ceramic—doesn't have that silky-soft surface. It doesn't give beneath your hungry fingers, and it doesn't bruise or bleed. It doesn't sweat either, its pores hidden beneath a smooth glaze; nor does dollflesh (another euphemism).
No one who has repaired a doll—who has carefully shaped a fresh slab of dollflesh to replace a ruined section, who has cut away to expose the sheathed bone beneath—could confuse one for a baseline human. They are so obviously not that. Obviously.
And maybe they're not true porcelain, maybe it's just a technical term, but what of it? They aren't human.
... "aren't" does not imply "weren't".