So, I bought a doll. I would be embarrassed to tell you how much she cost; I’m a little bit stunned myself. Why did I buy her? I don’t know. And yet I somehow do. I do know that she is enhancing my life; I feel like I’ve stepped that little bit closer to bringing my dream world into my everyday home.
I’ve always been a doll person. I was a serious Barbie freak as a child. Not to mention a paper doll enthusiast. I pretty much had a doll habit going on. The only explanation I can offer is that they allowed me to bring my fantasy worlds to life, tell stories with them and take action to make the world a little bit more like my ideal. Of course, if you had asked me at the time, it’s fairly likely that wouldn’t have been what I would have told you!
I never got over my obsession. One of my favourite things about the classic British TV series, Thunderbirds, for example, was the marionettes. They looked enough like dolls that I could pretend they were. While others watched with envy, wanting to fly in the amazing aircraft and participate in daring, impossible rescue scenarios, I wanted the dolls. Thunderbirds provided me with an aspiration for a level of detail, quality and manoeuvrability I would spend decades hoping to re-encounter. As for their wardrobe of outfits...
Over time I would pay frustrated attention to dolls and action figures, seeking, but never finding, my ideal. My absolute ambition was to own a perfectly detailed, beautifully clothed and fully articulated Gandalf. Every comic shop I’ve ever been in, my eye has been surreptitiously cast in the hope of spotting something it seemed simply didn’t exist.
And then, one day, I encountered the Smart Doll, designed by Danny Choo. It turned out that, if you were privileged and obsessed enough, you could own the doll of my dreams. I have since been on a whole voyage of discovery and discovered a surprisingly densely populated niche hobby, with astonishingly rich and fantastical doll possibilities, mostly crafted of resin. But my heart, for now, remains stubbornly attached to my first big discovery: the Smart Doll, with her anime / manga features and light, flexible, vinyl body.
I wasn’t going to spend the money of course. That would be silly. Irresponsible. Until the day came that I asked myself what “sensible” actually means, once I have paid the rent and the bills. I have the privilege; it was only my moral code that created the barrier. There is absolutely nothing sensible about the many things I love; they are whimsical, fictional and totally lacking in utility or benefit. Except that they make my heart sing and the world come alive for me.
So I did it. To my own very great shock, I carefully saved the money and yesterday, Kanata arrived. It will be a while before I can afford to add to her wardrobe, but she seems happy enough. And I know I am! I am building my fantasy world, one friend at a time. Who knows, I might one day even find Gandalf - wouldn’t that be incredible? Are you up for the challenge, Danny Choo?
I’ve always been a doll person. I was a serious Barbie freak as a child. Not to mention a paper doll enthusiast. I pretty much had a doll habit going on. The only explanation I can offer is that they allowed me to bring my fantasy worlds to life, tell stories with them and take action to make the world a little bit more like my ideal. Of course, if you had asked me at the time, it’s fairly likely that wouldn’t have been what I would have told you!
I never got over my obsession. One of my favourite things about the classic British TV series, Thunderbirds, for example, was the marionettes. They looked enough like dolls that I could pretend they were. While others watched with envy, wanting to fly in the amazing aircraft and participate in daring, impossible rescue scenarios, I wanted the dolls. Thunderbirds provided me with an aspiration for a level of detail, quality and manoeuvrability I would spend decades hoping to re-encounter. As for their wardrobe of outfits...
Over time I would pay frustrated attention to dolls and action figures, seeking, but never finding, my ideal. My absolute ambition was to own a perfectly detailed, beautifully clothed and fully articulated Gandalf. Every comic shop I’ve ever been in, my eye has been surreptitiously cast in the hope of spotting something it seemed simply didn’t exist.
And then, one day, I encountered the Smart Doll, designed by Danny Choo. It turned out that, if you were privileged and obsessed enough, you could own the doll of my dreams. I have since been on a whole voyage of discovery and discovered a surprisingly densely populated niche hobby, with astonishingly rich and fantastical doll possibilities, mostly crafted of resin. But my heart, for now, remains stubbornly attached to my first big discovery: the Smart Doll, with her anime / manga features and light, flexible, vinyl body.
I wasn’t going to spend the money of course. That would be silly. Irresponsible. Until the day came that I asked myself what “sensible” actually means, once I have paid the rent and the bills. I have the privilege; it was only my moral code that created the barrier. There is absolutely nothing sensible about the many things I love; they are whimsical, fictional and totally lacking in utility or benefit. Except that they make my heart sing and the world come alive for me.
So I did it. To my own very great shock, I carefully saved the money and yesterday, Kanata arrived. It will be a while before I can afford to add to her wardrobe, but she seems happy enough. And I know I am! I am building my fantasy world, one friend at a time. Who knows, I might one day even find Gandalf - wouldn’t that be incredible? Are you up for the challenge, Danny Choo?