We all love those cute little girls, dress, feed, house or put them to sleep. The ones that I had were personally made from my own hands. Paper dolls from my mom’s old magazines, I’ll cut out those lovely full body pictures of coiffured actresses in their flowing and colorful dresses, then paste them on cardboards from chocolate boxes I asked from stores trimmed nearly along the outline and let them stand or sit down or lay down like babies. I dress them up with different clothes styles I’d sketched on papers, color, cut and hang them on the dolls by a strip of paper folded on the shoulders, make them walk around like fashion models. My paper dolls gets more friends cut out from other magazines they get so happy mingling with each other making lots of friends famously named after movie personalities full with their own life stories. It was a world full of beauty, fashion, friendship and love. Then when they’re all hungry and tired everybody sits at a table ready for tea and cookie, with small spoon and fork from my moms’ kitchen I’ll be feeding all of them.
One day I got a present, a plastic doll the size of my arm. I reached out for the doll and felt it’s hard material, stiff arms, body and legs. Judging from its appearance, it could have come from outer space, nowhere near to those people in the magazines I know. As time goes, it scares me with its black eyes staring at me. It doesn’t even have a name and I couldn’t find a playmate for it. Someone has to give me another one of those, which I think was remote. It could only stand and lay down on a corner, doesn’t know how to sit down for a tea. The limited things I could do with it made me bored. I couldn’t throw them away it costs money. Instead my mom stored it on top of glass cabinet and it stayed there eternally. Unlike my paper dolls if they get thrown out I could always cut them out everyday, a new one, new color, new dress, new playmates.
Until I got bored looking at this plastic toy. I also stopped making paper dolls.
There was something about that plastic doll that made me stop making paper dolls. It actually interfered with my life. Those exact things that brought me joy and happiness such as cutting, pasting, coloring, were now the same things I’m prevented to do.
I feel unhappy when kids today gets toys more than enough they could handle. There is this law of diminishing returns where a point will eventually be reached where more inputs yield progressively smaller diminishing happiness (mine).
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Toy Story.”