Mildred Pierce (dir. Michael Curtiz — 1945)
THEY’D BE SLAUGHTERED IMMEDIATELY“Now go, unleash hell.” MY NEW WATCHWORD.
I NEED THIS.
I miss my ceiling fan counting backwards from one hundred as many times as it takes to lull me to sleep. I miss hearing my puppy chase rabbits in her dreams. I miss knowing if I woke up afraid or sad or anxious I could yell COME LAY WITH ME and my sweet, caring mom would be in momentarily to comfort me. I wish I had the luxury of being close to anyone I could call in the middle of the night to drive out and meet me nowhere important just so I could feel worth it and not alone. I took those things for granted and now they are gone. This just got really hard.
Look at these fucking dolls.
Look at how long their legs are. How tiny their waists are. How unnaturally skinny their arms are. Look at their unrealistic fucking body proportions.
And then recognize that it’s a fucking doll. A toy.
Like most girls, I have grown up around dolls. I was very into Barbie—a Barbie tricycle, a Barbie bicycle, Barbie school supplies, and so on until I grew out of it. Dolls and their unrealistic body proportions have had no bearing on my life because they are nothing more than that. They are not real.
Would it be nice if dolls had more body diversity? Of course. But it’s not necessary. I think parents should spend a little less time trying to get companies to change how their dolls look and more time teaching their daughters that a doll is a toy and that they shouldn’t aspire to look like a doll, the same way The Little Mermaid is a cartoon and they shouldn’t try growing a tail either.
FUCKING THANK YOU