Scary Doll People II

The recent, negative commentary directed at my girl here has inspired me to ponder the bigger picture of what it means to be a hobbyist. I invite you all to come along with me as I explore the mysteries of personal interests and the strange effects they have on others.

To begin, I'm going to pose a few questions. Perhaps less registered on the Richter than say, the public education crisis in America or how to eliminate all the plastic soon appearing in every bit of the seafood you eat, but contextually relevant nonetheless.

First question: What turns an individual’s desire to enjoy a personal interest with a like-minded group of souls that has little to no impact on your own life into something deserving of ridicule, shame, or even fear?

If its legal, all parties are of age and consenting, the short answer is a combination of "Envy and Fear". It’s no secret we humans often project onto those around us the things we dislike most about ourselves.

It isn't psychobabble, its intrinsic aversion at work. You don't hate watching someone eat what they pick out of their teeth because its gross, you hate it because deep down, you're hella embarrassed even *imagining* yourself getting caught doing the same.

You aren't actually repulsed by your fellow human arranging her model quality doll in her movie quality set, you're *jealous* of her ability to be so candid about it while *you* cringe at the idea of someone discovering your secret stash of Battle Beasts complete with their heat activated faction stickers and attendant hand weapons.

No one has a clue just how deep your lore of Star Trek actually runs or that you’ve a collection of Pokémon rares valuable enough to pay for that Caribbean cruise your partner keeps talking about.

You know who you are.

Question Two: Why, in this age of near instant information and correspondence would anyone keep their previously qualified interest to themselves when there are innumerable others who share their passion?

Collaboration is the heart of advancement, the fundament of community. No one fears the world's gastronomists for experimenting with cuisine. We may not all agree on what best tempts our taste buds, but without foodies you'd have probably never heard of chicken and waffles, carrot foam, or deep fried ice cream.

Whenever some homegrown gear-head shares how to convert a carburetted motor into a fuel injected system for that extra 50 horsepower, or a hunter imparts their personal secrets for building a clever, amphibious duck blind, no one runs in terror or hurls buckets of ridicule.

Simply put, whatever someone is passionate about isn't only valid to that individual, but to *everyone else who shares that passion*. Which leads me to the next question, possibly the most important one of all.

Whether you belong to an elite group of hobbyists or not, whether your passion is rockets, marbles, dolls, or constructing the perfectly blank canvas of a vanilla life, what is it within *you* that drives you to attack another's joy?

Only you can answer that with any accuracy, I can only guess. My hope is you'll search and find nothing meaningful. That instead, you'll stir some slumbering empathy to wakefulness or remember how much fun it is to let your imagination run amok and have its day. That really, you don't have to grow up in order to be an adult.

In regards to the odd reaction dolls commonly elicit, there *is* a phenomenon known as the Uncanny Valley in which the closer something appears human without completely pulling it off, the more disturbed one feels in its presence.

However, it isn't solely responsible for the venom often injected into the body of people who find comfort in the sense of play and nostalgia this hobby engenders in its fans. It’s a conscious decision to be a troll, no one's operating purely on their base programming.

Remember, earlier I wrote *personal* interests. If it isn't your thing, stop wasting your time and go find what is. Who knows? You might end up right back here, searching for that pink Corvette you used to have.

Thanks for stopping in.