Friday, 9 May 2008

Furry Exo-Skeletons

A fascinating and slightly disturbing study into what exactly goes on inside our favourite kid's toys by Matt Kirkland has surprising raised some deep-seated issues from my childhood. It's cool, you should check it out. There's robots.

As a child, I didn't really play with that many toys, but the lucky ones that gained my love and respect got looked after very very well. In fact, I think my little sisters still have some of them (although they don't take as much care of their things as I did - probably because they are normal children - so I think they might be a little worse for wear by now).

I don't know whether this was because I had a genuine love for my cute wittle Mattel collections, but what I am sure of is that one day I saw a Barbie bone and it scared the CRAP out of me. Seeing toys' insides has always been a creepy and sickening experience for me. I have no idea why, maybe I have some issues which need to be addressed at a later date by a professional, but the idea of toys having insides always creeped me out.

Obviously I always knew that they didn't have proper insides, no blood, no lungs, no disgusting squishy bits like when you step on a snail (the one time I was ever sick because of an animal. What the hell?!! What are snails? eeerghhhhh, I don't think I'll ever get over that. I thought It would have a HOUSE in there!!) but they had something in there that you weren't meant to see. I knew this because when they broke, my Mum or Dad would take them away and bring them back later nearly as good as new.

Never quite the same though. The velcro on the back never quite reched as well as it did when it was factory fresh. That's just screaming out for traumatic childhood experiences.

One day I was up in my room, minding my own business, playing with some toys. As you do. Probably reading to them, or having a tea party. My toys liked to be read to. They also liked jigsaw puddles, and bunjee jumping out of my window. Anyway, realistically-moving Pooh Bear (who was actually kind of creepy, but he was allowed to be in my gang because it's not nice to be prejudiced) stopped moving properly. I picked him up and opened the velcro, and I was horrified to find white boxes of electronics and wires and plastic bits that made him move. My parents told me I was stupid, but I never played with him again. Ever since then I've felt there is something deeply sinister about moving and talking toys.

Even Barbies hold a secret! While chewing on my least favourite Barbie's ankle (...nevermind) I uncovered a sharp, hard bit that hurt my mouth. To my surprise and disgust, there was a sharp stick coming right out of her leg. This was clearly her plastic frame to make her legs move a bit, but I thought I had chewed her bones out, and I don't think I've ever gotten over it.

1 comment:

Andy said...

Haha, jolly amusing Miss Katie.

Particularly the bit about Pooh.

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