you buy a doll
and this doll is going to be the most perfect doll ever. the doll that holds you enraptured permanently and unchangingly. the Doll that Ends the Need For More Dolls
you've mooned and agonized over this doll online for weeks. all you can think about and talk about, online or to other people, is this doll: her specs, her details, pictures, posts from the seller, images of similar dolls if you can find them. you've considered the cost and considered it again- it won't break your finances! you can still pay your bills! your bank account won't empty over one expensive doll!
(more. one expensive doll more. but really, who's counting?)
she ships. you refresh the tracking over and over. each update builds the excitement until finally, finally, you get that "delivered" status
opening the box is a revelation- every detail about her is breathtaking, just like it was online. you want to sit and look at her for hours; you want to take her with you everywhere. you have so many plans for outfits and wigs to make for her
(your last five doll-related posts online have been introductions/box openings. for dolls who've never been photographed since)
(you are going to fucking catch yourself looking up dolls on eBay the day after you get her home. just to see. there might be the deal of a lifetime. you never know. you wouldn't want to miss a steal)
(compulsive shopping is when pink-princess girls in movies can't stay out of Saks Fifth Avenue. compulsive shopping comes with designer labels. it's not the same thing if it's not for Prada boots, right?)
and you love her. you really do. maybe you start a dress, even if it goes unhemmed and eventually gets buried in your sewing-basket. you want to finish it. you do. but that takes effort, and browsing online doesn't take-
oh. look.
the artist just listed a new doll
