26 December 2025
Word Count: 780

As someone who has been lurking on the periphery of various online fandoms for the better part of a decade, I have yet to observe a group so notoriously petty, entitled, and bitchy as the doll-collecting community. Whether it was the unwarranted outrage in response to the perfectly serviceable Bratz collector line, designed by Hayden Williams in 2018, or the heinous fatphobic comments made about the release of Monster High's generation three Catty Noir, I have borne witness to some truly awful takes. However, said takes do not hold a candle to comments made by people outside of the community – so-called feminists projecting their misogynistic anxieties about women onto literal child play things. Absolutely unhinged opinions stated so casually and disappointingly by people who one would assume knew better.

In the sixth grade, the main source of my excitement was my elementary school’s participation in the Passion Project Initiative. This program was unique in that it allowed students to briefly assume the role of teacher and showcase their passion projects to the student body. The only catch was that the project had to help someone, which usually took the form of a humanitarian or charity benefit. Luckily, this caveat was easy to circumvent, so I could rave about my special interest, fashion dolls. I planned to pitch my line, Real Dolls, to Canadian toy company Spin Master, based on one of their previously existing properties, Liv dolls. Real Dolls would have similar proportions and articulation, but the main gimmick, instead of swappable wigs, would be faceplates showing different facial expressions. I chose the name Real Dolls to reflect the grounded tone of the line. The line would champion diversity, demonstrate the importance of being emotionally open with your friends, and a portion of the proceeds would go to charity. I put very little thought into logistics, but I had fun putting the concept together.

For a whole month, during the entire afternoon period, grades six through eight would congregate in the library to work on their projects. The library, despite being newly reopened, looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the 1970s. Everything from the walls to the carpet and furnishings was either beige or brown.

Finally, the day of the project showcase fair arrived. I set up my laptop and dolls at a desk by the back entrance. I was on cloud one hundred, like I had my very own booth at Toy Fair. About an hour in, my fifth-grade teacher, Ms. Robinson, came over. While explaining my project, I had an old Liv promotional video playing in the background. She watched the video intently as it introduced each character: Hairstylist Sophie, skater girl Katie, fashionista Alexis, and musician Daniela.

“Oh, finally! A real hobby,” said Ms. Robinson, exasperated as Daniela flashed across the screen. I didn’t think much of her comment then, but lately, I haven’t been able to stop racking my brain as to what she meant. Taking her comment charitably, I can understand her frustration with Sophie and Alexis, as their respective hobbies are overrepresented in girl-centric properties. However, Liv is a fashion doll line with wigs. It’s the waltz that a few characters would have traditionally feminine interests; Therefore, rendering any argument made from the stance of redundancy kind of pointless.

Upon further consideration, I realized it could not have been internalized sexism alone. Ms. Robinson didn’t seem particularly impressed with Katie’s more typically masculine hobby of skateboarding either. Then I wondered if it was because the other girls' hobbies weren’t as easily transferable into careers. But that logic wouldn’t make any sense – becoming a musician isn’t exactly a cakewalk – not like that should matter because these characters are supposed to be minors. Their concerns should be enjoying their hobbies, not monetizing them.

The only other semi-charitable reason I could think of for Ms. Robinson’s comment was her bias as a teacher, only approving of Daniela's interest in music because of its place as an extracurricular and in academia. But I took World of Fashion in my senior year of high school. Not only did my classmates and I learn about design principles and sewing skills, but I also went ham and cheese on my final research assignment. Surely Ms. Robinson would be aware of that class and understand its value.

What on earth Ms. Robinson meant by that comment, I will likely never know. Heck, she probably doesn’t even remember saying that. But I sure did. Not that it makes me terribly upset, just disappointed. The only thing I can hope for is that over the passing years, she has reflected and reevaluated what makes for a worthwhile pastime in relation to femininity.