Life in plastic, it's fantastic.

January 3, 2011
I stumbled into the bathroom and the door slammed shut. The pulsating music on the other side muted, leaving a ring in my ears and a pounding in my head as I collapsed into the sink. The fluorescent dressing room-style bulbs let out a light that burned into my already bloodshot eyes and the deadly dosage of alcohol in my bloodstream kept me from finding any sort of balance. I kept my hand planted in the sink bowl. Eventually the room quit spinning and I could look around without losing the small shred of dignity I had maintained that evening. There was a sad-looking blonde girl staring back at me; the spitting image of Malibu Barbie, minus the confident smile.




She looked perfect at face value, your stereotypical blonde bombshell. From her meticulously highlighted hair to her perfectly engineered nose, the girl had no visible flaws. Her skin was porcelain, without a blemish in sight. The Stepford-esque stiffness in her face made her difficult to look at, but every inch of her textbook-good looks was betrayed by the expression she wore.




She was lost. Hopeless. Confused. There, against the wall, was a girl who wanted to be somebody who could never be; a deceptively disproportionate, synthetic, plastic person that didn’t exist outside of toy stores and shiny pink boxes.




Her silent self-hatred was disturbing. I looked down to her feet and finally noticed the single imperfection on her body: a simple tattoo of a dove and olive branch. What used to be a symbol of youthful rebellion was now a regrettable stamp of ink, dripping with irony. The obvious alterations to her face and chest indicated an insecurity that said she would never be at peace with herself. When she noticed where I had directed my gaze, she gritted her teeth, emphasizing her already striking cheekbones and jawline, but despite her resistance, her eyes still watered and a tear slid smoothly down her airbrushed skin.




I had no interest in getting to know this stranger in the bathroom. Wiping the tear off my cheek, I turned away from the mirror, and walked out the door.





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