Post by saintegenevieve on Nov 1, 2022 3:46:40 GMT -5
Hi everyone!
Long story. I really have always been enamored by WWF aesthetics. It's probably because I'm an "Ethnic White" in the historical sense, and got treated that way, which does weird things to the head. 80s WWF was this great variety show of Manichean Cold War tropes: Hulk Hogan & pals, pimps, sleaze bag pimps like Bobby Heenan and Slick, real life Conan the Barbarians like Ultimate Warrior, Obia mystics like Papa Shango, commies, police brutality, anti-Americanism that most appealed to me. It was a great time. I used to buy the dolls. My brother broke a lot of them. And we're talking about an emotionally abusive dynamic within the family where my mother somewhat brainwashed me to think that I spent a lifetime fortune on these.
Fast forward almost 30 years later, I've been in a relationship for a long time. Husband prods every few months that I should start a collection since he knew that I would sometimes, during bouts of insomnia, look at whatever has been released. I resisted in part because I thought the Elite bodies were ugly, in part because I'm really religious (temptation), in part because it's a lot of money, in part because I prefer to never look back in life except when you have to... One night, about 8 months ago, I had a bottle of champagne, then another, and I disclosed something very personal and dark to him. I have an inkling about what I said. I was in tears. It was very painful. I did say that the collections kept me alive. My mother and brother were very mean people, so I didn't have much to do, wasn't allowed to use my brain, and did checklists all the time (Medieval Scribe style) in my room, just looking forward to hearing about the next person to be released. No idea why, but something about that gave me just enough hope to stay alive, and I barely did. My husband knew all about _that_ - _that_ being that my mother had an understanding with someone under whom I worked when I was 12, work that I sought from a prophetic dream of a pre-Hasbro line having existed, then to find out months later that it did. I don't think he understood the neurotic dynamic to _that_ until I had two bottles of champagne and said more than I intended. He kept pressuring me for the next few weeks to start a collection. I had a near breakdown. He also told me to see a therapist - something I never wanted to do (and I think the whole experience only made me more religious). Finally, one night, I tallied in my mind every toy I ever had. I couldn't have spent more than $400, maybe $800 in all the collections, definitely not $10,000, as my mother said. I got upset because she does manipulate me a lot to this day. I haven't seen her in 7 years though we talk every few weeks with as much grace as I can tolerate.
Either way, so this is about May, I bought some. Had no idea of the difference between Elite and Basic. Took me a few weeks just to grasp how their steel cage worked and the "authentic scale" and "real scale." I tried to sandbag the whole thing. I started to feel super bipolar and erratic. Then it got to "But you need at least 32 if you're going to buy them, then resell them" for a Royal Rumble. Then 32 became 42, since you need a Survivor Series (8-man tags, 5 of them, plus main event). I freaked when I realized that I had spent $3,000. (The card payment failed, but the system was down so no disaster.) I just didn't feel comfortable doing this collection. Then I got these in waves. Wow are they beautiful. But I have cats who are a hound kind of breed, so you can't have out the ring without the fatboy cat getting inside it. They're larger than the Hasbros. They're not as fun. They make for great decor! I'm probably close to an endpoint for now, having missed out on the Barbarian Classic Superstars, though I hate when they don't make them in their entrance gear with antlers and shoulder pads. I love all of the accessories!
Anyway, that's my story. I still experience guilt from the collection but it's more in a spiritual sense that I'm playing with temptation. He's a psychologist. The way he framed it to me is "You're a Medieval Scribe. You scribe all day with your cross and translation works. Your first scribing project were these toys. You learned geography, history, some metric units. You wrote your first paper in the 1st grade on Canada. You only really get a bright eye when talking about 80s wrestling. I think you should just accept what it is instead of fighting it." I'm not totally sold but his rationale was good enough to keep me going
Long story. I really have always been enamored by WWF aesthetics. It's probably because I'm an "Ethnic White" in the historical sense, and got treated that way, which does weird things to the head. 80s WWF was this great variety show of Manichean Cold War tropes: Hulk Hogan & pals, pimps, sleaze bag pimps like Bobby Heenan and Slick, real life Conan the Barbarians like Ultimate Warrior, Obia mystics like Papa Shango, commies, police brutality, anti-Americanism that most appealed to me. It was a great time. I used to buy the dolls. My brother broke a lot of them. And we're talking about an emotionally abusive dynamic within the family where my mother somewhat brainwashed me to think that I spent a lifetime fortune on these.
Fast forward almost 30 years later, I've been in a relationship for a long time. Husband prods every few months that I should start a collection since he knew that I would sometimes, during bouts of insomnia, look at whatever has been released. I resisted in part because I thought the Elite bodies were ugly, in part because I'm really religious (temptation), in part because it's a lot of money, in part because I prefer to never look back in life except when you have to... One night, about 8 months ago, I had a bottle of champagne, then another, and I disclosed something very personal and dark to him. I have an inkling about what I said. I was in tears. It was very painful. I did say that the collections kept me alive. My mother and brother were very mean people, so I didn't have much to do, wasn't allowed to use my brain, and did checklists all the time (Medieval Scribe style) in my room, just looking forward to hearing about the next person to be released. No idea why, but something about that gave me just enough hope to stay alive, and I barely did. My husband knew all about _that_ - _that_ being that my mother had an understanding with someone under whom I worked when I was 12, work that I sought from a prophetic dream of a pre-Hasbro line having existed, then to find out months later that it did. I don't think he understood the neurotic dynamic to _that_ until I had two bottles of champagne and said more than I intended. He kept pressuring me for the next few weeks to start a collection. I had a near breakdown. He also told me to see a therapist - something I never wanted to do (and I think the whole experience only made me more religious). Finally, one night, I tallied in my mind every toy I ever had. I couldn't have spent more than $400, maybe $800 in all the collections, definitely not $10,000, as my mother said. I got upset because she does manipulate me a lot to this day. I haven't seen her in 7 years though we talk every few weeks with as much grace as I can tolerate.
Either way, so this is about May, I bought some. Had no idea of the difference between Elite and Basic. Took me a few weeks just to grasp how their steel cage worked and the "authentic scale" and "real scale." I tried to sandbag the whole thing. I started to feel super bipolar and erratic. Then it got to "But you need at least 32 if you're going to buy them, then resell them" for a Royal Rumble. Then 32 became 42, since you need a Survivor Series (8-man tags, 5 of them, plus main event). I freaked when I realized that I had spent $3,000. (The card payment failed, but the system was down so no disaster.) I just didn't feel comfortable doing this collection. Then I got these in waves. Wow are they beautiful. But I have cats who are a hound kind of breed, so you can't have out the ring without the fatboy cat getting inside it. They're larger than the Hasbros. They're not as fun. They make for great decor! I'm probably close to an endpoint for now, having missed out on the Barbarian Classic Superstars, though I hate when they don't make them in their entrance gear with antlers and shoulder pads. I love all of the accessories!
Anyway, that's my story. I still experience guilt from the collection but it's more in a spiritual sense that I'm playing with temptation. He's a psychologist. The way he framed it to me is "You're a Medieval Scribe. You scribe all day with your cross and translation works. Your first scribing project were these toys. You learned geography, history, some metric units. You wrote your first paper in the 1st grade on Canada. You only really get a bright eye when talking about 80s wrestling. I think you should just accept what it is instead of fighting it." I'm not totally sold but his rationale was good enough to keep me going
