My Brother

How do you ‘protect’ a ‘doll’? Well, if you ask the guy in the fedora in Forbidden Planet, he’ll tell you that it’s imperative you keep her in the original box. You don’t break the seal, either, or disgusting oxygen will seep in and cause her humungous anime titties to erode. If you really want to keep her safe, though, you could put her in a jar.

I guess being called a ‘doll’ is sort of endearing. The sentiment is nice enough. We’re fragile, and pretty, and hyperreal. Little exaggerated facsimiles of womanhood that need looking after. Wait a second… that doesn’t sound so good, actually. Erm… well, the t-shirt is cool.

I like the simplicity of the design - the basic, black font on a white fruit of the loom. Very minimalistic. Very to the point. Very Brat. And made by Connor Ives - my dear brother. I’m actually very happy for him. Not an ounce of resentment. Good on you, bro!

Okay, so maybe I’m a little pissed about it. I didn’t invent the term ‘The Dolls’ - that comes from black and latinx ballroom culture. But I’ve seen ‘Paris is Burning’ 2 times, and it was me who came up with the slogan ‘Protect The Dolls’.

I phoned Connor one morning - asked him nicely to lend me a bit of that money he makes hocking half-knitted dresses to skinny bitches, so I could pay my rent on time. He says to me: When are you going to find a real job? And I remind him that writing is a real job - it’s just not valued as highly as what he does because people are thick and shallow.

He says to me, he says: Listen Doll, you need a reality check. And I tell him: Don’t call me ‘Doll’, you misogynist. You’re my brother, you’re supposed to PROTECT me. Well, the rest is history, as they say. Or, her-story. Their-story? I don’t know what we’re saying these days.

Look, all I’m saying is - I’m owed some credit. When we were growing up, he’d steal my ideas all the time. He, being 6 years younger than me, was a little nerd. If I got a Sylvanian Family, he had to get a Sylvanian Family. If I had a cheese sandwich, he had to have a cheese sandwich. When I started transitioning, though, he finally bailed out. I won that game of chicken.

Let’s stop talking about him, alright? I’m supposed to be explaining to you why I think the term ‘The Dolls’ is derogatory. I’ve been thinking very, very, very deeply about it and I have some profound philosophies to share on the topic. First of all… erm… Barbie. Yeah, let’s talk about Barbie. The undisputed Queen of the Dolls. Isn’t she supposed to be a bad representation of womanhood? A dated, regressive, disproportioned fantasy? Erm, something something about feminism. (insert reference to unrealistic body standards here. Don’t forget!).

Oh, who am I kidding? I just want you to know I invented Protect The Dolls. I told Connor - I said we’d clean up big time. The money we’d make, he wouldn’t need to lend me rent ever again. What does he go and do though, the dope? He donates it all to Trans Lifeline.

That’s my little brother, though. A little fucking idiot.

Hey, by the way - my short film ‘Transsexual Psycho Bitch Murder Party’ premieres this Saturday night at 8pm (GMT), over on my Youtube channel. Here’s the link if you’d like to check it out. Thank you.

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