Hi, my name is Chimpuat, and I collect Star Wars toys.
(this is the audience participation part where you say, “Hi Chimpuat!”)_
Most of us have something in our lives that we love, some silly thing that doesn’t entirely make sense, but it makes sense to US. We live in a world where some of those things are socially acceptable. For instance, if I were to identify with some sports team, even if I’ve never played the game, have no financial stake in the team, nor any influence or say on their performance or strategy, society would deem that an acceptable obsession.
However, because I collect toys, and I have them proudly displayed throughout my house, society mocks my “doll collection” and gives me quaint titles like “man-baby” or “loser”.
I could allow that criticism to stifle my enjoyment. I could let it get to me that other people don’t understand my love for Star Wars, nor why I would want to have it on literally EVERY wall in my house.
But, i don’t. Cuz fuck people.
No one lives in your head, just you. No one knows the shit going on in your life, just you. No one knows what hurts you better than you do. Know one knows what frustrates you, no one knows what scares you, and no one can see into your heart and understand WHY you would have toys all over your house as an adult.
The best memories of my life were in my childhood, surrounded by my Star Wars toys, sharing a love for that galaxy with my friends and family. I would play with them for hours, and I had a LOT, and I would make up adventures for them that went well beyond the movies. Star Wars toys helped foster and nurture my imagination, and I am the writer today because of what I learned from playing with them. I passed that love of Star Wars on to my daughter, and showed her how to use her imagination to create whole new worlds and stories, and she is the writer she is today because of Star Wars.
So, when some asshole sneers at a grown ass man collecting toys, and judges me because I’m not “adult enough”, I not only ignore their critcism. I pity them. They’ve clearly never had something in their lives that so moved them, that so touched them, that just LOOKING at a piece of that thing could evoke amazing memories of better, easier days.
I bring this up, because a guy I followed on YouTube (and whom I generally respected) went on a tirade about people who collect “dolls”. I quit following him. His opinion no longer carries weight in my world. Despite whatever knowledge or wisdom I might have thought he had, he no longer matters to me.
I am the person I am, for better or worse. The toys all over my house are a memorial to the childhood I never want to let go of, the spark of creativity that grew in me and my daughter, and the memories of days wasted playing with my best friend in a galaxy far, far away. I don’t really care what anyone else thinks. And, despite the social stigma, having all these toys in my house hasn’t affected my ability to get laid AT ALL.
The people you need in your life, they respect passion, even if it’s passion for something they might think is a little silly. I have plenty of that.
Everyone else can go pound sand.
Love whatever makes you happy. Be who you are. Be who you are, even when it’s unpopular. Even when there are people who would make fun of you. That’s the most important thing I can share with people right now.
Until next time, Chimp out.