we are all trapped in the belly of this horrible malibu play set
No.
Although I would describe myself as fairly Barbie, I'm not a girl, and my world doesn't seem very Barbie at all. It could certainly be Barbier
In order to truly be a Barbie girl, one must exist in a Barbie world. That is to say it is necessary that you will be in a Barbie world in order to be a Barbie girl , but it is sufficient to say that if you are a Barbie girl you are in a Barbie world. I am confident of the existence of one or more Barbie girls, which means we must exist in a Barbie world. Now, am I one of said Barbie girls? No, and knowing that I am not one, but exist in their world, that knowledge frightens me.
Like a verse you might find in the Yoga Vasistha:
Imagination, life is your creation
We are all one Barbie girl, and this Barbie world is inherently unreal.
I am not made out of plastic, I am made out of meat like every other normal human poster here
at what ratio of microplastics to biological matter in your cells would you consider sufficient to say that you are in fact made out of plastic?
I would say that there would have to be more plastic than any other non-water matter, but once you cross that threshold, boom, life's fantastic
Thus, everywhere in Barbie World the objective profile of America, down to the morphology of individuals and of the crowd, is drawn. All its values are exalted by the miniature and the comic strip. Comb their hair and take them everywhere. [...] Certainly. But this masks something else and this "ideological" blanket functions as a cover for a simulation of the third order: Barbie World exists in order to hide that it is the "real" country, all of "real" America that is Barbie World (a bit like prisons are there to hide that it is the social in its entirety, in its banal omnipresence, that is carceral). Barbie World is presented as imaginary in order to make us Barbie Girls believe that the rest is real, whereas all of Los Angeles and the America that surrounds it are no longer real, but belong to the hyperreal order and to the order of imagination that is my creation.
Jean Barbiedoll, Imaginata and Creation
No I’m not made of plastic I’m made of flesh and bone and my arteries are slowly clogging.
