Geppetto Syndrome

The cheery piano melody with its subtle synth backing loops onwards undisturbingly as I debate which hairstyle my Sim, Angelina, should have; clicking endlessly between the ponytail and the half-up half-down look and back to the ponytail again, unable to decide. Each time I click on an option, She nods enthusiastically at me, or turns to check herself out in the mirror behind her. I could spend hours creating her just as I want her to be - she isn’t in a rush. I think of that scene in Toy Story 2, when Woody has been caught by the toy dealer, Al, and a restorer comes to make Woody pristine again, to maximize his economic worth. “Is the specimen ready for cleaning?” He asks upon entering the house. He positions the little broken cowboy on a small doll gurney, opens a sophisticated wooden toolbox filled with threads, spare eye balls and hands, paints, and small metal tools. He repaints Woody, sews his arm back on, wipes him clean and removes his scars, his dust, dirt, the physical marks of his memories and experiences. I have seen Woody’s adventures with his other toy friends, Buzz and BoPeep, and I know he can feel and love and hurt like me. My heart is sinking while I gaze into Woody’s blank, emotionless brown eyes as the toy restorer airbrushes the pink back into his cheeks. When he finally dips his paintbrush in the little brown jar and swipes the bristles over “ANDY”, the name of Woody’s kid owner, written on the bottom of Woody’s boot, I gulp. In one streak the name is gone, and in the next second the toy restorer sets Woody in a sterile glass case, snickering sternly, “He is for display only!” I ctrl-click and drag my cursor diagonally across the pixelated lawn to create a blue grid large enough to comfortably fit Angelina (I ended up choosing the ponytail hairstyle), her husband Brandon, and their children Heinrich and Alma. The happy music bumbles on as I build the foundation, add sconces and fire alarms. You can’t forget a fire alarm in the Sims - if your sim can’t cook, or even if a neighbor comes over and makes spaghetti wrong, everyone could very quickly die in a fire without the fire alarm. I buy the Sims family a bookshelf and telescope so they can become smarter, a piano and painter’s easel to foster creativity. In the dollhouse I had as a kid, there were no fires. Even when my beanie baby jumped off the roof they always landed on their feet and walked back in the front door. Furnishing the digital McMansion is setting the stage for Angelina and her family’s lives to flourish, as I please. When the house is finished and decorated, it looks like someone has already been living there. Where did they live before I created the house? Before I created them? Heinrich and Alma are 9 and 7 when they move in, but their baby pictures are already on the walls. When I save the game and turn off my computer, I know that Angelina’s life will pause and she will wait in her little house with Brandon and Heinrich and Alma until I decide to press play. The stuffed animals of my childhood sit on the bookshelf at my mother’s house. I imagine, their cotton hearts are waiting patiently for when I step through the door, only coming alive when my glance meets their glass eyes again after all these years. kindly supported by University of Applied Arts Vienna