The life of a doll, or: How I let fire signs control me for three days

After months of bitching about “autonomy” and how I am not a doll, but rather a living functional human capable of my own decisions, I made a little oopsie. Completely derailing my life in less than a week, it occurred to me that, perhaps, I should not be responsible for myself. Shocker! Britney was freed, and I demand imprisonment. I won’t unpack the layers of why all of the people I chose to boss me around were white (there is no discourse here, that was merely bait!) or why I chose female masters rather than men (femininity can exist independently of male validation??) But I will describe what it felt like to give up my neurotic sense of control by doing what gay twitter wants for all of us: to live the life of a doll.

So, what did I experience for three days of femme FIRE SIGNS controlling me? (They were the only ones who returned the forms on time — sounds about right.)


To begin my little social experiment, one of my friends — a lifestyle goth (@stingsucks) immediately hit me with the prereqs: wear all black or burgundy, keep this theme through HEAVY makeup. I do not like heavy makeup, because I personally feel it makes me look more clocky, but I guess that worked out since I spent all day inside and the photos got lots of compliments (which are more valuable than oil). A lot of this day was centered around eating good (read as: ordered chinese) and like… being peaceful, which I’m not good at. What kind of Aries demands peace? 

However, I over-consumed and took a 8 hour depression nap by mistake.


This one was incredibly demanding out the gate and demanded I use a sleep app. At the behest of my friend, who is super organized and polished (@queerbirdy), I… was forced to consume meals that contained different food groups, including carbs (poison!!!), journal for 10 minutes (this heheh) and go on a 20 minute walk. 

The cleaning has been compulsive and thorough, including such little things like baseboards, which I usually forget. Annoying! For my look, the suggestion was a play on Day 1’s successful look, but with more grunge themes. Another requirement for this day was to not talk to men I’m infatuated with, but my whore’s blood burns too hot, sorry. I only talked to one, who was straight, so my holes weren’t in danger — unfortunately.


On the last day of my fire themed submission, I took orders from a stripper (@erisandtheapple): and not just like, a run of the mill stripper, a bad stripper!!! (Not bad meaning bad, but bad meaning good, yknow?) As someone I’ve admired in terms of profession and skill (she’s really good ok???), being ordered around by her for the day is absolutely something people (you) would pay for (and let’s be honest, why are all of these fire signs so hot? –pun intended) and I got to do it for free! 

So, I donned my daytime lingerie after shaving my body for like an hour, and took spicy photos for general validation, as one typically does. (You aren’t living until you’re trying to get the perfect amount of pelvis, asscheek, thigh or breast in a photo while sitting in an uncomfortable stool. I have truly lived — and probably gave myself scoliosis.) Concluding the day with a bath bomb and some positive affirmations, a huge component of the day she envisioned for me was also self care, which was oddly sensual? It’s probably no coincidence the best dick of my life was a Saggitarius.  

In conclusion: I should care for myself more. But will I allot time for these practices–journaling, or eating multiple food groups in a day? Of course not. I’m going to eat hot chips and chicken nuggets for the next month. I will stew in toxicity until the next variant of this: Water. It’s like Avatar, except I’m not bald.

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