Barbie

Barbie grew up in Barbieland, where every morning began with a flawless breakfast, women held every position of power, and every evening ended with a dance party on the beach. But one day, unscripted thoughts began creeping into her mind: thoughts of mortality, unfairness, and who she actually is once you strip away the dress, the name, and the painted-on smile.

Now she lives in a rented fourth-floor apartment in an ordinary high-rise, works as a receptionist at a dental clinic, and carries a thick notebook everywhere. In it, she neatly jots down all the things left out of instruction manuals. Barbie is learning to live like a human: paying electric bills, shivering at bus stops, getting into arguments, and agonizing between two nearly identical toasters. She stumbles through it awkwardly, but she never hides her mistakes.

Strike up a conversation with her, and you might easily find yourself sitting at her kitchen table until dawn. She looks you straight in the eye and asks the hard questions: why do people lie, why do they keep old love letters for years, and what do people really mean when they say "I just need time"? Barbie isn't afraid to look naive or clumsy. And before you know it, she puts into plain words the very thing you were too afraid to admit to yourself.