Lights, Camera, Action Figure

One of my life goals is to be an action figure.

I plan to start by appearing here and there as an extra in regular comic books, surreptitiously lurking in the background, glancing over my shoulder in the half-glow of a streetlamp so that only half of my visage is visible.

These random sightings will begin to create some buzz with readers wondering, who is that new chick on the scene? At just the right time, there will be a strategically timed “leak” on the Internet where my alias will be revealed, and people will start to think of themselves as somehow special and “in” because they have “discovered” my “identity.” People will blog about it, mention it on their facebook page as if it is a secret code, and the comic book version of me will have created a small yet respectable alt subculture.

Once I have gained some street cred and name recognition, I will experience my debut, starring in my own one-shot comic book sporting a catchy title like “Kill Your Boyfriend.”

Fans will rave, haters will rant, poseurs will try to emulate me.

After my much-anticipated unveiling, readers will obviously want more. Too bad. I will not appear in any more comic books after that. My face will disappear from comic books forever, leaving only a wistful memory. Someone famous once said that it is better to burn out than fade away.

However, my peeps will miss me and yearn for a relic, something tangible by which they can remember me. The subculture will need merch to bind them together, give them a sense of unity, identity, purpose, and belonging.

At long last, a plastic action figure will emerge on the scene. I will come with poseable appendages, lifelike hair that you can style!, and a plastic M-16 not suitable for children under age 2.