Some random stranger asked me this question. How come I call myself Awful? Yes, I am tickled by the fact that a passer by has stopped by my little place on the wild wow web (aka the world wide web). Anyhow, do you know why I am Awful Dollhead?

A Dollhead. Noun. Definition: an individual whose head is filled with clothes, bags, shoes, belts, bags, all material fluffy things. If you made a hole in a Dollhead’s head, or cut it open with a non rusty saw, instead of gooey sticky blood (yes, blood does happen to be goo and sticky) images of the latest runway looks and IT bags and IT shoes will come spilling out of the poor Dollhead. Think a brain so encased with airy fluff fashion that there is no space for other things like important life preserving skills like how to boil water to cook instant noodles. Dollhead is also an ode to one of the first blogs I stalked in the beginning of my blog stalking career (university LAN connection is a godsend not only to those LAN games crazed males): Dollheads Dot Com. I always imagined fellow Dollheads to be a little ditzy, a little mismatched, fashion worshipping, oddball, kind of like me.

How about Awful, my first name? Besides being obsessed with consumerism, I am obsessed with children’s books. Archer’s Goon by Diane Wynne Jones. The main dude had a younger sister named Anthea. But she was called Awful because of her constant screaming. Viola! Awful was me. I screamed constantly. And I am Awful. Amongst other things, I have a tenancy to do awful things besides scream.

So Ladies, that is the story of how I became Awful. Awful Dollhead.