For years UD has gazed, appalled, at the doll army of Japanese royal women — all of them kitted out in the same sick uniform: tight little pastel pillbox, hair tightly pulled in, supremely vapid tight smile, weeny uniform earrings, cheesy pastel body-covers, white gloves tightly suspended above any suggestion of sexual life, dead white pumps.

This is from a Time magazine article about the fucked up mental state – no kidding – of some of the automata.

So how great to read that the third from the left automaton in this photograph decided that instead of a life of pilled up psychosis she would ditch the whole sick thing, fall in love with a guy who wears a ponytail, and move – where else? – to New York City. Look at her now!

UD is a sucker for these liberatory tales, especially tales that feature people who have the guts to suffer all the anguish that powerful perverted institutions can make them suffer for revealing/rejecting the perversion. There’s a word for women like Mako: pioneers. Because of her, the sick palace parade will perhaps die of its sickness.

Meanwhile, though, what a pleasure to watch her in that greatest of liberatory cities, New York, as she strides the open streets openly in her flowing hair and skirt and boy shoes!

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