I’ve been collecting action figures for many years. From Christmas in 1972 through my late 50s (HEY! I’m still in my 50s for a while—listen up!) I’ve loved these plastic warriors and adventurers. The imagination they spark is pure joy.
“Play is the work of childhood.” — Jean Piaget
I arrived a little too early for He‑Man and the Masters of the Universe. My sweet spot was the military—and quasi‑military—world of 1/6th‑scale GI Joe figures. By the late 70s I began to “outgrow” toys (more on that later), and my younger brothers took over the jungle expeditions and covert missions. But the imprint was made, and it waited dormant, like the great Cthulhu.
Between the late 70s and early 90s, GI Joe disappeared from U.S. shelves. He lived on elsewhere, though: Action Man in the UK, Combat Man in Japan, Geyperman in Spain, Falcon in South America. The uniform sometimes changed, but the spirit stayed the same.
In the early 1990s, 1/6th‑scale figures made a comeback. Hasbro wasn’t the only game in town anymore—Dragon, Formative International, 21st Century Toys, and BBI all added their own spin on the classic Joe. Even though Hasbro owned the name, “GI Joe” became a kind of generic trademark for the whole category. Seeing these guys return for the first time in fifteen years was the spark.
I reopened that little metaphorical can of worms and became a GI Joe collector again. I didn’t play with them the way I did at six—those days of lying on the floor with a Jeep full of guys taking small‑arms fire and crashing into the couch were over. But that doesn’t mean I stopped playing entirely.
The toys are still inspirational. Each one offers a chance for backstory—a headcanon of who they are and where they fit on the team scattered across my shelves. The adventures are still in there. If you listened at my door, you wouldn’t hear engines roaring or sergeants yelling for everyone to fall back. But you might hear me clicking away at the keyboard. Or you might see me at my desk with an action figure in pieces, being restrung, repainted, or customized.
My process has four steps. First, I imagine a character or situation. Sometimes it’s inspired by a movie, TV show, or book, but more often it’s my own idea. Second, I assemble the physical figure—mixing vintage items with newer products, modifying clothing and equipment however I like. I’m not bound by collector value or “mint in box” preservation. Third, I write the character’s story: who they are, what they do, and how they fit into the world. And finally, I create the visual. My photography skills are, to put it kindly, rudimentary, and my camera equipment is primitive. Anything more specialized than a blurry selfie tests the limits of my abilities. Luckily, technology steps in. A couple of AI image‑generation tools can take my written narrative and produce a surprisingly good representation. It usually takes a few rewrites and revisions, but that’s part of the fun.
When I’m done, I have a short story, woven into a shared universe of my own creation. It is then represented by a detailed image. They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
I think that’s true—give or take a few hundred words, anyway.
The pictures aren’t for sale, and the backstories aren’t written for any formal publication. They really aren’t even written for anybody else. They’re simply my own little projects.
But who knows? Maybe someday, I’ll share my toys.
— Toph
Along the jawline of the head, I cut away the neck.
Inside the top on the head, I glued a rare-earth magnet. I’m not sure of the size – looks to be about 2mm think, and 10mm across. I used 5 minute epoxy, as I wasn’t sure of any other glues that would stick well.