A Better Kind of Brainwashing

Frida sighed as she sank into her seat.

She had been the first black woman to earn a doctorate in Experimental Psychology from Miskatonic University. The first woman in her family to graduate from college. She'd had to claw for every ounce of respect she'd ever received, subvert multiple attempts to sabotage her career and brush off countless microaggressions.

She'd kept going with the knowledge that by studying the psychology of submission and masochism, she could aid other women in the black community by unpacking centuries of oppression and internalized shame. She'd studied under the most eccentric of experts (all male), developing her very own hypnosis techniques to strip away the layers of social convention and innate inhibitions to allow the brutal truth to be laid bare. She'd fully intended to tear off the shackles which so tightly gripped so many women like her.

Instead, she was doing this.

"Barbara, right?" Frida began, glancing at the clipboard of notes in her hands. "Well, why don't we start with your childhood?"

Barbara giggled. "Oh my god, like, you can totally call me Barbie, doc! Like basically everyone does, OK?"

"I would prefer not to." Frida said very pointedly, starring at her notes and not at Barbara.

"Oh, please! Please!! When you call me Barbara, you make me sound like an old woman!"

Frida cringed as she conceded to her newest patrons' wishes. "Okay, Barbie..."

"Fantastic! Now we have to come up with a nickname for you! Ohhh...how about Cueball since you've got that like, super sexy, frizzy afro?"

Frida struggled not to throw up at the notion. "Let's focus on you for now, okay?"

"Sure thing. So, like, I grew up in the Valley, just like...amazing right? My mom did make-up for all these famous actors so I like, totally got to hang out with them through my whole childhood...all my friends at school were like, so jealous, they could die. So basically, I like, know everyone in Hollywood, I was like destined to be a star!"

Barbara's voice ground against the inside of Frida's skull. She was everything that Frida despised about white women. A busty moron with big obviously fake tits and obviously dyed blonde hair. The kind of vapid whore whose mere existence acted not only to further the Patriarchy, but to make women like Frida hate their bodies. Not only that, but from her designer handbag and rhinestone studded sandals, she was clearly rich as shit. Probably a gold-digger, the kind of woman who didn't realize that blowing someone for a marriage proposal was degrading to her whole gender.

Frida never would been forced to stoop to catering to such women and their ridiculously minute problems, if her own ambition hadn't ended up biting her in the ass. Her first attempt to use her advanced techniques to help someone had backfired so badly that her reputation had been utterly destroyed, forcing her to move west and take this position as a "cosmetic therapist", listening to the banal bullshit of models and actresses with no conception of what difficulty was.

"What about your father?" Frida asked, pressing her nails into her notebook.

"Oh, like he's the best! He's a car salesman and he got me like, my first Maserati. And his mistress...my godmother...she like totes introduced me how to like, flirt and pick-up guys."

"His...mistress?" Frida was suddenly very confused. She raised her eyes from the notes, but her gaze never got high enough to meet Barbara's gaze. Instead, she was drawn instinctively to her client's massive white breasts.

Blushing, she lowered her eyes back to her notebook quickly.

"Oh yeah! She's like, a second mom to me...she like, totes helped me out when I was like, in high school. She's like, totes a girlboss, she just like, takes whatever she wants and like, doesn't worry about it."

"You're friends with your father's mistress..." Frida said, struggling to push the image of Barbara's cleavage out of her mind.

"Of course! It's like, totally like, not that weird, y'know? I mean, my mom and my dad they like...totes couldn't like, had probs with their sex life. They like, needed a third right? I'm trying to get my boyfriend to like, agree to let me like, have someone on the side as well. That's like, why I came to this session with you."

Frida shook her head. "You don't think that might have been humiliating, for your mother, I mean, to have to share the man she loved?"

"Like, only if she was like, super possessive or something. I mean, like, what kind of bitch like, holds onto a man when she knows she can't satisfy him. That like, can't be healthy for your relationship, right?"

Frida shook her head. "Yes, but..."

"What like, you think they should have like, gotten a divorce and like, totally ruined my whole childhood instead?"

Frida, who had grown up in a broken home and experienced much worse than divorce during her formative years took a deep breath. "This isn't about me..."

"Oh, good! Cause like, I'm paying a lot for this session, and I really don't feel comfortable spending that much money if you're going to like, turn into some Karen on me."

Frida stood up. "I'm not...I don't...obviously, I'm not trying to shame you..."

"Really? Because it like, kinda sounds like you were. It sounds like you were like, saying that I should be ashamed, and my mom should be ashamed and like, honestly, I expected better from you...I heard you were supposed to be this like, super-big feminist or whatever, and it really just sounds like you hate women from what you just said."

Frida struggled to find her way out of the morass of absurdism into which she had apparently fallen. Deciding that Barbara clearly didn't react well to aggression, she opted to go for a gentler route. "Listen, I asked you the question because I'm trying to get you to reflect on how you view women. Right now, it sounds like you think that just because your mother..." Frida couldn't believe she was having this conversation. "...just because she couldn't sexually satisfy your father, you think it was alright for him to cheat on her, which is a very misogynistic line of reasoning, because it turns women into sexual objects."

"Oh my god, like, I wish, right? I mean, who wouldn't want to be, like, a sexual object?" Barbara said, her cheeks turning pink as she laughed. Frida's gaze was drawn again in that moment to Barbara's chest, as if by some invisible force.

Frida looked away again and struggled to articulate her point so that this airhead would understand it. "No...listen to me. When men treat women like sexual objects, when women treat themselves like sexual objects, they demean all women by making them seem...dumb."

"That like, totes doesn't make any sense." Barbara said. "Like are you saying that like, having sex makes you dumb?"

"No! I just mean...men don't value you for your intelligence or your personality, they value you for your body." Frida said.

"Well, duh, why do you think I like, got implants?" Barbara asked with a toothy grin, shaking her chest for emphasis. "They're like, not as sensitive now, but they are so soft. OMG, my boyfriend like, totes loves to suck on them. He like, never used to do that before. When I get a sidepiece, they like, totes HAVE to be a tit-sucker."

"That's not...listen to me, it's fine that you...chose...to change your body and its fine that you enjoy sex, but when you downplay that other people don't want to be objectified, you make it seem like it's alright for men to treat them like you want to be treated."

"So...just because some frigid bitches don't like, want to have sex, I'm supposed to like, stop showing off my fucking tits?"

Frida struggled to suppress the urge to strangle the bug-eyed bimbo. "No, listen to me...when you're older, you won't be as...sexually attractive as you are now."

"Says you!" Barbara said. "My godmother is over seventy and she's still like, a total smokeshow."

"No but...listen, you're contributing to an unrealistic standard, that women exist to please men. It's called complementarianism."

"I mean like...our bodies do exist to make them happy right? I mean, like, my pussy is designed for a dick to be in it, isn't it? And my tits, they are designed to feed milk to babies...the same thing like, exists for you, right? Like, there isn't part of me which like, doesn't exist to get fucked."

Frida felt like she was going insane. "Okay, but let's imagine that you do get older and your metabolism slows down. You're not as young as you used to be, you're not as athletic, you don't have as much sex. Aren't you going to feel awful when you see some young girl like yourself, strutting around, desperate male attention, knowing that you aren't going to get that attention yourself, because you aren't as sexually attractive anymore? Don't you want men to value you and give you attention for things besides your body?"

Barbara frowned. "Like, why should I? I worked hard on my body, I spent a lot of money to like, make it better. I didn't go to a college like you did...if someone treated you like your body is the only thing that matters, you would like, totes be in the right to be upset because you're like, super smart or whatever."

Sensing they were on the verge of some kind of breakthrough, Frida jumped on those words. "Right! But Barbara, you should value things besides your body. All women should, so that women who aren't as athletic or traditionally attractive don't hate their bodies for being different."

"So, I like, shouldn't be hot, because it'll make less hot girls feel bad?" Babara raised an eyebrow. "That's like, totes not fair! They should just like, be more confident about like, their bodies and junk instead of blaming mine."

"No, but listen, you think that you need male attention to be happy, but you don't...if you work on yourself-"

"So, like, should you like, pretend to be less smart so that dumb people don't like, feel bad?" Barbara asked.

The irony was not lost on Frida, who was beginning to feel like she was going insane. "No! It's about the image you're projecting about women as a whole!" Frida said.

"That's like, total BS. You like, make a ton of money, don't you?" Barbara asked.

Frida paused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You like, make a lot of money, right? I mean, like, this session was not cheap." Barbara said.

"Yes! Well, I have student loans, I don't keep most of it..."

"Right! But like, you're better off than most people like you in this country, right?"

Frida's hands tensed. "What do you mean, people like me?"

"I mean like, most black people aren't like, super wealthy right?" Barbara said. "Like because of oppression and stuff."

"Yes, I mean...technically, but that doesn't-"

"So, like, should you like, not be rich because it makes other black people feel bad?" Barbara said. "Should you like, pretend that you're like, poor or something?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." Frida said through her teeth.

Barbara didn't seem to notice her tone. "I think it's like, the same exact same thing...I mean, like, there are more women in the world than black people, right?"

Frida turned away, unable to answer such a bafflingly stupid question without screaming.

"So, like, why should I like, have to represent every woman in the world if you don't like, represent all black women?"

"Look, this isn't about all women, okay? It's about women in America and women in America are objectified in a very specific way." Frida said, taking a deep breath.

"OK, so like, what about like, white people?"

Frida's eyes dimmed. "What about white people?"

"Like, am I supposed to represent all white people? Or all white women? What about like, all white women in America? I mean, that's like, hundreds of millions of people...right?"

Frida sighed. "Well, if you must know, yes...as a white person, you do have an obligation to help those who are non-white and to act in a way that facilitates the dismantling of white supremacy."

"That's BS!" Barbara folded her arms under her breasts. "Why should I like, have to act a specific way because of my skin color? That's like, totally racism, right? That's like, you deciding how other people should like, totally spend their lives."

Frida sat back down in her seat, utterly defeated by the mind-numbing obliviousness of the bitch in front of her. She stared at the carpet for a long time before the glimmer of inspiration appeared.

"Barbara..."

"Barbie." She corrected.

"Right. Barbie. Sorry. Listen, why don't we try a little exercise to help you understand what I'm talking about?"

Barbara frowned. "Like, what kind of exercise?"

"Well, have you heard of hypnotism?" Frida asked.

"You mean like, with a watch or like, one of those discs that like, turns around?" Barbara asked.

"Yes, something like that...I'd like to take you back to your childhood, have you re-experienced some specific moments, so that you can feel the way you did back then?"

"OK! That like, sounds super fun! So like, why didn't we like, just start with that instead?"

Frida took a deep breath. It had been a long time since she'd attempted hypnosis on a subject and the last time she had, it...hadn't ended well. Technically, she wasn't even legally allowed to use hypnosis again, as part of the court order.

But she couldn't pass up this opportunity. Plus, Barbara was too empty-headed to ever report her.

"Okay, the important thing to remember about hypnosis is that the subject has to want it to work for it to work." Frida explained. "So, you have to open yourself up, allow yourself to be open to change.

"OK! Sounds like fun!" Barbara said, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "I'm like, a total Dali Lama type when it comes to meditation, so like, this should be totes easy!"

Frida hid the internal smirk. By the time she was done with this bitch, that vile slang would never cross her mouth again.

She set the metronome on the table by her chair. Then she turned the lights down low and turned on the tape deck in the corner, letting soothing, atmospheric music filter across the room. As she lowered herself into the seat, she mentally prepared herself. Just as Barbara had to be receiving to her commands, Frida had to be commanding. Any weakness and the spell would be broken and her instructions discarded.

"Barbie...focus on the sound of the metronome. Let your mind wander as you listen to it. Let all your worries and all your fixations melt away..."

"OK!" Barbara said, as chipper as ever.

Frida took a deep breath. "Barbara..."

"Barbie!"

"Barbie...don't speak unless I ask you a question alright? You will not speak unless I ask you a question." Frida instructed, attempting to impose her own, hardened personality over Barbara's bubbly one.

Barbara giggled but nodded. Frida hated that giggling. She hated how it reminded her of one of the top girls in her psych 101 class. That blonde airhead who the professor had waited hand and foot merely because of the size of her tits.

She hadn't been as busty as Barbara though. Barbara, whose breasts seemed to jiggle with every breath. No wonder, Frida thought. They're all rubber. Two big beachballs.

"Barbie, imagine that you are on a beach," Frida said, the image suddenly coming to her mind as she stared at the ultra-thin tan-lines around the edge of Barbara's chest.

"Okay!"

Frida cringed but pushing on. She needed to put Barbara in a place where she felt safe, where she didn't feel the need to talk.

"Close your eyes, Barbie. Imagine you are at the beach...there are children playing in the distance, gulls cawing as they fly over the sea...you are lying down in the hot white sand, you can feel it sticking to your thighs, collecting on the wrinkles of your feet..."

"Umm, I'm sorry, my feet don't have wrinkles!" Barbie said, lifting one foot and shrugging off her sandal so that one of her tiny, perfect, white feet was exposed.

Frida stared at the well-sanded sole as Barbie waved her foot back and forth. But her eyes were drawn back to Barbara's bust. The way they jiggled with the rest of her, the way they constantly demanded attention by imposing themselves onto her view. Two, perfect mounds, like the slopes of distant dunes. Beckoning her across a desert...Frida was suddenly feeling quite dry in the mouth, but that wasn't important, all that was important was the jiggling swing and bounce of Barbie's barely concealed breasts as she swung her foot back and forth.

Frida was speaking, but her voice was growing increasingly thin, even to herself. "You can hear the waves...I want you to listen close to them...every time you breathe in, that's the waves coming in. And everytime you breathe out, that's the waves going out...now, breathe, Barbie...slowly...slowly, breathe in...and out. In and out...in...and out..."

"OMG! That sounds like, so great!" Barbie asked, her bright white smile burning into Frida's wandering forethoughts. "Oooh! Am I tanning?"

"Tuh...tanning..." Frida repeated. The waves...they were coming in and drawing out. She was so thirsty, lying alone in the hot sand, staring up at the dunes. It was like the Great Sphinx was staring down at her, with so much judgment.

Why are you so small? Why are you so weak?

"Hmmm, but...what are you doing there?" Barbie asked.

"Duh-doing..." Frida repeated again, raising an eyebrow. Drool dripped down from her bottom lip and splattered across the lap of her expensive blue suit. She was sooooo thirsty...

"I mean, you're not there to tan, right? You don't need to tan...hmmm...let's say...you're there to help me?" Barbie suggested.

"Help..." Frida whimpered. What was happening? Why was she so thirsty? Why couldn't she think about anything except Barbie's pink toe-nails and the glittering pink jewel in her naval piercing?

And her mouth-watering sweater puppies. And the silicon valley between them which beckoned Frida to fall into them.

"Yeah, you can carry the umbrella and the blanket and you can rub me down with tanning oil and you can stand in the sun for me when I need more shade...and I can just like, focus on getting my beauty rest and like, attracting guys' attention. OMG! You can like go and pick up ice cream for us when I like, get thirsty. What's like, your favorite flavor of ice cream, Frida?"

"Hnnng..." Frida groaned, trying to wrest her mind from the dazzling images invading her mind.

"Now, now, we're like, BFFs now and you said you'd like, totes do ANYTHING to make me happy." Barbie said, leaning forward so that her cleavage consumed Frida's view.

"Ugh...struh-strawberry..." Frida admitted.

"Hmmm...I don't think they like, carry strawberry ice cream at most places...oooh, you know what I bet you'll like?"

Don't say it, Frida mentally pleaded.

"Vanilla. I think like, a big scoop of vanilla, like, just for you is just what you need. And two biiiiiig scoops of chocolate for me. I'm like, a busy person, right? I gotta like, keep my strength up. Plus, us girls have to like, look out for each other, right? We have to be like, allies, right?" Barbie giggled. "Like, we can't just like, let each other starve just so we like, look good for guys, right?"

Frida nodded, slowly.

"You like vanilla, don't you?" Barbie said with an evil grin.

Frida groaned. "I...I do?"

"Oh yeah! But, uh-oh...Frida, I guess my like, eyes were totes bigger than my stomach, right? I spilled chocolate ice cream all over my titties!"

Frida groaned again, but more gutturally this time, the image of a dollop of dark sugar and milk running down between those two perfect udders.

"Oh, Fri-Fri, it's ruining my expensive bikini...can you pwease clean it up?"

Frida slid out of her seat and her hands searched the imaginary sand. "I-I don't...I can't..."