Plastiholics Anonymous

My name’s Phil and I’m a plastiholic. I’ve had a problem for 27 years.

Us hobbyists are a funny bunch of buggers. It’s genuinely incredible how we talk ourselves into ‘needing’ new armies. Take my good and dear friend Lee. When we were up at Warhammer World we started looking at the cabinet with the Solar Auxilia in it.

Those are some seriously pretty models. Every model is unique which is testament to Forge World’s skills, commitment and sheer mentalness. Inside fifteen minutes we’d already worked out key elements of the army Lee would collect. But it was okay because it was a slow burn project, mainly because it was going to cost all the monies. Last week he emailed me to say that he’d snapped up two artillery teams on eBay.

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So it begins: a new army. There are few things more exciting for us happy band of uber geeks. That excitement that comes with the smell of the plastic or clipping out that first unit. Seeing that first unit painted and the army take shape is immensely satisfying.

But who I am to judge? I may or may not have just ordered two boxes of Imperial Knights: Renegade. And when I say may I mean I absolutely did. Why? Because the idea of a Knight army took seed ages ago and so when Renegade came out it was only a matter of time…

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I already have one Knight so four more makes an army. An army of big stompy killer robots (sort of). A throw back to my days of playing Epic and where my hobby really took flight all those years ago.

It’s also an opportunity to build the showcase army we all secretly dream of collecting. To do something utterly crackpot that will either do or die and nothing in between. Something so delightfully, quintessentially 40k-esque that I just had to. Plus it’ll really wind up The Chaps.

It’s hard not feel the lure of a new army when history and emotion play such a big part. At least that’s how I’m justifying it at any rate.

Our hobby is so incredibly tactile that it’s impossible not to become very attached to our armies as we build and paint them. To stand back and marvel at our work, regardless of our painting prowess, is an entirely unique and intensely personal experience.

Which is probably why we all get so precious when our brand new army gets tabled in two turns. That goes double when it’s against some beardy little shitweasel who puts winning above enjoyment of the hobby. And for the record, fuck those guys in the ear.

Perhaps the answer is that we’re not all plastic-crackheads but romantics, creatives and enthusiasts. We’re not drawn to the models because they’re new but for the experience of creating and for the stories we tell with them. We invest our time and our passion to stand at the head of armies of darkness and light. Of ruination and order. And to tell tales of our glory.

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