Titanic Piñatas

When I was a child, I went through a series of phases where I would learn everything I possibly could about a particular subject. I cycled through the standard “airplane” and “spaceflight” obsessions, but there were also tangential detours into more niche areas of study such as “flags” and “South America.” For whatever reason, other frequent childhood fixations including “dinosaurs” and “bugs” never struck me as worthy of further investigation.

This sort of prolonged, intense interest in a particular topic is, apparently, fairly typical and my youngest daughter currently finds herself in the midst of a “Titanic” phase. Thanks to the internet and James Cameron, Darcy has been able to learn an incredible amount about the ill-fated White Star passenger liner, and it was only natural that she would choose this as the theme of her tenth birthday party.

It was only natural that it fell to me to produce the requisite Titanic piñata.

Although earlier iterations existed in both Europe and China, the history of the piñata is most closely associated with Mexican Catholic tradition. I respect all that, but the form it has evolved into today is, in a word, bonkers. Why, as a child, would you want to beat with a stick a beloved Disney princess or Marvel superhero? Why, as a parent, would you want to arm a kid with a stick while they’re doped up on birthday cake? But as a parent, you also know you must set all this aside and instead craft an ocean liner out of paper-mâché so that it might be filled with cheap candy.

It turns out the skill set associated with the professional practice of architecture is also directly applicable to the creation of custom nautical-themed piñatas. For this project, I began by creating a digital model of the Titanic itself. I modified its scale and proportions slightly so that the cardboard core of a toilet paper roll could be used for the ship’s four iconic funnels. I then printed a series of section cuts through this model.

When transferred to corrugated cardboard, these sections were attached to one another to provide the overall framework that would define the piñata’s geometry.

From there it was a rather straightforward act of skinning this frame with masking tape (I made a game-time decision to use this as a quicker, less messy alternative to papier-mâché) and then adding a veneer of crepe paper over that to give the transatlantic liner with its iconic coloration.

The net result was a reasonably accurate model of the Titanic with 16 candy-tight compartments. This being my first time constructing a piñata, it was difficult to predict how the vessel would perform on the open sea. My best guess was it would either collapse in upon itself after the first strike or that it would take all of the birthday party to sink her. The latter proved to be the more accurate guess. Whereas piñatas are often fleeting distractions, this one proved to be a half-hour immersive experience during which, I am happy to report, no children were severely injured.

I do have two observations regarding the unorthodox nature of this piñata’s construction. Instead of a single decisive hit emptying the entire piñata, the compartments formed by the cardboard grid framework helped distribute the candy dispersal. In my opinion, this represented an improvement over traditional piñata design. However, the decision to skin that cardboard frame with masking tape had unintended consequences. Specifically, the contents of the piñata tended to stick to its inside skin rather than empty out in a climactic cascade of candy. This flaw will be addressed in future iterations.

During the week (or so) of its construction, several people expressed concern that I would be upset when the piñata was ultimately destroyed by an unruly hoard of 4th graders. I didn’t think that would happen, and I can honestly say that watching it being whacked by a series of 9- to 10-year-olds had no emotional impact on me. I knew from the beginning that, regardless of how much went into this effort, the point was always for it to be always be torn asunder.

You see, there’s another relevant skill associated with the practice of architecture that is applicable here: perseverance in the face of oblivion. A dirty little secret about any architectural practice is only a fraction of what is designed is ever built. It’s possible to spend years designing and detailing a project only to have the client change their mind or to have the economy enter a downturn. All the effort vested in that design - all the thousands of decisions made perfecting the design - becomes little more than a torn shell of a piñata strewn upon the ground. 

Of course, you learn things along the way that you can apply to future projects and you should be getting paid for the design regardless of if it’s ever built. But hopefully, you can find joy in the process. Hopefully you, like Sisyphus, can wipe the sweat from your brow, stretch your quads, and see if you can achieve a PR on your next attempt at rolling the boulder up the hill.

And in the specific case of a Titanic piñata, you have the added bonus of seeing your effort translated into the smiles of your daughter on her very special day while dressed up like a ship’s captain. 

Even if you know your ship is doomed, it’s still all worthwhile.