Inclusion begins with a conversation

Author’s Note: I had fun creating this little “doll,” but behind the playful nod to this week's news, there's something else too: A woman who, like many, is exploring her own grey areas. Who observes, questions, and tries to understand her way of functioning, her differences, her story. And who has learned that inclusion doesn't require having all the answers, only the courage to open the conversations that truly matter. Enjoy the read!

I did not take a position on the autistic Barbie when the news came out a few days ago, and I have no intention of forcing my opinion on anyone today. I do not want to step into morality or marketing (even though I had a bit of fun with this week’s blog photo). What I do want to share is my perspective and my reality, as a mother and as a professional who interacts every day with humans under the umbrella of neurodiversity.

Would an autistic Barbie have changed anything for me when I was younger? Probably not.

Would it have changed anything for my son when he was little? Not really.

But can representation, in any form, make a difference? Absolutely.

Because the real question is not “Is Barbie a good idea or a bad idea?” The real question is: What does a child see when they are amazed?

The magic does not come from the object

I sincerely believe that it is up to us, as parents and as a society, to create the magic, no matter the toy. Because deep down, in a child's heart, it is not the label on the box that creates wonder, it is the interaction. It is the way we adapt to their way of playing, to their rhythm, to what captures their interest.

So is having access to an autistic, stereotyped Barbie that in no way reflects my son’s reality or that of many others a bad idea? I do not think so.

If this toy creates magic, smiles, then good. At the very least, it will have opened a door, put a word on something we still talk too little about. It will have sparked a conversation about autism in the media.

That is already something.

A little story

And to be honest, and I say this a bit jokingly, maybe it is not surprising that I do not react like everyone else to this Barbie. As a child, I almost never played with those dolls. I found them boring, sorry.

My sister often said, “Come play Barbie with me!” And without fail, I almost always ended up playing Ken. I think it was because he was the most interesting one in the story, or maybe he was simply the only one available, that is possible too ;)

And you might laugh, but my favorite games had absolutely nothing to do with dolls. My favorite game with my friends was pretending to be police detectives. In my mind, at seven years old, I was literally Danny Glover in the movie Lethal Weapon (80'S movie). Yes, zero resemblance, zero representation, and yet it made perfect sense to me at the time.

That is the beauty of a child’s imagination.

You give them a teddy bear and it becomes an astronaut. You hand them any figurine and suddenly it is a hero, a dragon, a teacher, an adventurer.

Many children do not wait for a toy to look like them before projecting their inner world onto it, each in their own way.

They put who they are into it.

So yes, I am convinced that in some way, there were already autistic dolls in my childhood, not because the industry produced them, but because we naturally put parts of ourselves into whatever we held in our hands.

A spectrum

Because in the end, it is not called the autism spectrum for nothing. There are as many ways to be autistic as there are autistic people.

And my hope, as a mother, as a human searching for meaning, as a professional, is that autism, and more broadly any form of neurodivergence, simply becomes part of the “norm.” Not a topic we bring out once in a while and certainly not a marketing object.

Just another human reality among others. And that is beautiful.

But to get there, we have to start somewhere. And if this Barbie, imperfect as any first attempt, can open even a small door, then yes, that is already something. Great, if it makes even one child’s eyes light up, autistic or not.

And now?

What I hope for in the coming years are not just more diverse toys. I hope for strong role models in society. People, and especially companies, who rethink inclusion differently, in their culture and in the way they welcome humans as they are.

Because real inclusion begins in the conversations we dare to have.

And if a toy, one day, can be the starting point for that conversation, then why not?

The autistic Barbie may not change the world. But the conversations it allows us to have might change something.

And in the end, that is what matters.