Like so many girls around the world, I grew up playing with the world’s most famous doll: Barbie. I had a huge collection — the car, the Dreamhouse, the outfits, all of it. I spent hours creating stories and adventures.

But something always felt off…

No matter how I styled her hair, changed her clothes, or imagined her career path and life, I just couldn’t connect with her. I watched my friends adore their Barbies, saying they wanted to grow up and be just like her. Meanwhile, I quietly wondered, why can’t I see myself in her? Over time, that question turned into resentment.

As I got older, I saw Barbie through a new lens as she evolved over the years, and I began to appreciate what Barbie represents. She shows girls they can be anything — a doctor, an astronaut, a businesswoman. And over the years, Mattel has made meaningful strides in representing different cultures, careers, and disabilities. Still, I couldn’t connect. I still didn’t see myself.

When I became a mother, that unresolved feeling shaped my decisions. I decided my daughter wouldn’t play with Barbies. I didn’t want her to experience that same quiet ache of feeling unseen and unrepresented – that why can’t I see myself in her feeling. I wanted to protect her. Looking back now, I can see I was projecting my own hurt onto her, and that was unfair.

A few years into motherhood, everything changed. I was diagnosed as autistic — and so was my daughter.

Suddenly, so much of my life made sense.

As I learned more about autism, I realised how deeply misunderstood and underrepresented it is — especially in women. Autism is often stereotyped, glamorised, or reduced to narrow portrayals that don’t reflect reality. It doesn’t have one specific “look.” Autism is a spectrum, and it presents differently in every individual. However, there are shared experiences and traits that many of us recognise in ourselves and are strong characteristics of being autistic.

That’s why seeing Mattel’s Autistic Barbie meant so much.

She has a sideways glance — reflecting how eye contact can feel uncomfortable for many autistic people. She wears sensory-friendly clothing made of softer, looser-fitting fabrics. Her movable elbow and wrist joints acknowledge stimming behaviours. She comes with a fidget spinner and noise-cancelling headphones to support sensory and focus needs. She wears flat shoes for comfort and balance. She even has an AAC (augmentative and alternative communication) device, recognising that, while not all autistic individuals use communication devices, many rely on communication supports.

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The truth is, any Barbie could be autistic because there isn’t a specific look to autism… but this Barbie intentionally reflects common autistic experiences and traits in a thoughtful, realistic way. She represents not just autism, but a female autistic person of colour — a group that has been historically overlooked and underdiagnosed; and I think that is pretty incredible.

This doll reinforces Barbie’s original message in a deeper way: you can be anything — and that includes being your authentic autistic self. Being different is not something to hide. It’s not something to fix. It’s not something to be ashamed of. You can be you.

All of that said, beyond the representation and the statement this Barbie makes, the most powerful part was this:

For the first time in my life, I finally saw myself in her.

And my daughter saw herself too.

Despite the criticism and negativity surrounding this doll, that connection is what truly matters. A child feeling seen. A mother healing a younger version of herself. Representation that says, “You belong here.”

There is still work to be done. Inclusivity is a journey, not a finished product. But this was a meaningful step forward. And I am deeply grateful that my daughter gets to grow up in a world where she can have the Barbie that I never had.

With love,
Petra xxx

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