Growing up, I, like many girls, had one Barbie doll. From her stylish outfits and fun hairstyles to her various professions, the iconic toy was just as much of a one source of empowerment as it was pleasure. The doll’s manufacturer, Mattel, has created many different ones versions of Barbie over the years, but the latest is something I wish I could have personally experienced growing up. On January 16, Mattel released a new Barbie in honor of the late R&B princess Aaliyah. Seeing this creation immediately filled me with a sense of happiness – but I also felt a great longing for a doll like this during my formative years.
The now sold out Aaliyah Barbie — which came out on what would have been the singer’s 46th birthday — is the latest in Mattel’s music series, made in collaboration with the singer’s brother, Rashad Haughton. Since Aaliyah lost her life in a horrific plane crash in 2001, aged just 22, Haughton has been steadfast in preserving her sister’s legacy, notably through numerous major collaborations (including one with MAC 2018), but this one with Mattel struck me differently.
Although I was only three years old when the singer passed away, I was always inspired by her, especially when I entered high school. I loved her style, her easy yet distinct approach to beauty through side parting and inner winged eyeliner – her whole élan.
From Bratz to Barbies, I loved playing with my dolls, giving them different roles, putting them in my toy cars, pushing them down my grandmother’s stairs and imagining my own little world. Trips to the toy aisles of Target and Toys R US were also part of my highly anticipated childhood escapades. In retrospect, I realize that the majority of the dolls I owned and saw in stores didn’t look like me—an experience many black girls can relate to.
When I was younger, many of the Barbie collections were exclusively for black people, with most of these dolls being white with either blonde or brunette hair. There were exceptions here and there, but even many of those dolls symbolized black people and received significant criticism (a particular Oreo-themed Black Barbie made in the 90s comes to mind…). Although I loved all my Barbies equally, none of them were a true reflection of me or the woman I would become. I grew up in Brooklyn, which was a melting pot of different cultures and especially welcoming to my immigrant Jamaican family, so I wasn’t aware that there was a world that didn’t always include my people. Confidence and pride in identity was always pushed in my home environment, so I did not experience racial stereotypes or prejudice as a child. My family and friends didn’t make me feel ugly or that my Blackness was an inferior option, but the toy shelves did.
Our relationship with beauty doesn’t just start when we put on our mother’s red lipstick for the first time. It starts from the moment we enter the world, with the people we are around, the places we see and the conversations we hear affecting how we see ourselves. The young mind is sharper than we think, with many experiences having a lasting impact, which is why growing up with a black doll like Aaliyah would have been so monumental. Although her beauty is impressive, it is greater than her physicality. Aaliyah was a black woman who succeeded simply by being herself and showing up fearlessly, and it’s gratifying to see Mattel release her doll, not only to preserve her legacy, but also for young black girls to see their beauty.
Naomi Parris (she/her) is a New York-based fashion and beauty writer with over seven years of experience. She worked as an editorial assistant at PS, specializing in all things fashion. Obsessed with telling stories that unite fashion and culture, her areas of expertise include fashion week coverage, daily news, high-profile interviews, shopping collections and beauty stories.
