Is it healthy to give a child a disability doll?
Harper Beckham has one — and sales are booming. But surprising voices say they’re in poor taste
WHEN it comes to juvenile taste-makers, there are none so influential as the four Beckham children. Brooklyn is already a seasoned fashion icon, who has a Hollywood actress exgirlfriend and one Vogue cover already under his 28-in belt.
Now the baby of the family, little Harper, has showcased the latest must-have accessory for all socially switched on kids-abouttown: the physically impaired doll.
Daddy David was pictured carrying the doll’s miniature wheelchair as the family strode through Los Angeles airport this week, while five-year-old Harper clutched a blonde doll with a plaster cast on her broken leg.
Harper’s doll, it seems, is merely temporary injured — perhaps while skiing in Aspen, or kite-surfing in the Caribbean. But while the long-term prognosis for the Beckham dolly is hopeful, the trend for toys sporting some sort of permanent impairment is on the rise — and Harper is ahead of the curve.
These so-called ‘disability dolls’ come in all shapes and sizes, with all sorts of special needs. They came onto the market around a decade ago, and today a wide range of disabilities is represented, from Down’s syndrome to visual impairment.
Thus there are dolls with prosthetic limbs, walking frames and hearing aids. There are blind dolls complete with guide dogs, and dolls with cleft palates or no hair (from undergoing chemotherapy).
Those who make the toys claim they are performing a vital public service by offering children with different cognitive and physical abilities a playmate they can identify with to help them feel more confident about themselves.
Interestingly, this global trend is being fuelled by three middle-class British mothers: Rebecca Atkinson, who is deaf; Karen Newell, who has a son with visual impairment, and deaf writer Melissa Mostyn, whose daughter has cerebral palsy.
The three friends last year launched ‘Toy Like Me’, an organisation which makes disability dolls and campaigns for greater representation of the disabled.
‘As someone who grew up wearing hearing aids, I remember how it felt to be a child who never saw myself represented by the mainstream and what that can do to your self- esteem,’ says Rebecca, who is now also partially sighted.
‘Nearly every toy wheelchair we have ever found has been part of a hospital set, every glasses-wearing toy has been a geek or a nerd, every patch-wearer a pirate. Where are the wizards with wheelchairs? Fairies with guide dogs? Princesses with diabetic lines?’
TODAY it seems there will soon be dolls reflecting every disability under the sun. In June, Lego’s first wheelchair- bound figure, sporting a trendy beanie hat, went on sale. British toy-maker Makies last year launched a range of three disability dolls — one has a large birthmark, one wears hearing aids, while another sports a walking stick and glasses — which have proved hugely popular.
Playmobil has sold wheelchairbound figures for some time and has announced it is widening its range of disabled characters.
Interestingly, when Mattel — maker of that icon of blonde-haired, blue-eyed perfection Barbie, introduced Share- a- Smile Becky, Barbie’s plucky wheelchair friend, in 1997, it sold out in two weeks.
However, she was discontinued, with complaints that her wheelchair didn’t fit through some of the doors at Barbie’s dream house.
While many of these dolls are purchased for disabled children, the parents of able-bodied children can also encourage their offspring to be more respectful of disability by introducing them into the toy box.
If I were a better parent, I might have bought my daughter a doll with Down’s (as it happened, I didn’t need to, since one of her favourite classmates at primary school had the syndrome).
Is this the intention of the Beckhams? Maybe. or a cynic might argue that this as just another example of shameless celebrity showing- off. As in: ‘We may be super-rich, super-famous and own 73 million luxury mansions, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care about the little people.’ Especially since they are flying from LA, land of the politically correct.
Either way, there’s no doubt that dolls who mirror the characteristics of their owners are a growing phenomenon.
The days when dolls were delicate representations of an ideal — the porcelain ballerina, the pneumatic Barbie, the peach-skinned, perfect baby — are gone.
Harper’s belongs to the incredibly successful My American Doll range, which a few years ago burst onto the primary school scene and saw the daughters of the affluent middle- classes both here and in the U.S. clamouring for personalised mini-me dolls that shared the same eye, skin and hair colour as their mini-mummies. My daughter was given one, a present from an exceptionally generous godparent (they cost around £80): a greeneyed, brown-haired, medium-skintoned creation that mirrored her physical characteristics.
Many imitations have since sprung up. There is a brand called My London Doll, and Argos does a very decent cut- price version, costing around £20.
All have matching clothing sets for child and doll. If you ask me, they are a little spooky. But they are the ultimate plaything for a selfie-obsessed generation.
When I was a child, the mantra from most parents was: don’t get ideas above your station. We were always being reminded of how ordinary we were (‘no one’s looking at you, dear,’ my grandmother used to tell me whenever I showed signs of becoming too self-obsessed).
But years of child-centred dogma have changed all that. Generation ‘snowflake’ (as in, we are each a special little snowflake) considers uniqueness to be the ultimate virtue. It follows that their toys should reflect this.
The difference between mini-me dolls and disability dolls, however, is that the latter serve a greater purpose than simply to flatter their owner. They have the potential to make disabled children feel part of the wider community, to help boost their confidence and encourage integration. But is this really true?
Since I am not myself the mother of a disabled child, I am not qualified to judge. But Rosa Monckton, whose 21- year- old daughter, Domenica, has Down’s syndrome, is.
ROSA works tirelessly to help people with disabilities. In fact, her latest project comes to fruition tonight, when Julie Walters officially launches Team Domenica, Rosa’s Brighton- based charity helping people with learning difficulties to train for gainful employment in the wider community.
No one believes more than Rosa in encouraging those with disabilities to lead fulfilling lives. And yet her view, when presented with the prospect of a doll displaying the physical characteristics associated with the syndrome her daughter has, is quite simply: ‘yuck’.
Which was also the view of Domenica when she was shown such a doll. ‘ That would give me nightmares,’ she said.
As Rosa says: ‘Domenica should be defined by her common humanity, rather than by her Down’s syndrome.’ In other words, Down’s is part of who she is; but not all.
But perhaps it doesn’t do to ascribe too many adult intentions to these playthings. And I think there is something about injured or ailing dollies, about toys that need special care, that simply appeals to the nature of little girls.
After all, children have always loved playing doctors and nurses. My own daughter used to run a kind of field hospital with her teddies and dolls, all of which were always falling prey to terrible accidents and mysterious diseases. Gathering dust in the garage are former plastic playmates with permanent cases of measles, alarming chicken pox, bandaged arms and legs and missing eyes.
Many have survived serious accidents — the loss of limbs, and, on occasion, heads.
Such was the frequency of these catastrophes, my daughter and her friends used to get through reams of toilet roll patching up their charges, regularly raiding our firstaid box for plasters.
Ultimately, whether you like or loathe these dolls, whether you consider them patronising or unifying, whether a symptom of a politically correct idiocy or a long-overdue addition to the toy market, the choice is up to the individual child. Their existence should not offend, any more than the existence of Asian Barbie or plus-size Barbie should.
And whatever their failings, one thing is sure: if they can get children away from their iPads, what’s not to like?