Surrealist Mexican artist Frida Kahlo’s image has been emblazoned on many things: t-shirts, tote bags, jewelry, magnets — even makeup and tequila. The product description for one dress even calls her “the mother of the selfie,” which is at best extremely annoying, and at worst is a gross misunderstanding of the work of this influential artist. Despite the proliferation of Frida stuff, there is still money to be made off of her image, as Mattel proved recently with the release of its “Inspiring Women” series for this year’s International Women’s Day on March 8. The collection includes a Barbie doll in Frida’s likeness — and while “Frida” is dressed in her Tehuana-style clothing, Mattel missed the mark with everything else that made Kahlo one of the most influential and interesting artists of the 20th century.
Not only did Mattel manufacture the doll without permission from Kahlo’s estate, but a few crucial characteristics of the outspoken artist were seemingly lost — or worse, erased — during the design process. Kahlo’s iconic unibrow is nowhere to be found, nor is anything that remotely refers to her lifelong status as a disabled woman. Kahlo had polio as a child, resulting in a leg length discrepancy; at 18, she was injured in a horrific trolley accident that would leave her in chronic pain for the rest of her life. Kahlo was not shy about representing her disabilities and the intractable pain that she faced — two of her most famous paintings, “The Broken Column” and “Self-Portrait With the Portrait of Doctor Farill”, depicted her disabilities in an honest (if graphic) way.
Yet Mattel did not include any reference to her disabilities at all, and this lack of inclusion did not seem to occur to Mattel’s general manager, Lisa McKnight, when she remarked that “you can’t be what you can’t see” in reference to the company’s “inspirational” line of dolls. Somewhat ironically, girls with disabilities may not be able to see themselves in this iteration of Frida.
Is it ridiculous, on some level, to expect accurate representation — or some sort of “empowerment” — from a toy company, particularly one that has been criticized before for its unrealistic depiction of women? I would argue that it is, but to take a more nuanced view, a doll version of Frida — done accurately, and perhaps not by a huge corporation — could go a long way in introducing young artists to her work. My own fascination with Kahlo’s work started at age 10, and although I was not into dolls at that point, I might have made an exception for a Frida doll — especially one with a unibrow and a wheelchair.
But not every kid who likes surrealist art also dislikes dolls; done correctly, a doll in Kahlo’s likeness could be very positive for Latinx kids, disabled kids, and others. And although the Kahlo doll has sold out at the time of this writing, Mattel has unwittingly provided a lesson in how not to pay tribute to an “inspirational” woman.