At the art department, I’m invited to play with a convincingly half-eaten pile of miniature chicken wings being prepped for a Super Bowl concept. If Barbie’s outfit can’t be cobbled together out of her existing looks (I count seven craft trays dedicated to shoes, sorted by color), vintage pieces get called in from eBay, or a particularly on-trend piece might be created custom through the in-house couturier of patternmakers and fabricators.Ĭoncepts and scripts-which the creative team puts together with a writers room-are debated and finalized. There’s the preproduction phase, where her wardrobe stylist tracks real-life influencers and runways for inspiration: In the style closet, magazine pages forecasting neon and sheer trends are tacked up alongside a printout of Kendall Jenner wearing tights instead of pants. Like any other person-as-brand (and brand-as-person) conglomeration cluttering up our social feeds, Barbie’s content creation takes the work of a full-time team. Becoming an influencer these days means nothing short of treating yourself-and presenting your image-as a branded product: that is, to appear as Barbie-like as possible. Consider how the past six decades or so of successive childhoods spent interchanging trendy outfits, arranging posable limbs, and playacting fantasy CEO-astronaut-jetsetter-mermaid-cowgirl ambitions trained us for the daily labor of #OOTD posts, #GRWM videos, and ongoing curation of our lives for public consumption. We’ve been living in Barbie’s world for something like a social media generation now-whether she was on Instagram or not. What’s ironic about Barbie’s foray into the creator economy, beyond a reflection of the state of 2023 careerism, is the obvious debt that our current generation of influencerdom owes directly to her. On IG, she brags about surviving Y2K style the first time around in a “day in the life”–style video, she ruminates on the finer points of being a doll (Pro: “Perfect haircut.” Con: “NEVER. Half of the joke is that Barbie-well, the dozens of decision makers at Mattel-is in on it. Like any super-influencer worth her sponcon these days, Barbie has savvily mastered the skill of sharing her aspirational “life” with just enough personality to give any of the more wooden Kard-Jenner clones of your timeline a run for their own hot pink Bimmers. Of course Barbie would be great at posting, but it’s not just because of her particular access to an unlimited wardrobe and forever photo-ready makeup. Her wardrobe stylist stands nearby with a backup top and skirt and is at the ready, if things get truly dire, to make a run to the doll head cabinet. Barbie’s photographer, producer, and social media manager look on. Peering through his round, Apfelian glasses, he suggests lifting Barbie’s head a little to zhuzh up the faux on-camera eye contact. Kusnoor, a senior creative manager and art director at toy maker Mattel, oversees Barbie’s social media presence and is my unofficial tour guide today. “The smallest little movement can make it look like a doll,” says Zlatan Kusnoor with a sigh that says yes, I am aware this is a doll. From a few inches away, her stylist leans forward and adjusts the tilt of a hand while our star influencer smiles patiently, plastically, under the crush of lights. There’s a month’s worth of content to shoot this week-such is the life of catering to just over 3 million Instagram and TikTok followers-so she’s assembled a team to help. Indoors, seated among an embarrassment of houseplants, a young woman strikes a pose with her stylish friends.
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It’s another beautiful day for content creation, at least according to the sky blue backdrop rigged outside the windows of one tasteful midcentury-modern Malibu dream home in particular, though strictly temporally speaking, we’re in El Segundo.
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