It is mid-November and I am browsing Christmas presents online for my niece. I scroll through a sea of dolls, small bricks and future landfill until I notice her: Wheelchair Barbie. She is blonde, her long glossy hair draped down her back. Her accessories include a watch, movable joints and a bright pink ramp. She is wearing a rainbow-coloured playsuit. It is like looking in a mirror.
Growing up in the 1990s as a disabled child, I had no doll that looked like me. I could play with a dog that went to outer space or a flame-haired troll who skateboarded. But a toy with a disability was apparently beyond what any corporate executive could imagine.
