“My whole philosophy of Barbie was that through the doll, the little girl could be anything she wanted to be. Barbie always represented the fact that a woman has choices.” — Ruth Handler, Creator of Barbie
Barbie—the iconic doll that captivated the hearts of so many children. She was a representation of aspirational beauty with her long blonde hair, beach glow tan and totally unattainable body type. The only type of beauty that was echoed across TV, billboards and magazines. But, as these children grew up to become vocal millennials, they started questioning this standard with the once-beloved doll in the firing line.
Modern-day Barbie customers became disinterested and sales declined. In response, Mattel rebranded Barbie in January 2016, launching #TheDollEvolves. Barbie would now be curvy, tall or petite. She would also be available in seven different skin tones, 22 eye colors and 24 hairstyles. A bold, progressive and much-needed move where little girls could finally see some representation in the toys they played with during the key developmental stages of their lives.
In June 2017, Halima Aden rocked the cover of the Allure “This Is American Beauty” issue. The Kenyan Muslim model is eye-catchingly striking and it’s not because she is wearing a hijab or because her braces are peeking through her expression of playful rebellion—but simply because she’s a model of modern aspirational beauty.
And let’s not glaze over this summer’s delightfully mold-breaking hit Crazy Rich Asians. Hollywood’s first studio movie with a full Asian and Asian-American cast in 25 years. A rom-com with a routine plot line, but a refreshing dive into Asian culture—a revolutionary angle for the big screen.
Suffice to say, beauty standards have been redefined and modernized to represent the world we live in. The dolls we play with, the magazines we read and the movies we watch are turning points in shaping the way we view ourselves. The message is clear: ethnicity, culture and background are not obstacles in the pursuit of ambition. Diversity and representation have never been more important, especially in beauty and fashion. Inclusion becomes a big part of a purchasing decision, and if a brand fails to accommodate, it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Enter Shudu Gram. The South African model with a flawless complexion and awe-inspiringly defined bone structure. This breakthrough beauty sensation already boasts Fenty Beauty and Balmain in her portfolio, along with her own WWD editorial. But, stunning as she is—Shudu is not real.
A CGI creation by British photographer Cameron-James Wilson, Shudu is the world’s first ever digital supermodel. Wilson’s day job had him shooting Gigi Hadid and Pia Mia, while watching YouTube tutorials on 3D design became his passion project. He learned Daz3D—a program that focuses on creating human form—and created three characters. Shudu was his third and became an instant viral sensation. Shudu’s features draw from Wilson’s own inspirations—Naomi Campbell, Alex Wek, and Iman—who is directly accredited for Shudu’s eyeshape. But, the main inspiration for Shudu’s look comes from South African Barbie.
Wilson’s groundbreaking creation fuels further discussion on the blurred lines of fake and reality on Instagram. The idea of a virtual influencer is so nascent that it presents an influx of questions. Wilson hopes that Shudu will spur empowerment and diversity in the fashion world—an industry that has been criticized for promoting one definition of beauty for far too long.
Digital avatars are not new—they are commonplace in the gaming world and indeed in music, think Gorillaz and Hatsune Miko. But, these art pieces having a social-media personality as a virtual influencer is a head-scratching concept. Miquela Sousa, aka @lilmiquela—featured in this year’s esteemed Vogue September Issue —has amassed over one million followers and has the sassy online persona of any other progressive Gen Z teenager. She loves Cardi B, believes in identity fluidity—”binaries are oppressive“—and is a proud supporter of the Black Lives Matter movement.
While still in the early stages of understanding how these virtual influencers will market their influence, conversations arise surrounding inauthenticity. “In reality, isn’t every influencer digital?” argues Anthony Reyes—an 18 year old artist and @lilmiquela superfan, “You only know them to exist due to them existing on a digital platform, whether that’s Instagram, YouTube, Twitter etc.” Richard Wong of AdWeek retorts that virtual influencers are unable to actually experience products they may endorse—further pushing influencer marketing into the realm of an FTC nightmare. However, Wilson has specified that collaborations with Shudu must be fitting—he doesn’t want her to become a marketing gimmick.
In some ways, Shudu has taught me more about natural beauty and the meaning of that because I’ve had to make her so realistic. And in order to make her so realistic I have to add all those imperfections that I was taught to take away with photography. Photoshop is all about taking away the realism, whereas 3D is all about adding it,” says Wilson, “In a virtual world, I’m excited to see the standards of beauty and where they get pushed to.”
Collaborations and #sponsored posts aside, virtual influencers can be used as real agents for change. CGI or not, an it-girl backing social movements and organizations that promote technology training for girls has to be a positive. Individuality is celebrated and being an outspoken female is fashionable. It becomes far less about brand marketing and far more about shifting industry paradigms and outdated norms. Virtual influencers with all their carefully constructed imperfections have the superpowers to really influence for the greater good.
(Source: WWD)
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