There’s something almost universal about the memory of little girls playing with dolls. Long afternoons on the bedroom floor, hair carefully brushed, imaginary conversations unfolding in hushed tones. Dolls were often our first companions — the ones we practised kindness on, the ones we confided in, the ones we imagined ourselves becoming. Through them, many girls learnt how to care, how to nurture, how to make sense of the world around them.
But childhood memories are shaped just as much by what we didn’t have as by what we did.
Growing up in Sri Lanka, Shabnam Nuhuman remembers noticing — even as a young girl — that the dolls around her never quite reflected her back to herself. The faces, skin tones and features felt distant, unfamiliar. There were dolls with blonde hair and fair skin, others with darker complexions, but none that mirrored her own. It was a quiet disappointment, one that lingered without explanation at the time, yet stayed with her long after childhood ended.
Years later, that feeling resurfaced — not as mere play, but as purpose.
After moving to Australia, Shabnam pursued a career in early childhood education, immersing herself in the world of play-based learning and child development. Day after day, she watched children form deep emotional bonds with their toys. Dolls became babies to care for, friends to confide in, characters in elaborate imaginary worlds. Through play, children explored empathy, responsibility and social connection — often long before they had the words to describe what they were learning.
What stood out to Shabnam, however, was how narrow the visual language of many toys remained. In classrooms filled with children from diverse cultural backgrounds, the dolls themselves didn’t always reflect that same richness. In a country as multicultural as Australia, the gap felt impossible to ignore.
By this point, Shabnam had worked her way from Room Leader to Centre Manager, committed to creating environments where every child felt safe, included and valued. Yet she kept returning to the same question: how could children fully feel seen if the tools they used to play and learn didn’t represent them?
The answer began taking shape at home. Shabnam teamed up with her husband, Mushy, whose background in the toy industry complemented her own deep understanding of child development. Together, they imagined something different — a range of dolls that didn’t centre one “default” identity, but instead reflected the world children actually live in.
The result was Mini Colettos: a collection born from lived experience rather than trend forecasting. Today, the range includes more than 30 dolls representing African, Hispanic, Asian and European heritages, with a thoughtful mix of skin tones, facial features, hair textures and eye colours. Each doll feels individual, intentionally so — a quiet reminder that difference is normal, and belonging isn’t conditional.
What sets Shabnam’s work apart is how deeply it remains grounded in education. To her, dolls are not decorative objects or fleeting playthings. They are emotional tools. Through them, children rehearse real-life scenarios, express feelings they don’t yet know how to name, and develop empathy in ways that feel instinctive rather than taught.
Now a mother of two, Shabnam often reflects on how children use dolls to make sense of their world — the stories they create, the care they give, the identities they try on. She believes that when children see themselves reflected in their toys, it subtly builds confidence and a sense of belonging that can last well beyond childhood.
The work continues to evolve. With care and consultation, the couple is taking steps toward creating a doll that respectfully represents Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples — guided by the understanding that true inclusion requires listening, learning and time.
For Shabnam, the most meaningful moments aren’t measured in milestones or metrics, but in the messages she receives from families — parents noticing their children forming deeper emotional connections, asking more curious questions, embracing difference with ease. These are quiet shifts, but powerful ones.
In many ways, the story has come full circle. A little girl who once searched for herself among toy shelves has grown into a woman creating space for other children to feel seen. Not loudly. Not forcefully. But gently, through play — where some of the most important lessons of all begin.
