Tiktok
How Doodles Became a Digital Revolution for a Generation
When Sabrina Olaso ❀ first started doodling in her U of T dorm room between lectures, she probably didn’t imagine sketching her way to 2.1 million TikTok fans. But that’s exactly what happened with @sabadabadoodle—a handle as playful as her content. What began as stress-relief scribbles during econ classes evolved into a mesmerizing art-as-performance niche. Her signature move? Transforming quick pen sketches into vibrant, animated narratives that feel like pages of a storybook jumping to life. One minute she’s drawing a simple teacup; the next, it’s swirling with steam that morphs into a dancer’s silhouette. It’s the kind of magic that makes you pause mid-scroll and think, *“Wait, how’d she do that?”*
Unlike polished art influencers, Sabrina leans into the charming imperfections of the process. You’ll see her smudge a line, backtrack with an eraser, or even laugh when paint bleeds outside the lines—all while her voiceover spins little stories about Tehran’s street art scene or her grandma’s rosewater recipes. That raw authenticity is her secret sauce. While many creators chase trends, she’s built a universe where Persian motifs meet modern animation, turning mandalas into dance sequences and calligraphy into rhythmic visual poetry. It’s no surprise her engagement rate sits at a stellar 12.47%—fans don’t just watch; they comment things like *“This made me video-call my mom to show her our culture here!”*
Her impact stretches beyond likes. For young Iranian creatives, especially diaspora kids straddling identities, @sabadabadoodle is a quiet revolution. She’ll recreate a centuries-old Isfahan tile pattern, then zoom out to reveal it’s part of a mural she painted with friends in Toronto’s Little Iran. No grand pronouncements—just joyful, everyday reclamation. One viral video shows her sketching a *sabzi* (herb) spread for Nowruz, then cutting to a clip of her mom approving the drawing with a nod. That intimate touch? It’s why over 30 million people have tapped "like" across her journey.
What’s refreshing is how she dodges the influencer playbook. No sponsored detox teas or #ad hauls. Instead, she’ll drop a tutorial using a $2 pencil from her campus bookstore, or share audio clips of Tehran street musicians she recorded on family trips. Followers joke that her videos are “therapy for overthinkers”—the steady scratch of her pen, the unhurried pace, the way she’ll add a tiny hidden cat in every piece (her own *easter egg* tradition). In an algorithm obsessed with speed, she’s proof that slowing down can go viral.
At its heart, Sabrina’s work isn’t about followers—it’s about connection. When she posted a clip of drawing protest art after Mahsa Amini’s death, the comments flooded with *“This is why we create”* in Persian, Arabic, and English. Two years ago, she was a student sketching between exams; now, she’s a beacon for artists who want to honor roots while reaching globally. And honestly? Watching her turn a blank page into a moment of shared joy feels like witnessing something rare: internet fame with soul.