Saving Our Daughters From An Army Of Princesses : NPR
What was going on here? My fellow mothers, women who once swore they would never be dependent on a man, smiled indulgently at daughters who warbled “So This Is Love” or insisted on being addressed as Snow White. The supermarket checkout clerk invariably greeted Daisy with “Hi, Princess.” The waitress at our local breakfast joint, a hipster with a pierced tongue and a skull tattooed on her neck, called Daisy’s “funny-face pancakes” her “princess meal”; the nice lady at Longs Drugs offered us a free balloon, then said, “I bet I know your favorite color!” and handed Daisy a pink one rather than letting her choose for herself. Then, shortly after Daisy’s third birthday, our high-priced pediatric dentist — the one whose practice was tricked out with comic books, DVDs, and arcade games — pointed to the exam chair and asked, “Would you like to sit in my special princess throne so I can sparkle your teeth?”
While I read this article, all I could think was “Thank Godric I never went through the princess stage,” and “Oh almighty conception statistics, please please please let me have sons.”
My husband, sister, mother and I were talking yesterday about my sister and my respective childhoods. Sarah dressed up in all out princess gear and trotted her Barbies around her room. I dressed like a cowboy and rode a fake horse around the yard. She begged for dress up clothes, I begged for bouncy balls.
Having never gone through the prerequisite Princess stage of girlhood, I have no idea how to react to it in little girls now. For example, my husband’s niece Jessica is entirely enraptured with the whole pink/princess/Barbie little girl culture. While we were at my sister-in-law’s house at Christmas, she wanted me to come play Barbies with her. I begrudgingly agreed (under threat of little girl tears and my husband disapproving) and sat down with her. “Cinderella,” a normal Barbie wearing a blue dress, was promptly shoved into my hand, and Jessica immediately launched into Playing With Dolls mode. I had no idea what to do. I stared at “Cinderella” for a few long moments, racking my brain for any previous experience in playing with dolls. Besides a few instances of Barbie beheading, all that came up was my American Girl dolls, but that didn’t help. I used them to play through events like the battle at Little Big Horn and the bombing of London. “Oh no, the army is coming over the ridge! We need to cross the river!” “The Germans are bombing us! Get into the bunker!” Molly and Josephina did NOT prance around shopping. They were historical!
Jessica was still rambling on through her Barbie about how wonderful it was that she could take her Barbie convertible to the Barbie mansion. I set down my doll and told her that I didn’t know how to play dolls the way she did, and maybe Uncle Terry would be better at it so she should ask him. I made my escape, batting off protests that Uncle Terry is a boy, he can’t play dolls!
This event, the Princess phase, is something I hope I never have to go through with my own children. I wouldn’t know how to cope. I suppose I’ll just have to hold out for boys… or girls like myself who somehow escape the whole terrible event.
Ehh, the Disney movies were not bad. The animation was amazing for the times they were created in (This does not include the CGI movies..some are cute, but it’s just not my style) Yes, the princesses have ridiculous bodies and hair, but they at least have a story line. And they each portrayed a strong will of some sort. Barbies are a different matter (disapproval) They are absurdly shape, always an hour glass shape that could never ever be anatomically correct. They are marketed to little girls everywhere, and in doing so, the little girls begin to believe that is what they should look like. Plastic tan, bright red lips, bleach blonde in the sun hair, and body only slightly different than Dolly Parton. They have always come with skimpy little outfits that showed off her features and shoes that hookers would be jealous of. However, now some a coming with not only tattoos, but piercings as well. As much as I hate to admit it, they do revolve around our culture. Women are now getting tattoos more than ever, so of course the princess doll has to get one too. Part of being a Barbie is to follow the crowd around her. (Not knocking tats or anything, I think this is mostly ranting to get to a point) They show no individuality, they generally work in fields that are women friendly, and the other barbies look just like them. Maybe if your niece wants to play with you again, you could do a history lesson on some cool woman with her. Or better yet, why not try to make some dolls in general? You guys could try sculpting floral foam, put white paint over it afterward so it doesn’t go everywhere and strengthen it a bit, and then just paint it. If that ultimately fails though, tye-dye is always a fun outlook.
My “princess phase” ended once I was actually old enough to realize that Cinderella and Snow White were dipshits. My future daughters won’t be subjected to such nonsense. They’ll know of the story of Cinderella, but they’ll know the historical story (as in the one that was most like what actually happened in real life. Because, don’t know if you’re aware, the basic story of Cinderella actually did happen). I’ll sit them down to watch “Ever After” the Cinderella movie that starred Drew Barrymore; the movie that’s most historically accurate. My future daughters will never watch Snow White. I hate that stupid housewife. She’s everything I hate about old Disney movie princesses.
My daughters will never own a Barbie either. I admit that I had them, but only because my mother never bought me any other types of toys– I sort of didn’t have another option in the toy department.
Point to this post? You’re not alone.