This week on the podcast, Amber, Christen, and I discussed Disney princesses – more specifically, which Disney princess we might be. I have never considered myself a princess. In fact, my upbringing was far from it. And despite the childhood references to my likeness to Snow White or my name (Cindy) being reminiscent of Cinderella, I really didn’t have that much in common with them. For one, I was not an orphan, nor did I have a wicked stepmother or ugly stepsisters. And there wasn’t a chance in hell that some prince would ever stumble across my path and sweep me off my feet to live happily ever after. Even so, like most young girls of my time, it was something I definitely wished for.
I grew up in rural West Texas, sometimes living in neighboring small towns, but always dirt poor and inherently unhappy. My parents worked, picked favorites among their children (not me), and wasted what little they earned on their own entertainment and comforts. My sister and I didn’t just have chores, we were the housekeeper, the cook, the maid, the babysitter, and the lawn service because my mother was terrible at it and she worked. So heck yeah, I dreamed of a day that I would meet some nice guy who would get me out of there. And guess what? I married the first guy who asked…at the ripe old age of 18.
Needless to say, my rescuer wasn’t exactly a prince, and it wasn’t long before I grew up enough to know he didn’t really save me from anything. It’s taken me the better part of 40 years to figure out I had a lot of things wrong, and that being a princess doesn’t mean you are weak or that you need saving. I’ve learned that a princess can take care of herself and that sometimes she is the one who does the saving.
I think most women have grown up with some concept of the handsome, young prince…the knight in shining armor, coming to save her from a life of drudgery or peril just in the nick of time. The one whose mere kiss can make us swoon or break an evil curse. Our fathers tell us we are a princess, a most valuable prize, and our mothers tell us that the “right one” will make our lives perfect. We are indoctrinated in this idea from birth, and I think, in some ways, our parents still believe that fairytale themselves.
Women aren’t the only victims. While we are waiting and watching, often quite impatiently, for Mr. Perfect, men have grown up with the mistaken belief that they have to do the rescuing. They’ve been brainwashed with the notion that men are the breadwinners, the head of the household, and the main providers for their families. The conditioning is so strong that men often become severely depressed and even suicidal when they lose their job or their careers are upended.
We can’t blame it on Disney, though. Those stories have been told for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. Women have always been considered the “weaker sex”...a treasure that requires protecting. And maybe, once upon a time, when man first started gathering in small communities, we were. To early man, a woman was treasure…something rare and necessary for the continuation of the tribe. Communities fought, and even killed, over them. Families traded them to other tribes for essential commodities. Powerful men collected them in harems as a display of their wealth and importance. A man who could support a large family and a harem of concubines was important and in control.
Somewhere along the way, that narrative has begun to change. We talked about it a lot on the podcast this past spring…how girls of my generation have gradually learned that we are just as strong as men, that we can do the same jobs as men, and that we really don’t need a man to make us happy. We are learning to be in charge of our own destiny. We happily turn away the misguided knight who offers to save us. We are forging our own armor and blazing our own paths. We know that happiness comes from inside us, not from our value to another person. We are powerful, and because we are standing up to take responsibility for our own safety, men can be free to relax and let their guards down, too. In some ways, it’s even more magical than the fairytales.
I hope that someday this change will mean that gender roles are a thing of the past – an idea reserved for 100-year-old movies and dusty old books. I think Disney is finally starting to get the picture. No more are the heroines just a pretty face. Neither are the princes some clueless dude who can’t remember the girl he danced with or some weirdo who kisses sleeping (or dead) girls. The heroines are smart, skilled, intelligent, and resourceful. And many of the princes are now thoughtful, respectful, and a true partner to the talented lady who sometimes winds up rescuing him. And that’s the way it should be.
So I say, don’t worry about which Disney princess you are or which prince might come to save you. Get out of that ridiculous ballgown and go save yourself! I guarantee that someone much better than the prince will see how strong and beautiful you really are and will be more than happy to share a wonderful life with you – a life from which you won’t need saving.
