Peggy Orenstein has had enough. Enough pink, enough frills, enough tiaras, enough princesses. In December, the magazine writer and author of three books including Flux and Schoolgirls (and, incidentally, Minneapolis native) let loose in a rant called “What’s Wrong with Cinderella” in the New York Times magazine.
“I worry about what playing Little Mermaid is teaching [my 3-year-old daughter],” she writes. “I’ve spent much of my career writing about experiences that undermine girls’ well-being, warning parents that a preoccupation with body and beauty (encouraged by films, TV, magazines and, yes, toys) is perilous to their daughters’ mental and physical health. Am I now supposed to shrug and forget all that?”
Orenstein, as she usually does, got people talking. And most of what they were saying, on discussion boards and blogs, was, “Get over it, Peggy.”
But. But…
In my house, we’re in the throes of a princess phase ourselves. We’ve avoided the Disney-branded stuff, but thanks to the sweet gaggle of little girls at daycare, my 4-year-old daughter knows Ariel from Belle. And, thanks to an infamous episode of Dora the Explorer, she talks constantly of becoming a “true princess.” The other night, I asked her what she liked about princesses. Her little eyes lit up. “They have beautiful hair and skin and their hair is always tidy, not like my hair and not like my skin, and I’m not always tidy.”
I hope she didn’t see me blanche. I hope she couldn’t read my mind, because I was wishing horrible, painful consequences on the person or corporation who had ever made my beautiful little girl think she was anything other than perfect.
But on the outside, I grinned: “You know who’s really messy? Me!”
“No, you know who’s really, really messy, Mama? That boy right there!” She pointed to her little brother, Ariel temporarily forgotten.
Get over it? Shrug and forget it? I don’t think I can.
