The Princess Problem, Part Deux

Okay, I lied. The book is not really in the basement, although I did hide it behind my computer, and Lily forgot about it overnight, as she is wont to do with such things. I find that most of the time "out of sight, out of mind" works well with her for all but the most beloved posessions. Maybe this is true for all four-year-olds? Regardless, she has not asked about the book, which was not around long enough to make much of an impression and which I read in such an edited and lackluster fashion that even the tiny paper makeup brushes probably seemed less alluring by the time I was "done."

One of the reasons the book is not in the basement is because I had a crazy busy day, and I am also a little lazy about going to the basement unless I absolutely have to. But another reason is that when I reread yesterday's post, I was really annoyed by myself and kept it around and near me as I worked to force myself to think about why. I guess I couldn't help but imagine reading the piece as somebody else, which sounds weird and possibly insane but bear with me. I mean, I imagined that it had been written by somebody else, not by me, and that a me who hadn't written it--and even agreed with everything I wrote--would have found this hypothetical writer to be a bit of an ass.

Well that's certainly bad writing, even factoring in for the colloquial blog format, but it is the word that comes to mind and for a variety of reasons. For one, the whole anti-princess thing has been done before, and by much bigger names than mine. For another, it's so facile--either you embrace the movement and buy your little girl tons of princess crap because you like it and think it's cute or because she does, both of which are totally legitimate, or you don't, and your kid is or isn't annoyed by your resistance. It's not actually that interesting, either way. Yes, there are cultural and regional and ethnic reasons people do or don't embrace princess paraphernalia, but one of the most intellectual, political feminists I know could care less if her daughter wears a ballgown and tiara all day, and some people I find moronic have taken a strident anti-stance like mine, and there are gun-lovers in the blue states, and atheists in the red states and blah, blah, blah. What I am interested in is why I care so much and what it means for me and for my own child, who spent all yesterday afternoon in a Cinderella dress from her costume box while constructing an elaborate parking garage with one of her favorite friends, who happens to be a boy.

I am not saying that I did anything wrong by censoring the book or even hiding it away. I am who I am, and personally--as an adult--I find princess stuff, especially the commercialized version that is ubiquitous these days, distasteful in a visceral way. But when I was thinking about it this morning, my face got hot as I remembered a favorite pastime for months when I was about ten. My sister and I were in the Nutcracker, and my mother had bought a large makeup kit--about the size of three laptop computers placed side-by-side--to help do makeup backstage. When the performances were over, she gave the kit to us, or we appropriated it, and I loved it--was passionately in love with it, can remember the smell and taste of the glossy little lipstick circles, the sheen of the mauve eye-shadow (which was big in the eighties for a brief spell), the sleek brushes and wands with their fake tortoiseshell handles and grubby flattened ends.

Did that makeup kit turn me into a "girly girl," a species I was wary of as early as junior high? Did it make my mother a Ramsey parent, prepping us for a lifetime of applying sparkles to our cheekbones in lieu of higher education and a sense of dignity? Or was it simply, well, fun.

The answer, my friends, seems fairly obvious to me now. I picked an easy battle with this topic, at first, anyway, and although I agree with my yesterday's self in principle, I think in practice I am going to try to be a little less controlling. One of the many things that Lily has taught me already, in her barely four years, is that she is bound and determined to be her very own person regardless of whether or not I give away the books and toys I don't like, bombard her with ones that I do. She's much less interested in what I think when I present it in a dogmatic, lecturing way, and the last thing I want is for her to become contrary because I'm annoying. Bottom line: I can bear raising two girls who like to don a princess dress every now and then because "it's pretty" as long as they also know their own minds.

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It must be really uncool and alienating and possibly counterproductive if I am seeking increased commentary to give individual blog "shout-outs," but hey, I'm old and new to this, and I can get away with claiming not to know the rules. Thank you Betsy for making me think this through again--it feels good to think about something with a little exertion for a change. And Alex, you gave Lily Where the Wild Things Are, for which I will always be grateful, although the real place they are is: E-10, 1992.