The Princess Problem

The (very raw) start to a piece for one of several possible publications...

Today somebody gave me a present for the baby and, thoughtfully, gave me a present for Lily as well. I could tell it was a book; when she opened it, after opening Annika's gift first, I was dismayed. The book was called How to Be a Princess: A Girl's Guide to Being the Ultimate Princess. It was a Disney book, so various characters of the Cinderella variety were featured on its cover. It was pink and sparkly, and Lily oohed and ahhhed as she examined it--a bit ostentatiously, for my benefit I felt, as though she knew--or had an inkling of--what I was thinking.

Which was, of course, how to make the book disappear as soon as possible, preferably without having to read it first. I did have to read it, though, for the bedtime story, and it was pretty much what I would have predicted, maybe slightly more annoying in its blatant attempts to assuage the fears of uptight, anti-princess moms like me. For example, on the page where it says, "Before an undersea concert, I always like to use a little extra makeup," it also says, "A princess's real beauty comes from within." A paper wardrobe on the opposite page from the text can be opened to reveal little paper makeup brushes that can be removed and put back in because practicing applying makeup is, for Disney, clearly a key component of American little girlhood. The quote at the bottom of the page reads, "Being pretty is part of your world." --Ariel.

I couldn't do it. I mean, I kept reading, largely to avoid a bedtime battle, but I edited out every single dumb, offensive, demeaning, simpering word and read only the platitudes, which gave me about one line per page. Fortunately Lily was tired and not paying careful attention. When I was done, I closed the book and smiled a steely smile. I refrained from saying what was foremost on my mind, which was that a book designed to teach little girls how to be princesses was based on a pretty flawed concept: Did Disney not know that applying makeup well and looking pretty couldn't actually turn you into a princess? Perhaps the book should have provided tips for seducing William or Harry, the only princes I could think of. I didn't say that either.

Lily and I have had a few princess conversations over the past six months or so. The first went badly. She announced to me, after a few days of exposure to some new, princess-obsessed friends, "Mama, I want to be a princess when I grow up." Me, horrified: A princess? Princesses don't do anything. How boring. What about a ballerina instead? Lily, crestfallen: I guess so. Later, I told a friend that I had had a low parenting moment, that my joyless, knee-jerk response had been wholly unnecessary, as I wasn't really worried that Lily would catch princess-fever in a serious way, and even a little bit mean. But as awful as it had been to see her smile crumple, I couldn't just suck it up and give in.

The next time the subject came up, I tried a different, and I hoped more sensitive and informative approach. "Do you know what a princess is?" I asked.

"No," she admitted. "Will you tell me?" My opportunity: I had to choose my words carefully.

More to come. Spoiler: I do not actually come around and embrace the princess business. The book is in the basement. Reserve judgment...