Embracing the Inner Disney Princess

For my birthday a few weeks ago, I was given not one, but two cards with Disney princesses on them. Both of them played music. I am a 20-something-year-old gal, mind you. Granted, one was picked out by my four-year-old niece who is obsessed with all things Disney princesses, but the other was from my 100% Italian, 5’1, 87-yr.-old Nana. Of course, it was carnation-pink with Cinderella in her blue ball gown flanked on either side by a flippered Ariel and graceful Sleeping Beauty donning a golden crown and off-the-shoulder, pink dress. “For the Birthday Princess” it read in white lettering across the top, my name written in pen below with an arrow swooping down and pointing to Cinderella’s clavicle. Sure, I’ll settle for Cinderella. Ariel was whiny and spoiled, Sleeping Beauty was dim-witted and naive, and let’s face it, unconscious for a good portion of the movie. Cinderella put up with a lot of crap! She’s by far the most realistic. She was down-to-earth, content and humble despite her circumstances and she didn’t throw pity-parties about how her prince hadn’t come yet, nor did she think said prince would solve all her problems. It’s not that she didn’t wish things were different. She was optimistic, but also realistic.

I’ve often wondered what the draw is to these princesses as they often only reinforce unrealistic expectations about beauty, love, marriage, and so many other things. “Every girl can beeee a princess!! Any dream can beeeee!!” the card from my Nana wistfully sang. I guess I must be an odd duck in the sense that I never went through the typical girly princess phase. Although my room growing up did have matching Pepto Bismol pink curtains and bedspread, and pink was hands-down my favorite color in Kindergarten, not much else materialized in that realm. For the most part, I was never one to host tea parties for my Care Bears, nor did I ever want traditional dolls or long to twirl around in poofy skirts just for fun (the exception being when I would get to wear awesome, poofy skirts for dance costumes or dress up in my sister’s old ballet dresses). As far as Disney movies went, my favorites have always been non-princess movies (Pinocchio and Lady and the Tramp). Go figure. In reflecting upon my childhood, I’ve often wondered if my parents’ divorce when I was five had anything to do with the silencing of my inner Snow White. I mean, five-years-old is prime princess phase time. I’ve always had a great, close relationship with my dad, but sometimes I wonder if something subliminal happened at that point. It doesn’t really make sense for a little girl to dream of a prince on a white horse coming to whisk her away in a pretty dress and make everything better when the reality of marriage not always ending in “happily ever after” is staring at her cold in the face.

On the tangent of princesses, I have often seen this sentiment of girly perfection carried over into expectations of Christian women. Just pick up any book on relationships, understanding women (yes, some people attempt such risky endeavors), or look on the nightstand of most female freshman at Northwestern, and you’ll find plenty of kindling on the matter. Yes, men and women are definitely wired differently which is a gift and something I’m thankful for, but I don’t think we should pigeon-hole ourselves into these neat, little categories of “warrior man” and “princess woman”, and I think God’s a bit more creative than that. I mean, it’s ridiculous to expect every man to love deer hunting, American football and fixing cars, but why is it expected that all little girls are the same? I remember reading Captivating a few years back, and it had a lot of truth in it and a lot that I could relate to. At the same time, I look around me, and so often there’s this unspoken impression that I have to be this 1950’s housewife who wants seven children and does all the “right” Christian, womanly duties to be considered Godly.

Let me just add here that I do acknowledge the generalizations made in such books as Wild at Heart and Captivating. Men, regardless of interests or pastimes, do enjoy a good adventure and pursuit and women do have an inward wiring for romance and being pursued. I’m just saying that how that will be expressed from man-to-man or woman-to-woman will vary.

With that said, I’m not a 21st-century Betty Crocker. I don’t particularly like cooking, nor do I find emotional satiety in baking. I hated sewing class in 8th grade. I wear skirts and dresses only when mandated (weddings and the like) although that is slowly changing. I recently wore a skirt every day for a week, and I’ll admit that I was a little sad when I wore jeans again. I’m definitely not a tomboy, though. I grew up loving My Little Ponies and Rainbow Brite, and I took dance classes (including ballet) for 10 years. I am terrified of creepy-crawly bugs, I own a jewelry box along with soft purple sweaters, and I do enjoy an occasional chick-flick surrounded by my close friends and good chocolate.

So here’s where I wonder (rhetorically)...Do I have to fit some unattainable, cookie-cutter, model of what it means to be a Christian woman? Am I supposed to embrace this “inner Disney princess” that I’m pretty sure has gone on a 20-year wild goose chase? Do I have to be so sweet 24/7 that I ooze pixie sticks out my pores? Does hospitality have to be my highest score on a spiritual gifts inventory test? Despite the fact that I’m wired pretty strongly as a reflective and reserved introvert, sometimes I ponder if you’ll still consider me lovely and beautiful if I’m witty and sarcastic at times or if you’ll think me unladylike if I jump up and down and yell at the screen like a maniac when the Vikings are on. Will you think I’m a weirdo if I insert random, Russian words into everyday conversation? I say I ask these things rhetorically because I know deep down that it’s ridiculous to think I have to compromise who I am or be someone I’m not to be accepted by others. After all, haven’t we been spoon-fed this stuff from Mr. Rogers since we were pre-schoolers?

In closing, (I know, you’re asking “IS there an end to this post?) I once read a piece of flair on a friend’s Facebook page that said, “All I want is a guy who knows my flaws and struggles that come with loving me and still thinks I’m worth the trouble!” I think a lot of women would agree with this, and I’d expect a lot of guys would say the same in what they’re looking for in a woman. Nobody wants to be put in compartmentalized boxes of expectations but to be accepted for who they are, warts and all. As I’ve heard it said, “What else do we want, each one of us, except to love and be loved?” Whoever you are, future husband, I want you to know that I have more than my fair share of quirks, flaws and struggles. I’m a work in progress, and after living with 31 people over the last seven years, I’m convinced everyone, even those who would love to don a paper mask that they have it all together, have their own issues and emotional baggage to claim. The last thing I want you to feel is that you have to be this unrealistic knight in shining armor on a white horse. Have a goofy sense of humor, embrace your inner Star Trek junkie, have a never-ending quest of finding the perfect Swedish cuisine to be shared by candlelight (as long as it’s not lutefisk). It doesn’t really matter. Let’s just be human and do this crazy thing called “life” together because living like gender textbook robots and greeting card princesses whisks all the fun out of life.