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  Saving Cinderella

  What Feminists Get Wrong About Disney Princesses And How To Set It Right

  Faith Moore

  Copyright (c) 2018 by Faith Moore

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  For my parents, Ellen and Andrew Klavan

  Introduction

  Chapter One: Snow White

  Chapter Two: Cinderella

  Chapter Three: Aurora

  Chapter Four: Ariel

  Chapter Five: Belle

  Chapter Six: Jasmine

  Chapter Seven: Pocahontas

  Chapter Eight: Mulan

  Chapter Nine: Tiana

  Chapter Ten: Rapunzel

  Chapter Eleven: Merida

  Chapter Twelve: Elsa and Anna

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Introduction

  Picture this: Disney’s Rapunzel leaps off a cliff and swings by her hair down to the ground. Then a real little girl leaps onto the uneven bars in gymnastics class. Cut to Merida, from Brave, scaling a cliff-face, then a real little girl rock climbing. Pocahontas running, a little girl in a race. Ariel swimming, a little girl snorkeling. And on and on and on. “For every girl who dreams big,” a smooth, confident voice tells us, “there’s a princess to show her it’s possible.” A pause, and then: “Dream big, Princess!”

  This is the keystone ad in Disney’s “Dream Big, Princess” campaign, launched in 2016. Like all the ads in the campaign, this one is expertly done — the way Disney does everything — with a catchy hip-hop song over soaring violins, lots of swooping camera work, and panning shots of beautiful scenery from beloved Disney princess movies. It’s epic. Intense. Inspirational. Or meant to be. In fact, it’s so well done it took even a Disney traditionalist like me a minute to realize what’s wrong with it. But there’s definitely something wrong. Very, very wrong.

  Sure, at first glance, it seems like the princesses are doing what they’ve always done: inspiring girls to be the best version of themselves. But are we really supposed to believe that Rapunzel’s most inspiring quality is her ability to use her hair as a zip-line? Is Ariel’s most important feature her ability to swim? She’s a mermaid, of course she can swim! I mean, how shallow (pun, unfortunately, very much intended) do you have to be to think that this is what these characters have to offer?

  Once upon a time, Disney princesses embodied bravery, compassion, loyalty, and heart. Their stories were about their inner lives — their struggles and their triumphs — not their physical appearance or athletic prowess. In each movie, a girl with a big heart, and even bigger dreams, was stuck in a situation that kept her from realizing her true potential. Snow White and Cinderella were captives to wicked step mothers; Ariel and Belle wanted more than the life they were born to. And so on. And, throughout the course of the movie, we learned how a brave, determined girl with a strong moral core could overcome these obstacles and achieve her dreams. In essence, we learned how to grow up into strong, centered, moral women. So, what happened? How did we get from the nuanced original movies to the superficiality of the “Dream Big, Princess” campaign? That’s what this book is all about.

  The shift began with a small, but very vocal, minority of radical feminists who misunderstood the movies. Let’s call them “princess critics.” These princess critics took a look at the original princesses — like Snow White and Cinderella, and even the more modern princesses, like Ariel and Belle — and deemed them “anti-feminist.” They called them damsels in distress, and proclaimed that they had no agency in their own lives, and needed a man to take care of everything for them. They boiled the princesses’ dreams down to “husband hunting” and said they would settle for the first guy that came along. They called them “drips,” said they were “boring,” and branded them as terrible role models for little girls.

  But nothing could be further from the truth. These ideas aren’t borne out by the movies at all. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. The earlier princesses had dreams of their own. They actively pursued them and worked hard and made sacrifices to achieve them. They didn’t jump at the first guy who came along. They made sure their love was true and real before choosing a partner to spend their lives with. They were kind, courageous, loving, compassionate, and principled. Exactly the kind of women that I’d want my daughters to aspire to become.

  But I can just picture you shaking your head at me. You think I’m crazy. Disney princesses aren’t damsels in distress? They’re not just after a man? Yes they are! you’re yelling into the book. (Calm down. I can’t actually hear you.) But they’re not. And I’m going to prove it to you.

  The problem (and the reason you don’t believe me) is that the views of this group of feminist critics who got the movies so terribly wrong happen to be shared by the publishers of major news sources read by the general public. The New York Times, The LA Times, The Washington Post, and Time Magazine (to name a few) have all published articles, over the years, denouncing the princesses as bad for little girls. So that, now, this is widely accepted as truth. Modern moms, who don’t want their little girls to watch “anti-feminist” movies, have banished from their homes the princesses they themselves loved as children. And Disney, afraid of losing its audience, began to cater to these critiques, thus solidifying the myth that the original princesses aren’t good role models.

  But I disagree. The original princesses (Snow White, Cinderella, and Aurora) and the “Renaissance” princesses (Ariel, Belle, and Jasmine) embody a set of values that allows them to live rich and full lives without compromising their morals or beliefs. They believe in following their dreams, which makes them courageous, determined, and mentally strong. They believe in true love, which makes them unwilling to settle for the first suitor who comes along, but open to falling in love when they meet the right guy. And they believe in presenting their best selves to the world, which makes them kind, gentle, well-mannered, and true. It’s a pretty good list of characteristics to aspire to.

  Personally, I’ve never wanted to be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I’ve never wanted to be a professional athlete, or a rocket scientist, or a marine biologist. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be those things. But I (and lots of other women and little girls like me) see a different sort of future for myself. A more “traditional” future that includes a partner to love, a home to keep, and children to raise. It’s a dream that, in the narrative of the princess critics, is often seen as outdated — a product of an oppressive culture that kept women in the kitchen, catering to their husbands’ every need. And perhaps that is how it felt for some. But for lots and lots of others, their “big dreams” are quite a bit closer to home.

  Some might argue that the princesses made me feel this way. But that’s not it at all. I didn’t choose to get married because I watched Ariel kiss Eric on board a boat. I didn’t decide to be a homemaker because Snow White sang “Whistle While You Work” and made it seem so appealing. I don’t enjoy wearing pretty dresses because of Cinderella’s ball gown. I’m not who I am because of the princesses. It’s the other way around. I see myself in the princesses. They represent something that’s already inside of me — inside of so many women, if we’re honest. I see the sort of kindness, gentleness, and optimism I feel within myself. The kind of bravery, determination, and boundless love I hope to harness and embody. I see womanhood.

  I know I’m not alone in this. So many women and little girls love the princesses too. They recognize the same things in them that I do. They see their own womanhood reflected back to them and know somehow that this matters. These days, women who love Disney
princesses often feel ashamed to love them because of the false narrative about them. They worry that Disney princesses are bad women — that they portray a passive, oppressed, two-dimensional view of women. But we don’t need to be ashamed. Because the movies don’t portray that at all. And this book will prove it to you.

  It’s radical, I know, to say this, but Disney princesses aren’t anti-feminist. And they’re certainly not boring. The good ones aren’t, anyway. And they’re relevant, even now. For little girls looking for role models. Who want to know how to grow up, discover who they are, move away from their parents, and follow their dreams. And yes, even to find love.

  A minority opinion, based on misinterpretation, has pulled the wool over our eyes. It’s made it hard, even for those who want to believe, to see how these antiquated heroines could have anything to offer girls in the modern world. So, let me be your guide. Let me show you what the Disney princesses of yesterday taught me.

  Each chapter in this book covers one of the eleven “official” Disney princesses (plus Elsa and Anna from Frozen, who aren’t yet “official”). In chronological order we will explore the themes, tropes, and symbolism of these movies, and the ways in which the princess critics have influenced our perceptions of them. And we will examine how the princess critics’ misguided complaints have caused Disney filmmakers to ruin the princess narrative. By the end of the book, I hope it will be clear how wrong the princess critics are to malign the early Disney princesses, and how detrimental to young girls the new “feminist” princesses really are. And, armed with this knowledge, I hope that we — in our conversations with our daughters, and our attendance at the box office — can finally save Cinderella.

  Part I

  “A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes”: The Original Heroines

  Chapter One: Snow White

  Okay, I’ll admit it, Disney’s Snow White is kind of weird. She moves like a ballet dancer suspended in water, her eyes are almost never open (even when she’s awake), and her voice sounds like a chipmunk on helium. When I look to the Disney princesses for inspiration and encouragement (as I frequently do, judge me how you choose), Snow White’s general affect doesn’t give me much to work with. I mean, if I waltzed into a room, one arm extended gracefully out in front me, the other suspended behind me, with my head cocked to one side, and my feet doing a sort of prancy-glidy thing (that’s a very technical dance term, by the way) it would probably be assumed by all who observed me that I was off my freaking rocker. And, if I began to speak in Snow White’s signature high-pitched warble, it would then be assumed that I was, actually, on some sort of psychotropic drugs. Because a real (sane) person would never, ever act like Snow White.

  But of course not! Snow White is a princess in a fairy tale. And fairy tales, by their very nature, are unrealistic. Animals talk, people are physically transformed, fairy godmothers watch over orphaned girls, and witches cast magic spells. Even though Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is a full-length movie, rather than a two-page-long story, it doesn’t stray from the fairy tale mode of storytelling. In fairy tales, key tropes — like princes and princesses, witches and magic — tell a story that is deeper and more meaningful than the sum of its parts. A fairy tale is a very specific kind of story. A kind of story that Snow White’s original audience in 1937 would have been intimately familiar with but which, judging by their reactions, the princess critics know nothing about.

  According to some studies (like one published in the Royal Society Open Science Journal in 2016) fairy tales are some of the oldest stories known to man, dating back, perhaps, almost 6,000 years. And, until people like the Brothers Grimm began writing them down in the nineteenth century, these stories were almost exclusively oral — passed down from generation to generation for thousands of years. Which means that there is something about these stories — something about the themes and elements they contain — that is essentially, and fundamentally important to the human experience. According to child psychologist Bruno Bettelheim in his book The Uses of Enchantment, fairy tales offer a child “a moral education which subtly, and by implication only, conveys to him the advantages of moral behavior.” Fairy tales boil down the key elements of the human experience into manageable stories which offer a kind of moral roadmap with which to navigate the complicated and confusing terrain of life. They teach life lessons, caution us against life’s pitfalls, and metaphorically represent universal life transitions. And, because they have remained, largely, the same for so many years, we can infer that the themes they address have resonated with human beings since time immemorial.

  All human beings, it seems, except princess critics. According to them, Snow White is “a drip” and “a bore.” Out of pronouncements such as these, an entire narrative about Snow White was born. And this narrative took such hold in the public imagination that it has become the prevailing idea about Disney’s Snow White. In an article for Hello Giggles called “The Evolution of the Disney Princess — From Dainty Damsel to Badass,” Kit Steinkellner says, “Snow White is about as passive as a heroine can be. She sits around a wishing well waiting for her prince to come, then after getting tricked into going to the woods to get almost-murdered, she sits around the dwarfs’ house cleaning up after them. Then she’s poisoned and lays around in a glass coffin waiting for true love’s kiss.” Seriously?! Apparently, according to princess critics, thousands of years of essential human experience has been in error. I mean, really, what hubris!

  It’s criticism like Steinkellner’s that proves that the princess critics know nothing about fairy tales. But fairy tales work in a very specific way. If you were to boil Snow White (or any other fairy tale) down to its most basic elements, you would be left with a series of tropes which represent a kind of fairy tale shorthand. A shorthand which symbolically represents universal human concepts. As Marina Warner puts it, in her book Once Upon A Time: A Short History of Fairy Tale, “fairy tale consists above all of acts of imagination, conveyed in a symbolic Esperanto; its building blocks include certain kinds of characters (stepmothers and princesses, elves and giants) and certain recurrent motifs (keys, apples, mirrors, rings, and toads); the symbolism comes alive and communicates meaning through imagery.” A prince, for example, represents true love, a witch represents the underlying tensions between mother and daughter, a dark forest is symbolic of transformation, etc. Each symbol, and what it means, remains constant from fairy tale to fairy tale so that the listener implicitly understands the story’s moral underpinnings and gleans the fairy tale’s lesson. Within this framework, fairy tales are able to delve deeply into complex human issues, offering nuanced and emotionally accurate depictions of life events, within a very short and simply worded narrative.

  Snow White is no exception. Both the original fairy tale and the Disney version use this specific fairy tale shorthand to excellent effect. The symbolic elements of Snow White draw together to represent an important (and often frightening) aspect of a young girl’s transformation from childhood to adulthood: puberty. Just as they do today, mothers hundreds (if not thousands) of years ago sought to allay their daughters’ fears and demystify the physical and emotional changes that would happen as they grew. Fairy tales were a memorable and easy-to-digest way to explain a woman’s journey. A mother’s gift to her daughter. What do you think princess critics? Can we all be on board about the usefulness of that?

  *

  There’s no doubt, even among princess critics, that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is a cinematic masterpiece. It was the first-ever feature-length animated film. Before this, cartoons were simplistic, childish, and full of sight-gags and humor aimed at kids. Clocking in at around six minutes, they usually preceded the newsreel at the movie theater and weren’t taken seriously as an art form at all. As Roger Ebert explains in his 2001 review of the film, “What could then be seen in Snow White — and what is now much more difficult to keep sight of in retrospect — was the transformation of a one-time novelty into an art form.”

&
nbsp; Even though Snow White changed the perception of what a cartoon could do, it’s also a product of those earlier animated shorts. All you have to do is watch an old Betty Boop cartoon to understand that Snow White, and all her weirdness, would have been totally familiar to a contemporary audience. And the veritable zoo of animals that follow Snow White around, and seem sort of like overkill to us, would have been expected by an audience who held Mickey Mouse as their standard for cartoon entertainment.

  But, while contemporary audiences would have recognized key elements from the earlier cartoons, everyone who saw Snow White understood that this was something else entirely. Ebert explains, “At a time when animation was a painstaking frame-by-frame activity and every additional moving detail took an artist days or weeks to draw, Disney imagined a film in which every corner and dimension would contain something that was alive and moving.” So it looked different (impressively so) but it was also a totally new way of telling a story. Animation wasn’t just for silly six minute shorts anymore, it was a new and legitimate mode of storytelling. But the type of story it told wasn’t new at all. As Walt Disney, himself, said the story is “basic, all the way through.”

  It was only later, when the princess critics, looking for something to complain about, turned their misguided eyes back on the original Disney princesses, that anyone began to question whether Snow White was a “good” woman. Before this, Snow White would have been seen in much the same way as she would have been perceived by children listening to their mothers tell them the tale of Snow White, or by readers of the fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm. They would have instantly interpreted the fairy tale shorthand, understanding that Snow White was a pure and virtuous woman.

  But let’s give the princess critics the benefit of the doubt. Let’s assume that they are simply misguided and uninformed, rather than arrogant and egotistical. Let’s assume that, in spending all their time in women’s studies classes, they simply haven’t had time for English literature. And, because of this, one of their many misconceptions is that Disney princesses (particularly the early ones like Snow White, Cinderella, and Aurora) were meant to be seen as real, flesh-and-blood (pen and ink?) women. They want us to judge Snow White for marrying the first guy she meets, being foolish enough to eat the witch’s apple, enjoying housework, and being frightened by the woods at night. And even though none of this is fair — because all of that (the guy, the apple, the housework, the woods, and the fear) are metaphors that play out within the overarching allegory that is the story of Snow White — let’s humor the princess critics and evaluate Snow White as a real woman.