As a little girl, growing up in the sixties and seventies, I bought the whole fairy tale romance concept. It seemed innocent enough---a beautiful, sweet, unassuming ingénue, going about her daily business of scrubbing the floor in an effort to appease her manipulative stepsisters is given the chance to meet the man of her dreams. Cinderella with the help of some hocus pocus makes it to the biggest go-to event all year (cue the fairy dust and presto-- a magic carriage.) Upon arrival, the Prince picks her out of a crowded room and falls instantly in love with her. They meet, share a dance, she leaves her shoe (possibly the most fantastical part, since no real woman is going to let that happen to a brand new sequined pump) and he incessantly tracks her down until finally, they can be together. A perfect formula of female passivity, a dream, a fairy godmother, a love struck man that goes after what he wants and we are left with a perfect ending.
In a hamlet, probably one town over, we see a young innocent victimized by yet another jealous stepmother. Snow White’s father (who is somehow oblivious to this growing animosity) thinks things are working well until his daughter comes of age, turns out to be captivatingly beautiful and catches the eye of her stepbrother, the Prince. (Not sure why this plot device was never played out on The Brady Bunch because it was certainly going on backstage). The Queen won’t allow this and threatens poor Snow White. Fearing for her life, Snow White flees her home and ends up with a similar cleaning gig in a home full of dwarves--which proves that if you know how to scrub floors and tidy things up, you can land on your feet.
The Queen eventually finds her, poisons her with a drug laden apple and Snow White is rendered unconscious until the Prince, driven by love, finds her. One kiss and they are together, forever. In my own adult, altered epilogue, I see Snow White tossing her mop and scrub brush out of the window of the carriage on their way back to the palace. As the Prince is silently planning their erotic honeymoon, Snow White is dreaming of growing her nails back out and thrilled at not having to iron those tiny, little outfits that the dwarves wore.
Story after story, we were transported into a fantasy world where men will pursue women to the ends of the earth after just one encounter. All a girl has to do is bide her time, put up with a little family dysfunction, throw a few wishes out into the cosmos or into a magic mirror, learn to spit shine and we will end up with the man of our dreams. These fairytales may vary by location and plot devices, but they all contribute to the stories we women tell ourselves about how love works. The real evidence we see in with our own families and friends is pooh poohed as we focus in on our dreams, telling ourselves that our romances will be different, special.
Albeit, I speak from the only perspective I know—the female one—I would love to see an analysis of what men were exposed to that formed their ideas about romance. I’m not sure of the demographics, but I would wager that these Princess movies were not well attended by little boys. If they were there, it was begrudgingly. Their other friends, who did not have sisters, were out in the yard with GI Joe planning the next battle. In my day, Joe was on the same size scale as Barbie, not the miniaturized version we see today and my long brown haired Barbie was hot for him. Poor Ken, especially the metrosexual Malibu version, never had a chance against a Soldier. But you may feel sorrier for Joe. He has no idea the plans Barbie was cooking up in her little plastic head which included an extended honeymoon and moving him into her Dreamhouse.
Boys were exposed to ideas and games that centered on conquering, building and strategy. Even if they were forced to sit through a romantically plotted Disney movie, did they relate to the male leads and formulate their future dating protocols based upon how Aladdin or The Beast got the girl? I venture to say, probably not. I am not suggesting that the boys that grew into men are romantically deficient, but I don’t think that Disney had the same kind of influence. Not directly, anyway.
So why am I perturbed, specifically, at Walt? He didn’t invent these stories. Cinderella was written originally in 1634 by Charles Perrault, Snow White was a Brothers Grimm story and The Little Mermaid was written by Hans Christian Anderson. These fables, in book form, have been around for years; voraciously consumed by little girls around the world.
Walt just capitalized on a transcendent theme—love-- and brought it to the masses. And in doing so, these stories and lessons were not only available to everyone, but with Disney’s ingenious marketing and bottomless bucks, they were as assimilated into the female psyche as quickly and permanently as food coloring permeates cupcake frosting. I don’t think it was his intent to brainwash a generation of women into believing that we should expect a fairytale ending. But in retrospect, did we anyway?
That “Princess” mentality can be best illustrated at a wedding. The whole focus is on the bride, the star of the show, wearing a big white dress (lest anyone should miss her) and the pageantry of her stroll down the aisle, complete with theme music. She also has a supporting cast of giggling bridesmaids, hoping that they are next. Later on at the reception, the baton will be passed and verified through the ridiculous ritual of catching the bridal bouquet. You catch it? You’re next. It’s the law. Yeah, the law of “magical thinking”.
Recently I had a debate with a married relative who happened to be a male. I was speaking, with what I thought to be realism and not fatalism, about my failed romances. He sweetly told me that just because it had not happened, didn’t mean that it wouldn’t. He offered suggestions such as “going where men go”, “making eye contact” and “being approachable”. He laid these on me with the conviction and fervor of a televangelist. He kept saying that things will work out and that when I least expected it, it would happen.
Wait a minute. He was quoting me relationship platitudes? Where did he conduct his research? Although I appreciated the optimism, I was frustrated because I was looking at the evidence. The Walt Disney blinders were off. Just because you want it, doesn’t mean you get it. Was he confident because he was already married and had been for 16 years? Probably. But he didn’t get married until he was almost 40, AND he confessed that he would have been OK either way. He simply had no expectations.
And that is what I’m left with……..the Princess-fostered ideals women have and the pressure they put on men to meet them. Even if they are the most swashbuckling of their friends, it's hard to battle and win against the elaborate machinations of the female mind, in love. It is powerful, inpenetrable, unbending and fueled by years of research. Not only do they have to compete with the girl’s “perfect” father, but also with every Prince in every fairytale that has presented a distorted reality. Princes are never late to dinner, always complimentary, don’t have two inch nasal hairs and are indestructible. Princes, after disrobing, don’t leave their royal garb in a pile on the floor for someone else to pick up. Real men are flawed and insecure.
But so are real women. We don’t use the mirror that is used for magical incantations and turn it around on ourselves to reflect back our own imperfections. The fairytale Princesses are always kind and cheerful in adversity. You don’t see them talking to their girlfriends on the phone, dissecting every bad romance in which they are always the victim and never at fault. We blame men for our shattered dreams. And I’m no different. But currently my vitriol is centered on just one man—alright, a dead one—but a man just the same.
At the risk of sounding like a mean-spirited, man-hater, if I ever do have the chance to meet Walt Disney-- or rather his mythically frozen head-- I may thaw it out ( don’t want to break a nail, after all) and slap him on behalf of all woman-kind. He needs to know that his commercialization of fantasy romances have helped to set women up for failure. He needs to feel the sting of unmet expectations that were sold to little girls, disguised as wholesome entertainment. And while I’m at it, I’ll slug him in the nose for the guys since they have plenty to be pissed off about, as well.
And we'll all live happily ever after. The end.
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