I Don’t Wanna Be a Princess

Editor’s Note: This article has also been published by its author on Medium

When I was a little girl, I always thought to myself, “I never want to be a princess, because then I would have other people to solve my problems, and life would be so boring.” I’ve never liked the idea of princesses: they are most often depicted embodying dominant standards of beauty; they have rarely earned their status in life, but rather have had it thrust upon them; and they are typically reliant on men, and even when they are not, their goals in life seem limited to obtaining an “MRS degree.”

Last year, I wrote an article, published on Medium, called “‘Beauty and the Beast’: 18th Century Literature’s Incomprehensive Depiction of Beauty and Virtue,” on the confusing and patriarchal overtones present in one of the original 1765 editions of “Beauty and the Beast.” In this edition, the now-classic tale was presented as a story being told by a governess to her young female students and thereby doubles as an indication of the 18th century’s education and socialization of girls. As I put it then: “‘Beauty and the Beast’ ultimately tells the story of how a self-sufficient, independent woman is transformed into a reliant, feeble creature upon entering a man’s world.”

In spite of how poorly the story has aged, Disney’s Belle remains a staple of their Princess franchise: a brand which arguably dominates the imagination at the very mention of the word “princess.” A Google image search of the word reveals picture after uninterrupted picture of the Disney princesses, posed like members of a candy-coloured graduating class. These princesses certainly fit within the unfortunate parameters outlined above.

Reading Sara Chipps’s popular Medium post, “Papas please let your babies grow up to be princesses,” was interesting then, as I found myself mostly in agreement with her thesis about the disparity between our conception of science and girliness. Chipps argues that our society needs to stop placing these concepts in opposition to one another because it positions femininity as something to be renounced: “We shouldn’t try to shoe-horn girls in to our own concepts of what the childhood of a scientist looks like…We’re teaching girls to change who they are in order to effect change as an adult.”

In Kasey Edwards’s recent Daily Life article, “The subconscious bias of ‘unisex’ baby name trends,” she, too, points to this movement away from femininity, even in a world of increased gender fluidity: “Not only is femininity not encouraged in boys, it’s often actively discouraged and routinely policed…Traditionally feminine things are still considered secondary and unimportant.”

Femininity should be embraced and celebrated, not ostracized and rejected. The alienation of traditionally feminine interests and behaviour only serves to further uphold our society’s ongoing male-leaning gender bias.

Sometimes, though, even I have trouble looking past the gender bias and appreciating femininity, and I think the issue is this model that we have of girls as “princesses.” I look at parents whose daughters are decked out in pink and sparkles and think, “Wow, way to force gender down their throats.” I see their pictures on Instagram with baby shower cakes splashed in the obligatory pink or blue, and I get it — the only information these people have about their beloved little ones is from the vague silhouette on the sonogram. But, at the same time, gender is neither a static thing, nor a necessarily defining thing. To place so much significance on what protrudes or does not protrude from between your baby’s legs not only seems absurd, but also speaks to the significant differences between socialization of girls and boys.

After one of my many requests to my mother for my own origin story, however, I learned that, for me, pink was always my own choice. Growing up with an older brother whose baseball and hockey pajamas were soon my hand-me-downs, I actually chose the route of the stereotypical girl, without pressure from my parents. I remember playing with my brother’s Thomas the Tank Engine figurines and monster truck toys and separating them into “girl” and “boy” colours, then making them play house—same with my Crazy Bones.

Although I seemingly decided for myself that Barbie was the girl for me, I was also a child of ‘90s toy commercials. These served as my homing device, teaching me that for bouncy blonde five-year-olds like myself, Barbie, Skipper, and Kelly were our leaders. Today, our toy aisles are still gendered and the marketplace capitalizes on teaching boys and girls that they are different and need to buy separate, specialized products. When you pair this classic model of capitalism with our long-standing bias toward all things masculine, girl- and womanhood become eschewed as a choice for boys and for girls. At the end of the day, children of all genders need to feel okay to be girly, but I think we should also loosen our stranglehold on the “princess” role model. I still don’t want babies to grow up to be princesses, but I do think that they should be proud to grow up to be women.