I Miss the Disney Princess Phase
Although the me of five years ago would never have imagined it possible, I have a confession.
I miss the Disney Princess phase.
There. I said it. By the time you read this, my older daughter will be ten, and as we approach double digits, I’m veering into some uncharacteristic nostalgia. I leave no memory unexamined as I marvel at the fact that motherhood, the most monumental experience of my life, has been my reality for ten years. I vacillate between the thoughts, It’s only been ten years and it’s already been ten years. And while I would have predicted melancholy about some aspects of the end of my first decade of motherhood, I never imagined I would pine for a spontaneous “Let it Go” sing along.
For my older daughter, the princess phase was not about the aspects of Disney that I, a self-avowed feminist, dislike. She didn’t care about being beautiful or obedient. She never espoused Snow White’s naïveté, nor Ariel’s submission. Rather, she took on the entire humanity of whichever princess was her current favorite.
Cinderella was her first and deepest love. She would play for hours in her blue ball gown, which, by the end of the phase, was as tattered as Cinderella’s “before the fairy godmother stepped in” dress. Her preschool self-portrait includes her with Jack and Gus, the mice from the movie. She referred to them as her “devoted friends,” using the language of our well-loved Cinderella Little Golden Book, and they were a daily part of her play. In this world, I was the wicked stepmother, and when we were out in public she would yell “Step Mother!” and scowl at me in a weird plot twist, where Cinderella was in charge and the sleep-deprived stepmother followed after with a new baby in tow.
Frozen hit both of my girls hard. Before my youngest could talk, she would fill in the clock sound when we listened to “Do you Want to Build a Snowman” in the car (Mamas in the Frozen phase, you know just what I’m talking about). I confess to not really remembering her first word (probably because I was so busy in my role of evil stepmother), but it’s entirely possible that it was Elsa. For the better part of a year, one child or the other was falling down, blasted by the other’s powers. Fortunately, an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart, and the reunions were swift. My youngest was a willing Anna to her sister’s Elsa, and the kingdom of Arendelle was our constant home.
Two years ago, we took our girls to Disney World. They took this very seriously, packing their vast wardrobe of costumes. My husband and I carted the costumes around in a backpack, and they did multiple changes each day. They liked meeting the characters as much as riding the rides. It was ninety-five degrees and humid during our Memorial Day trip, but the girls were delighted, throwing on one stained, torn dress after another as magic mingled with sunscreen and sweat.
Sometime during the Pandemic, my oldest decided she was too old for Disney. It bears mentioning that she still brings her baby dolls everywhere, and still plays vivid games of pretend. But as she discovered the allure of Barbie movies on Netflix and the pull of middle grade graphic novels, she declared that Disney was done. I thought she’d return — surely, even if she was tired of some of the movies geared towards younger kids, she’d still agree to Moana. She humored us and sat through the new Disney+ release, Raya and the Lost Dragon, but the magic seems to have faded. And, because she worships her older sister, my younger daughter has mostly followed suit.
During our Disney World vacation, I saw just how much some adults love Disney. Spoiler: they love it A LOT. Comparatively speaking, I fall somewhere on the “mild” end of the “Disney Love” spectrum (I do not own any Disney clothing or jewelry, for instance), but I have always enjoyed the movies, and I confess to doing the Disney-themed Peloton rides. I remember seeing The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin in theaters when they were released, and can recall hammering out some bad renditions of “Under the Sea” on the piano as a nine year-old. As a teenager I happily spent weekend evenings watching Disney movies while I babysat. Perhaps because Disney wasn’t such an all-consuming empire when I was younger, I never saw it as something I had to grow out of.
Watching Disney movies provided downtime for me once my girls stopped napping before I was ready for them to. Flopping down in front of Mulan was a great way for us all to recharge during those long afternoons, especially because more often than not, a movie inspired dramatic play that would carry us until dinner. Whereas my oldest didn’t want to watch movies until age four, my youngest was propped up on a nursing pillow on the couch during infancy, taking in some screen time as I snuck in a nap. The movies were a mix of nostalgia and actual entertainment as I appreciated the jokes the writers included for adults. I have tried approximately one time to watch a Barbie movie with my daughters, and I could not make it past about the third minute. Give me Moana’s power ballads over the cheery, over-synthesized Barbie soundtrack any day.
Of course, I romanticize the Disney phase now that I’m out of it. There was a time when one more request for Disney Pandora was enough to make me want to pull an Elsa and escape the kingdom altogether. But my oldest made a birthday wish list yesterday, and aside from doll clothes, she hasn’t asked for a single toy. As I write this, I’m putting off packing for a two-week trip, and it’s the first time we are traveling without princess costumes. A cursive name necklace has replaced Moana’s “heart of Te Fiti” necklace, and Pharell Williams’s Happy has become my older daughter’s anthem.
Today, when I heard the word “amulet” on a podcast, the theme song to Sofia the First popped into my head. Like Proust’s madeleine, it took me to another era — conjured a three year-old girl, twirling in her purple gown, telling me about her “ambulent” (oh, the adorable mispronunciation!) and its magical powers. I look at her now and can see all of the versions she has been, all of the characters she has tried on. I feel grateful that my memory has held onto these joyful images, even though those early years were also full of conflict and exhaustion. It makes me hopeful that when I look back on this phase, I’ll think about sitting next to my daughter while we read quietly, her joy when she plays with her sister, her newfound social competence. I wonder what stories are next for both of us, and what magic they will bring.
