Dear Disneyland: My Daughter’s Not a Princess
You’re still the happiest place on Earth, but let’s branch out with the nicknames.
If you had asked me in my 20s why I wanted to have kids someday, one of my Top 5 reasons would have been, “So I can bring them to Disneyland.” The two trips I’ve taken as a mom — first with just my son and then recently with just my older daughter — have been among the most fun and memorable experiences I’ve ever had.
But I have one request for the Disney team as they perform their magic on us: Please stop addressing every young girl you encounter as “Princess.”
That plea is exactly the kind of “mom-taking-issue-with-something” scenario that I would have rolled my eyes at before my eldest daughter was born. Who cares if Disneyland labels girls as princesses? The intention is rooted in kindness, and the word could even be empowering! This sounds like a tempest in the Mad Hatter’s teapot.
But then I began raising a daughter who can beat all the boys in sports, who refused skirts and dresses entirely until she was 6 (and even now wears them only rarely), and who has sported a camouflage face mask throughout the pandemic. I know and love dozens of little girls who would light up like the sun to be called “Princess” at Disneyland. My daughter isn’t one of them.
And yet it was the one and only name Disneyland resort staff members called her during our recent visit. Not every ticket taker, line monitor or food vendor used the term; many didn’t use a nickname for her at all. But for those who did, it was very clearly part of the established language employees had been trained to adopt. Disney staff members are unfailingly polite, friendly and upbeat, and they call girls “Princess.” (Interestingly, there was no comparable term used for my son two years ago when we visited the theme park and stayed at the same hotel.)
Every time an adult called my 7-year-old powerhouse “Princess” during our trip, I glanced over to see how the word would land with someone whose last Halloween costume was Darth Vader. It didn’t upset her; she simply looked on blankly. After all, she was having the time of her life and barely registered the presence of non-costumed strangers trying to talk to her.
I was the one who was bothered by it, and I’m not entirely sure why. Obviously, I would have been downright angry if I was a parent of a transgender or non-binary child who was hurt by being labeled a princess, but my own daughter identifies as female. Instead, the term just felt over-feminizing and presumptuous of a child who embraces “girlie” on occasion but most often can’t be bothered to slow down long enough to brush her hair.
Picking a highly feminine or masculine word and assigning it to all boys or all girls is a practice that seems to be on the way out. And that’s a good thing. Let’s save “Princess” for the little ones who come to Disneyland in full head-to-toe Cinderella, and let’s call the chick in the camo mask something else (Champ? Tiger? Sergeant?). Or even better, call her nothing at all; just smile and let her get on Space Mountain.
