Instead of Preaching to the Choir: Disney Princess Recovery

Mia’s house is the Mecca of Disney Princesses.
There are shrines in each corner, Ariel here, Aurora there.
She has the Disney Princess Barbies.
And Disney Princess Polly Pockets.
The bedspread.
The dresses.
The bathing suits.
The cups and plates.
Sandals and flip flops.
Toothbrush and toothpaste.
Toilet seat and towel.
Bathmat and shower curtain.

We have not been to Mia’s house since this last time, and the part of my brain that believes that things get resolved by quietly waiting them out had convinced me that maybe Mia would move on this month to something like Dinosaur Train. Or maybe she would move! To another neighborhood! And a child with all wooden toys would move in. Avoidance creates such logic.

I hate confrontation. And controversy. I hate the idea of hurting someone’s feelings. Or making them feel judged. I haven’t spoken to Mia’s mom about our little movement here because it feels akin to walking into someone’s home, someone who eats steak for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, someone who nibbles beef jerky for snack and washes it down with sausage links, and saying, “Just so you know, we’ve become vegan!”

So Mia invited us over for a quick run through the sprinkler before dinner.
We walked over, rang the bell, and Mia’s mom let us in and apologized:
“She started watching a movie and I can’t get her off the couch.”

Miss C had already disappeared into the playroom and was playing with a barn and some animals.

I wandered back to the TV area, where Mia was stretched on the couch.

She was watching The Little Mermaid.
And she was wearing…The Little Mermaid costume.

Mia’s mom turned off the movie and Mia slunk off the couch. With her leg movement greatly restricted by her tail, she inched toward the playroom.

When she got to the playroom, she stood in the doorway and glowed.

Miss C looked up from the barn, her mouth opened partially.
“Is. Is that Ariel?”

Mia giggled.
“Yes, it’s her mermaid dress. BUT, you can’t swim in it.”

Miss C stared.

This is when something strange happened. C was asking more questions, but Mia was now looking away from C, away from me, and toward the wall. She began to rub her chin to her shoulder. She smiled (at the wall), put her hands on her thighs, moved her shoulders back and forth, then began the chin-shoulder rub again.

I craned my neck to see what was on the wall, and found that it was a full length mirror.

“Let’s go outside!” I chirped, and grabbed C’s hand to bring her out to the sprinkler.
Outside I found an Ariel sprinkler rotating and spraying water beside an Ariel pool, and little Disney Princess lawn chairs.

Obviously, I had to tell Mia’s mom that we were going vegan.

When the girls were out of earshot and involved in play, I lowered my voice and said, “I want to tell you about something we’re doing, something that’s going on with us, and you might think it’s really strange, but…”

She was all ears.

And I told her we had pulled all the Disney Princess stuff from our house, and that we weren’t allowing the Disney Princess films. I explained the behaviors I’d seen with my three year old, the ones that concerned me: the preoccupation she’d developed with her appearance, the rigid and scripted play, the many anxious questions about my impending death “because Snow White’s mother died, and Cinderella’s mother died,” the refusal to get her hair trimmed because “princesses only have long hair,” and her sudden dropped interest in all other toys and play in favor of playing the rescued Disney Princess again and again. I told Mia’s mom that we were trying to introduce more positive female-lead stories, replacing the beautiful and distressed Disney Princesses, with figures more concretely real, and en route to discovering their own power. Also, whose mothers aren’t killed off before opening credits. I said, “Since we live so close and the girls play together, I just wanted you to know.”

Mia’s mom was completely supportive.
“I’m really glad you told me,” she said. “We should be able to let each other know when stuff like that is going on, or if we have rules we want each other to know about.”

I agreed.

She continued, “And that is concerning, the things you were noticing. Fortunately for us, Mia only likes those films for the music.”

Is this the part where a brave and forthright person then says, “Actually, I think I just saw your daughter doing a slinky shoulder-rub five minutes ago?”

I did not.

Because in order to see something, you have to believe it exists.
In order to understand the power of these scripts, you first have to believe that they do have power.

Change happens slowly. Even for us, it had been 18 months in the making.
This was one step, one conversation, that badly needed to happen.
I may not be able to change their shower curtain, sprinkler, or sandals, but at least I can be sure that the movies are not playing.
And I can plan the next playtime at the park.

And then maybe they’ll move.

Mary Finucane is a psychotherapist in Rochester, NY. Her areas of specialty include cognitive behavioral therapy, play therapy, childhood sexual abuse, and child sexualization.