What Your Favorite Disney Princess Says About You
You love reading. You are a girl who reads. You likely post on your Tumblr about all the books you love, and all the tea you drink, and all the cats you identify with emotionally. No matter how full the town jock’s chest hair is — or how much he wants to get into your provincial French panties — you are not putting up with his misogynistic antics. You have read way too much feminist theory to deal with a guy who only likes you because you’re good-looking and don’t want him. You’ve got better things to do, such as read more books.
You are 7000% done with this society and your bullshit, gender-norm-obsessed father. You are ready to break out of this town and are willing to do pretty much anything to do it — even if it means following some guy who is objectively not that great for you (I mean, how into you could he possibly be when he’s literally never heard you speak?). If he’s moving to NYC to follow his dreams of being a singer-songwriter, you’re gonna be squatting in someone’s basement apartment in Williamsburg to join him. Even though you barely know him, he represents freedom, and the possibility of legs. Anything is preferable to you than being stuck in this podunk, submerged village.
You are the girl that every girl asks “OMG WHAT PRODUCT DO YOU USE” when you post selfies on your blog. You have the perfect combination of length, well-conditioned softness, and complete absence of ugly breakage or split ends. You know what it means to invest in some serious Bumble & Bumble, but it is worth it for all the hot dudes with questionable facial hair you snag along the way.
If there is one thing you are not interested in, it’s restrictive gender norms. You are the woman who is going to “have it all,” all while rejecting the notion that you have to sacrifice your womanhood to do so. If you want to dress in a more “masculine” way, you will. If you want to do what is stereotypically perceived as “a man’s job,” you’re signing up tomorrow. If you want to kill Huns, someone needs to give you a bow and arrow. And, at the end of the day, if you’re into the smoking hot captain with the voice made out of farm-fresh butter, you’re going to take him home (and possibly introduce him to your sassy grandmother over dinner before what is undoubtedly a hot round of army sex).
People are always trying to tell you what to do. Marry this guy, inherit this castle, don’t leave this area of the city. People treat you like you’re a piece of property, and you’re actually a fully grown woman who, aside from being a non-horrendous version of Kim Kardashian, is more than capable of making her own choices. You may be going for the guy with no apartment and (apparently?) no access to a shirt, but you’ll be doing it your way. Besides, you don’t even really need a guy, you’re too busy hanging out with your awesome cat.
If there is one thing in life you regret, it is not being a morning person. You’re actually really productive and active and intelligent in life — just not before 10 AM… okay, 11 AM. 11:30. In any case, people will not stop judging you, just because you love to get a good amount of sleep in the morning. It’s ridiculous. And honestly, you’re not interested in getting out of bed unless there is some gorgeous guy with a trust fund and really good hair coming to kiss you. Then, and only then, you’ll make an exception.
You have been working this shitty, low-wage job for years now, and no one appreciates you. You actually have a lot to offer the world, but you’ll be toiling away in unpaid internships until the day you die, because your stepmother is evil and likely jealous of your beauty/youth. Even though you don’t need a man to complete you, it would be really helpful if you could get someone to help share rent for a year or two until you can finish grad school and get out there on your own. Until then, you’re going to be doing menial labor and being paid a pittance, all while dreaming of the day your fairy godstylist comes along and gets you into a nice Diane Von Furstenburg dress.
You are the one who is always throwing dinner parties. You’ve got that Martha Stewart thing going, but not in a pretentious way. Always cooking, always having people over, always being the perfect hostess. You don’t have time to go to balls and cotillions and try to meet boys — though you may help out a smoking-hot (if slightly simple) prince if he really needs it, and looks like a sexier Bruno Mars. You’re going to open up your own place someday, so people will finally start having to pay for all the delicious recipes they’re always trying to get from you for free.
You are strong, despite your oppression. You are humble, despite your sizzling good looks. You are loving, despite being treated like an object by every man you pass. And yes, you may be a sex worker (or at least someone who spends their time swinging around poles in what is ostensibly a children’s movie, ???) but that doesn’t mean you don’t make the errant stop by a Catholic church to pray for all the people who have it worse off than you. You’re struggling, but you still clearly have enough money to pay for fabulous gold hip-scarves, so you know there are people who need the help more than you. You’re selfless and sexy — a deadly combination.
You actually enjoy doing chores, and sometimes hanging out with animals in the woods who talk to you for hours at a time and then come home with you to help you fold your laundry. I don’t know, you’re probably on peyote.
If there are two things you’re sick of in life, it’s global warming and white privilege. You take to your Tumblr on a regular basis to decry all the evils of capitalism, and colonialism, and having no respect for the environment. Even though you are consistently the princess who gets ignored (nothing short of a crime), you are steadfast in your beliefs about the world around you and how to make things better. You’re also a fan of talking to animals, but in a more earthy, believable way (not like crazy-ass Snow White who’s just soliciting their help to Swiffer her cottage). You have never met a piece of turquoise jewelry you didn’t look flawless in, and you’ve never met a river bend you weren’t excited to canoe around.
Yes, your ex-boyfriend was an asshole. You gave him everything, and he ran off with some other chick. You should have seen it coming, but you didn’t. So ever since, you have built up a near-impenetrable shell of wit, sarcasm, and fantastically swishy hip movements. You are not impressed by Chris Evans-types with amazing pecs and a hero complex. You might fall in love with them eventually, but you’ll do it on your own terms. Even though there’s still a part of you which is a hopeless romantic, you’ve learned to think twice before you dive in headfirst. And if that means several months of cat-and-mouse and sexy banter, so be it. Better that than getting fooled by another boy who sells your soul to the devil.
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When your audience is this big, how can you really “know” it?
Metaphorically or literally, you will be hungry. Hungry for something to do, somewhere to go, some point to getting up in the morning.
It is so much more simple to say, “Stop caring what a man thinks, ladies, you’re beautiful as you are,” than to address all of the myriad reasons why that likely doesn’t apply to her.
These discourses, these models of life, are insidious, egregious, and soul crushing.