There’s a certain quadrant of female-dom that continues to perpetrate the idea that the right man will treat them like a ‘princess’ or a ‘queen,’ or some other form of fucked up medieval royalty. I’ve always kind of assumed it was primarily tween girls carrying the torch here, as they cling to their Disney Princess skirts while desperately trying to make sense of the real world. You know, something they will eventually outgrow — like Hanna Montana and overly sequined articles of clothing. Sort of how Taylor Swift went from bitching about other girls wearing ‘short shorts’ to telling us to shake the negative shit off and generally, you know, ruling the world (universe?).
Character development, my friends, character development.
But nope, unfortunately the Princess pandemic continues to spread, ironically, like measles at Disneyland — consequently, it’s just as easily preventable as a long time cured and controlled disease. That’s right folks — there are full grown, adult women who believe being treated like a richly dressed pawn is something to strive for.
I am here to say nay, my sisters, nay.
Having someone cater to your every whim and desire, who lavishes you with gifts and attention (for a while anyway, just ask actual medieval princesses, that shit tends to wear off quickly), might sound like a pretty sweet deal on paper… but everything comes at a price. Everything. In this case, it basically boils down to having almost no control or ownership of your own life. Romantic, right? (For some reason I’m thinking 50 Shades of Gray here, minus the Red Room of Creepiness – maybe?)
But let’s back up and discuss the implications of actually being a princess, shall we? Princesses were basically pampered pieces of property that were traded for wealth, power, and money to the highest bidder. Ooooo, sexy right? Her entire existence primarily came down to one key factor; how many male babies she could pop out of her vagina before she keeled over (I mean girl babies were cool too, because their royal daddies needed more bargaining chips to trade away). Sure, there are several notable women in history who managed to climb above such things, but they are so rare as to be almost laughable in such a broad context. Besides, they usually obtained such power and notoriety by not acting or accepting the bonds of normal princess-hood. I mean, Queen Elizabeth became one of the greatest monarchs in British history by basically saying, ‘fuck you guys, I’m staying single forever bitches,’ — over-simplification is overly simple, but whatever. Which is also a pretty good segue into saying:
Stop waiting for this antiquated and bullshit idea of a Prince Charming to trot up on his gallant steed or whatever; you’re not eight years old anymore.
Ladies, you should want to be treated like a real live, breathing, thinking, feeling, moving person. Not an expensive, but entirely disposable, piece of reality. You do not want to be set up on some dusty pedestal, only to be taken down when the mood strikes or when someone has decided you’re suddenly useful and interesting, it’s dehumanizing and unrealistic. It demands perfection and its absolute and total bullshit. So come on girls, get down and get your hands dirty. Be a real and true individual with faults and flaws, hopes and dreams; curse, yell, cry, scream, burp, fart (but maybe be somewhat appropriate about it, though I would never use the word ‘ladylike,’ gross), and fucking just be unapologetic for your existence.
Real humanity and true, honest connection exists between individuals when all the nonsense is stripped away. It happens when you’re disgusting, unwashed, no makeup, at your last straw, breaking down from the inside out. A moment when all you really need is not some archaic (and seriously screwy) idea of chivalry, but for one person to get down in the dirt with you and relate as one lost, damaged and confused soul to another.
And, again, for God’s sake, please do not wait for some douche on a horse to come and save your ass because 1.) there’s a good chance he might never show up, 2.) your ‘rescue’ might come at a higher price than you’re willing to pay, and 3.) I’m actually a pretty firm believer in the idea that no one can ‘save us’ from ourselves… but, you know, ourselves.
So, in closing, ladies, don’t demand to be treated like some plastic carbon copied princess, demand to be treated like the crazy, fucked up person every single one of us actually is (and when I say ‘us’ that totally is meant to encompass dudes, too). Embrace the good, the bad, the ugly, as well as the seriously amazing and life changing stuff, and turn in your tiara. The diamonds are probably fake anyway.