My Princess and Me

When I was about my daughter’s age, family lore has it that I demanded to dress in long ruffled skirts and shiny patent leather shoes for nursery school. Every single day.
 
So I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that my own precious two-and-a-half-year-old now dons a shiny lavender purse (even at bedtime), pink sneakers (with flashing purple lights), and is suddenly obsessed with all things sparkly and shiny. Yes, it’s happened. My princess wants to be a princess. Despite my own history, I had dreaded the moment my baby would show interest in tiaras and tulle.
 
For a while, I actually thought we had smoothly averted the craze that turns spunky little girls into wannabe beauty queens. I was proud that she tussled over trucks and soccer balls with her twin brother and jumped around in the mud … and that she showed zero interest in Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty costumes last Halloween. I guess it made me feel virtuous—like somehow I was living up to my feminist obligations because the princess phase hadn’t taken hold. Back then, just about a year ago, White House hopeful Hillary Clinton was still in the game and enjoying historic frontrunner status and I felt compelled to ensure my daughter was going to pursue any dream she wanted. And for me, that track was not going to include a detour to fairyland.
 
Only it has. And surprisingly, I’m okay with it. Perhaps I’m experiencing what it is to be post-feminist. Is it possible that the allure of the princess does not have to be feared nor resented by anxious super moms? Maybe it’s just a natural exploration of femininity and fantasy that could actually enhance a child’s sense of self later in life?
 
I started thinking about this when we took the kids shopping for their first baseball mitts. Did you know you can buy hot pink gloves? I cringed at first. But then it occurred to me, as I watched my husband teach my daughter how to throw and catch a ball, does the hue really matter? If it gets her interested in being healthy and active, maybe not.

Not long after the outing to the sporting goods store, we made our first pilgrimage to Disneyland during a family vacation. I still felt so conflicted. As we braved the crowds on a scorching day, we couldn’t help but notice throngs of little ones decked out in glittery gowns and faux glass slippers.

What message would this send to my children about our values, or who we want them to be?

Would this outing lay the foundation for a lifetime of eating disorders and cosmetic surgery?