Toddlers, Tiaras, and Surviving Princess Mania

At the end of March, I will bid farewell to my twenties and celebrate my 30th birthday in style. My husband has planned an amazing trip to Disney World, which means I will enjoy this milestone the same way I did my 6th birthday and many since.

However, this trip will be a little different from the rest. After reading Peggy Orenstein's newest book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture, I'm not sure I can ever look at those Disney princesses in quite the same way.

Orenstein is a contributing editor to The New York Times Magazine and author of numerous books including her popular SchoolGirls: Young Women, Self-Esteem and the Confidence Gap. Her newest is an exploration into the cultural tsunami of princesses, pink, and glitter that has now come to define American girlhood. Not to be mistaken as a guide on parenting, this book is just what its subtitle implies. Orenstein has gone into the trenches of Disney marketing, Miley Cyrus concerts, child beauty pageants, and American Girl stores for an insider perspective. Along the way, she consulted with child psychologists and child development experts to discern the implications of this new trend. Her findings are compelling.

For instance, Orenstein deconstructs the Disney machine that hooks young girls early on with its Princess line of products (a marketing device launched in 2000), later transitioning girls to the "real life" princesses of Hilary, Miley and Selena. All of this is orchestrated under the assumption that children are safe with Disney, that this princess world enables parents to shield their kids from the darker edges of culture and stave off the onset of early sexualization.

This plan, unfortunately, backfires. After years of "protecting" daughters from the pitfalls of American femininity, young girls are instead primed for it. The emphasis on pink princesses produces a preoccupation with outward appearance. The role model thought to be found in Miley Cyrus turns out to be quite the opposite.

As Orenstein documents her journey, she weaves in stories from her own struggle to raise a daughter. Admittedly inclined toward feminism, Orenstein tries to balance her natural convictions with her daughter's ability to choose for herself. She cannot, after all, offer her daughter "more choices—a broader view of femininity—by repeatedly saying no" to every request for a Barbie doll or a Disney Princess dress.

Here, Orenstein clarifies that the villain in this tale is not the princess. Nor is it men, or even traditional femininity. What concerns Orenstein is the narrow, image-obsessed culture that imposes itself on girls in the form of seemingly innocent products.

In another fascinating chapter entitled "Sparkle, Sweetie!" Orenstein attends a child beauty pageant and interviews some of the participating families. While her observations are indeed thought provoking, it was her closing conclusion that really hit me between the eyes. Orenstein explains that controversial shows like Toddlers in Tiaras

purport to be exposé s, but in truth expose nothing, change nothing, challenge nothing. What they do is give viewers license, under the pretext of disapproval, to be titillated by the spectacle, to indulge in guilty-pleasure voyeurism. They also reassure parents of their own comparative superiority by smugly ignoring the harder questions: even if you agree that pageant moms are over the line in their sexualization of little girls—way over the line—where, exactly, is that line, and who draws it and how?

That line is a blurry one to be sure. Princess parties, toddler makeup lines and manicures seem harmless enough, and Orenstein reminds us that they are—in a vacuum. It's the totality of these products and messages that form an inescapable current that, by the time you awaken to it, you are nearly powerless to swim against.

How does Orenstein propose we resist the trend? To answer this question, she references the classic Brothers Grimm tale of Rapunzel. When Rapunzel's evil mother discovers that her plan to lock Rapunzel in a tower has failed, she angrily cries out, "You wicked child! I thought I had separated you from the world, and you deceived me!"

Orenstein presents this as a "cautionary tale" for modern-day parents. Rather than pluck our children out of the world and "lock them up" until college, she believes in "fighting fun with fun." She urges parents to get creative about their children's options. Read stories and watch movies about independent, smart girls and boys. Intentionally affirm their inner beauty. Buy clothing and toys that represent the fullness of the color spectrum. The ultimate aim in each decision is to help our children "see themselves from the inside out rather than outside in."

Orenstein's book focuses largely on research about young girls, but it leaves me wondering about adult women as well. It will be difficult to lead our daughters to a land that we have never ventured ourselves. As thoroughly as the princess culture has infiltrated little girl-dom, one look at the shelves of any Christian bookstore indicates that grown women are just as concerned with embracing their princess personas as are children. Claiming one's identity as a "daughter of the King" is a popular theme in women's ministry today, but what about the biblical language of servanthood, or even slavery to Christ? (see Alexandra T. Armstrong, "'Slavery to Christ' Becomes Labor of Love," Telegraph Herald, Jan. 8, 2011). How does the princess culture square with Jesus' directive to take up our cross and follow him? As we seek to raise women who are Christians first and princesses second (or third or fourth or fifth), those are questions we will need to explore further.

Sharon Hodde Miller is a PhD student in educational studies at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois. She blogs at She Worships. She has written for Her.meneutics about forgoing wearing makeup as a spiritual discipline.