Ours is a culture that is obsessed with the idea of women as royalty. Not in the lofty, noble sense that would imply that we are treated like royalty, i.e. deserving of respect and veneration — but in a more media-influenced, rhetorical sense that is simultaneously vague and totally particular. Terms like “princess” have pretty much been stripped of any traditional meaning (except the submissive part) and replaced with that of being hyper-feminine, pink-loving, spoiled, and completely appearance-reliant. And this royal, girlie-girl language is peppered throughout our cultural dialogue without any seeming awareness of what it may be inspiring. We still call little girls “princess.” Grown-up women dream of finding “Prince Charming.” Even if you are, say, the former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice and you are being interviewed by an (apparently sexist) talk show host like Piers Morgan, you can expect questions like, “Do you dream of a fairytale wedding?”, and “Are you high maintenance?”

So when I decided to read Peggy Orenstein’s new book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, it wasn’t because I’m trying to navigate the world of Bratz dolls and Hannah Montana for my own offspring. I’m only 20 years old and do not have or currently want offspring. I wanted to read it because I’ve watched the show Toddlers and Tiaras. I saw Piers Morgan’s cringe-inducing interview with Rice. I babysit a 3-going-on-4 year old who just adores anything pink, fairy-like, princessy, butterfly-laden, or all four combined — and the extremity of it all led me to wonder what I liked when I was a child, how that translates to who I am now, and how her (and all other young girls’) intense girlie-girlishness will inform who they become. Although Orenstein doesn’t come to many definitive conclusions herself about what to make of it all — which is partly why the book is so good — I found out a lot of stuff about the new culture of sugar, no spice, and everything nice. [Read more...]