By Evelyn David

I’d love to know the genius at Disney who one day turned and said, “Hey, let’s market the young heroines of our movies. We’ll call them all Princesses, whether or not they have any royal pedigree. Little girls will go crazy for them. No need to actually see any of the films. Kids will demand the dolls, the accessories, and of course the CDs so they can play the songs on endless loops. We’ll sell the costumes for each princess so that not only on Halloween, but year-round, Belle, Ariel, Sophia, Jasmine, and now Elsa and Anna, can run wild in the playground.” I assume that whoever came up with this concept won Employee of the Year since he or she made Disney a boatload of money.

Adorable granddaughters will be visiting in a couple of weeks. The oldest will turn four in June so we are in the midst of serious Princess-dom. She has seen three Disney films.

Cinderella, but the family rule is to skip the first part where the Dad dies, the Mom being long gone (standard Disney procedure to get rid of the parents early). The evil Stepmother and Stepsisters are referred to as “mean girls.”

The Little Mermaid which prompted no questions about the physiology of mermaids or the accent of the crab. I might point out that the only crabs I’ve ever known have come from the Chesapeake Bay and would speak with a Bawl-mer drawl.

Frozen which despite the fact that she knows all the songs, will sing Let It Go at the top of her lungs with very little prompting, she found the actual storyline a little confusing. Having seen it myself, me too.

I’ve read and even support many of the objections to the Princess Culture. Marriage is usually for political purposes (Jasmine) or to rescue you from poverty (Cinderella). None of the girls, save Belle, are interested in education or books. Heck, it’s okay to abandon your loving family and change your physical appearance in order to get your man (Ariel). Love is usually at first sight and there’s no need to actually get to know your intended. No long engagements and certainly no living together either. And of course, there is the crass commercialism of the whole enterprise.

So why am I, proud, unapologetic feminist, buying my granddaughter a Belle dress for her birthday?

Because indulging that fantasy is no worse than my three sons playing Star Wars 24/7 when they were growing up. None of them opted to become Jedi Knights. If we’re talking commercialism, I personally could have built the Death Star with the amount of money I had invested in Star Wars toys.

And then I remember my daughter, age 3, playing with Barbie and Ken. I’m not sure why, but she had created a story about class elections. She announced that Barbie was running for Secretary, although seriously, I don’t know that she knew what the class secretary did. I immediately jumped in and said that “Barbie can be the President. Barbie can be whatever she wants to be.” My daughter, even at that age had a remarkably developed ability to roll her eyes at her Mom’s grand pronouncements, said quite patiently, “But Barbie wants to be Secretary. She doesn’t want to be President.” Maybe in her mind, Barbie got a new laptop computer if she became Secretary of the class.

But the point is that my daughter didn’t grow up to be Barbie in any of her incarnations. And I don’t think my granddaughters will opt for Princess-dom as their career choice either.

What I do know is that it’s okay to let little girls play princess, while also making sure that they get other messages of female empowerment too. So yes, I’m buying a Belle dress, but I’m also offering a box of Magna-Tiles, with which to build incredible creations. Maybe even a castle.

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David