Resist the princesses

You hoped your little girl's Disney princess obsession was harmless, didn't you? You chuckled over the picture of Sleeping Beauty on your toddler's pull-ups, and you told yourself it was "just a phase" when your 5-year-old insisted that she needed at least 63 Disney princess dress-up costumes.

But don't be fooled by the sparkly magic wands, the pint-sized tiaras and those cute little "animal friends." The Disney princesses aren't sweet and innocent. They're a gang of vicious hoodlums, and they're plotting against you.

Start with some light feminist analysis. It will not have escaped you, Mothers of America, that Disney princesses -- Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and the rest -- rarely slay dragons, play sports, pilot jets or do open-heart surgery. Instead, they fiddle with their coiffures, linger over invitations to the ball, flee ineffectually from evil crones and swoon.

You don't have to be Gloria Steinem to realize that these are not, for the most part, useful professional skills in today's world. So I was not thrilled when my 3-year-old informed me, over lunch, that she wants to be "a pwincess" when she grows up, and I was unhappier still when her 6-year-old sister expressed a similar ambition.

"Girls," I said, "you can do anything when you grow up! You can be scientists or ski instructors or hedge fund managers -- I beg you, be hedge fund managers. Why would you want to be passive, anorexic princesses?"

They looked at me as if I had gone mad. "Because princesses wear pretty dresses, Mama," they explained.

I tried another tack. "Not all princesses prance around in ball gowns," I remarked, and showed them some educational photos of Britain's 57-year-old Princess Anne, clad in hideously sensible tweeds. The girls denied that Anne was a "real" princess.

I tried again. "Girls," I said gently, "I don't want to shock you, but historically, princesses have not always been popular. Consider the Russian Revolution. Or the French. Does the word 'guillotine' ring a bell?"

"You are a commoner!" my 3-year-old shrieked, and adjusting their glittering tiaras, the little darlings ran off to watch "Disney Princess Enchanted Tales" for the 10-billionth time while I glumly cleaned the kitchen.

It was not always thus.