I recently engaged in a heated dispute with a SJW at a bare-bones ("Should we ban To Kill a Mockingbird?") book shop, over why I've grown exasperated with the Disney Princess scene. My accuser claimed that my stance doesn't rise from an individualistic quirk, but rather a misogynistic core. How's that for a pompous-ass leap?
Here's the deal. Disney princess overkill has for too long gotten under my skin, and this not only includes the tiara sect, but their complementary characters. In other words, anything associated with this sugary-sweet lot unhinges me. It's that you-better-tap-your-feminine-side advocacy that it's tied to, you see. (I mean, a lad can present a spindly Belle doll for Show and Tell and receive a pat on the back {and why not?}; however, if he dangles a G.I. Joe with Kung Fu Grip before his classmates, it's the end of the world as we know it.) Enough of this "woke" horseshit! Of course, that's easy for me to say. I'm more inclined to seek escapism through the likes of Charles Bronson or Chuck Norris, not Sleeping Beauty or the Little Mermaid. (And if ever I'm nudged toward Disney cartoon features, I'll likely pick Peter Pan or Tarzan. It's just the way I swing.)
On the other hand, I don't abhor all Disney, animated lasses. In fact, there's one example for whom I hold unparalleled infatuation, even if she's often tossed into the princess arena by misclassification or careless convenience.
She's Esmeralda of the studio's 1996 the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Now, there's one well drawn lady and a freethinker to boot. That she's an animal lover (her goat being her business partner, no less) makes her even more endearing to me.
Disney's Gypsy-gal knockoff was based on Demi Moore (who supplies the cartoon's voice), a real-life honey-and-a-half, and perhaps that's been my subconscious draw all along, beyond being a huge Hunchback fan in general, from Victor Hugo's classic novel to its various, cinematic takes.
Hunchback also presents a strong, historical backdrop. I do appreciate such seasoning.
With that said, there's another Disney, animated lady I fancy, who's propped by a different historical base: Pocahontas. Yeah, I know, she's a chief's daughter, which designates her as a sorta princess, but to maintain my enthrallment, I prefer to think not.
Disney's Indian maiden is a smart, long-legged gazelle, and though not a magic affiliate, she instills an air of mysticism whenever needed.
Disney's Pocahontas doesn't mirror the veritable one, of course, and that's fine. For one, this particular edition is an adult, and I'd mirthfully skip through the forest with her in a ravenous snap, swaying endlessly to her mesmerizing melodies. John Smith--step aside!
Anyway, I've kept my feelings on this topic pretty much under wraps, but on occasion a fleeting remark I've made resurfaces, and then all hell breaks loose. What happened recently was an irritating and unjust case in point. As such, I just wanted to set the record straight: Though the Disney princesses (and their various, bland associates) leave me high and dry, my heart does, indeed, beat fast for the attractive aforementioned. If you've a problem with that, you can tell me straight to my face. I'm more than prepared to defend my impeccable taste.
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