When I was a little girl, I didn’t want to be just any princess. I wanted to be Princess Leia. Never mind the fact she had no castle, nor any direct Disney lineage to speak of. Leia was a badass feminist intergalactic icon – a fact that I recognized at the age of two.
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After multiple vacations to Disney World, and a closet full of costumes, tiaras and pro-mouse propaganda-I had no interest in a lifetime of pretensive, passive heroism. I knew by the ripe old age of five, after three Disney vacays and a lot of reflection, that was not how I wanted to roll going forward.
Why? Ironically, because of the Love Thy Neighbor Thing
One uneventful day, my next-door neighbor, Derek, invited me to see Star Wars Return of the Jedi with his parents – John Larry and Jeanette. They are another story entirely. But in a good way. Sort of. It’s a long story – I’ll circle back.
Back to the movie. Even though I wasn’t particularly interested in seeing a star war, I figured a day at the cinema was preferable over riding my bike alone. Also, Derek’s parents gave zero “effs” regarding how much we spent at ye old concession stand. So, either way – this was a win-win for me.
Little did I know my world was about to change.
See, up until then, all of the princesses I knew of were pretty much the same and, well, low-key boring.
At this point, I had three Disney World trips under my belt, and well over 10,000 hours of mastery study via VHS. In other words, I was qualified to make the following judgement calls.
There was Snow White, and while I did adore her dress, flawless skin and posse of dwarves, I never wanted to be her.
Let me explain. After an intensive self-imposed summer study of her so-called “abilities” I ultimately ended up calling bullshit on SW after a string of attempts to communicate with nature through song failed miserably – no matter how much I willed her Disney magic to work.
Speaking of work, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my admiration of the way Miss. White utilized the law of transmutation of sex power by getting the little men to do the chores. Admittedly, at five I knew nothing of natural law nor transmutation, however I did recognize a good business model when I saw one.
Cinderella was another story.
Sure, she overcame the obstacles of a wicked stepmother, as well as an unfortunate looking pair of evil, jealous and conniving stepsisters. Still, ultimately she relied on a Fairy Godmother and a Prince she barely knew to rescue her. Really, Cinderella? You barely knew him. Also, if I’m being honest, it bothered me that she lost one of her shoes…I mean, you get a magical makeover complete with glass slippers, and you leave one behind? Get your shit together.
This story was definitely written by a man with a strategy to stereotype. (Looking at you, Walt.)
Sleeping Beauty? Bored me to tears. Here we had yet another girl with the gift of beauty and the ability to sing, but she lays lifeless until a Prince saves the day.
Ugh. Where was the initiative? And what was the take-home message? Lay there until a dude saves you? This one was definitely penned by the patriarchy.
When I discovered Princess Leia, everything changed.
Donning (what appeared to me as) a white nightgown and donuts in her hair, Leia of Alderaan was unlike any princess I had ever seen. She wasn’t cleaning anything or singing songs to Wookies. No, Princess Leia was too busy shooting laser guns at Storm Troopers to belt out a tune. kicking ass and saving the day.
She didn’t play.
Unapologetic, blunt, and opinionated, Leia held her own next to Hans Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Darth Vader. She was my hero. Leia didn’t need dwarves, fairy godmothers, magic mushrooms or magic shoes and she sure as hell wasn’t waiting around for some guy to save the day. She did it herself.
She showed me that a princess could do more than go to a ball, sleep, or clean.
And y’all, Leia wasn’t just a rebel.
She ran the Rebellion.
After putting her in that awful gold bikini, Leia straight up killed Jabba the Hutt with her bare hands, while I imagine Snow White would’ve sung him a song and straightened up his tie.
Princess Leia was a badass, and I wanted to be just like her.
Now that I’ve grown up a little, my ambition to be a lightsaber-wielding Jedi has subsided, though I still consider myself a rebel.
My grown-up thoughts now turn toward the actress that portrayed Leia, Carrie Fisher, since she passed away earlier this week.
With parents like famed actress Debbie Reynolds and singer Eddie Fisher, Carrie was considered Hollywood Royalty-the closest one can get to Princess status this side of the pond and silver screen.
She started acting and battling addiction early and was eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder and manic depression.
But Carrie Fisher didn’t seek help and hide under a blanket of prescriptions, psychiatrists, and PR reps.
No, she shared her story, sparing no detail no matter how raw it was, because sharing it would help others. Hollywood be damned.
Know that all of this went down before oversharing on social media became the norm.
Postcards from the Edge was first. In case you missed that one, Postcards is a semi-autobiographical novel from 1987 that covers drug addiction, rehab, and the drama between a mother and daughter. The book was so good that they made it into a movie starring Meryl Streep and Shirley MacLaine.
In the 1990’s Carrie shared her bipolar diagnosis with the world.
And like the dynamic character I longed to be, she was daring and passionate when she spoke about it. Carrie Fisher bravely shined a light on a disease that most kept hidden, and somehow she managed to do it with humor and wit.
Carrie didn’t have to lay her life out for the world to see. She was a talented Hollywood script doctor, and writer-she could have laid low and avoided the often critical public eye.
Instead, she chose to tell the truth about her mental illness and spared no detail, which is a rare act of bravery coming from an A-list celebrity.
But I would expect nothing less from a princess- the kind of princess I still want to be.
Outspoken. Confident. Brilliant.
Carrie Fisher ultimately helped millions of people struggling with their mental health and addictions through her efforts to remove the stigma attached to them.
While my son’s autism doesn’t fit neatly into a mental health category or any category for that matter, Carrie’s work has inspired me to write and speak more about my son. Maybe our experiences can help one of the millions of parents out there desperately searching for help for their kids on the spectrum.
My family lives a crazy life with Nathan, full of sensory overload, bathroom floods, locked doors, light switch obsessions, and impromptu 2 am naked chandelier swinging, to name a few. I have to laugh about it because I refuse to let it get me down.
Autism is a battle like no other, and I am thankful for strong princesses like Leia and trailblazers like Carrie that showed me how strong women fight and never give up.
I’d be so f*cked if I wanted to be Cinderella…
“If my life weren’t funny, it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.” -Carrie Fisher
This post was originally written to celebrate the life of Carrie Fisher after her death in 2016.
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