The other day, I watched Cinderella for the first time since I was a kid. (Being a full-time baby-sitter has perks such as these, in case you're wondering.) All those stereotypes, those hidden messages that I missed as a child caused the feminist beast in my heart to rise up in terror and hostility.
Cinderella is pretty. And blonde. Of course, blonde. Animals love her gentle, kind spirit (and amazing singing voice)--a sure sign of a good woman. The step-sisters are painted as flat, mean characters. Bradley, the little boy I baby-sit for, asks why they're so mean to her. "Well, because they're jealous of her." "Why?" he asks innocently. "What does 'jealous' mean?" "Um...it means she's prettier than they are and she can sing better, so they don't like her. And they're mean because their mom teaches them to be mean," I say, cringing at the propaganda that has caused misery for countless young girls who aren't singing blonde bombshells by nature. "But why? How did they get so mean?" Brad questions. Why did they get so mean? Well, that would be an interesting question to explore. Unfortunately, movies made in this era like to keep things straightforward. Pretty people are nice and good. Ugly people are mean. End of story. Move on, become pretty, be nice, or shut up and get out of the way. This is part of the reason why girls today are willing to pay countless dollars to look more attractive, to get the guy, to fall in love, to have the fairy tale ending to their miserable, mortal life. I don't say these things, though I think them. After all, a four-year-old shouldn't bear the brunt of my pent-up feminism. Plus, he'd have no idea what I was talking about. Complex scenarios, cause-and-effect, and sarcasm are kind of lost on four-year-olds. But still, I was glad he thought to wonder what makes people act the way they do. If he's still asking that a year from now, maybe I'll try explaining propaganda to him.
As the movie goes on, I get more disgusted. But this time, it's not with the movie or with the makers of the movie and stereotypes. It's with myself. As Cinderella dances around with the prince ("So this is the miracle that I've been dreaming of, so this is love") and as she removes the other glass slipper from her pocket in a surprise ending, ruining all the evil schemes of her wicked step-mother, I realize that the little-girl dreams in my heart to have those things are still alive and well. My heart lurches with its own jealousy as I hunger for a fairy godmother to give me everything I wanted (and always deserved). I desire beauty and a voice that will stop the man of my dreams in his tracks. I want mice to sew my clothes and give me sponge baths because I'm so beautiful and kind. I want grace and gentleness when there's no logical reason that I should have them (except that I'm just inherently good). I want a dream wedding and a father-in-law who adores me. I want to live in a castle. And especially, more than anything, I want those glass slippers and that sparkly blue dress. I want to look like a princess. So badly.
What is this? After great theological training, after countless people telling me that my worth is not dependent on my looks or possessions, after the LORD has redeemed me and shown me that He alone can save me, why do I still chase after empty dreams? Glass slippers, love at first sight, beautiful castles, unearned perfection...is it because I spent so many years of my life not questioning those values? Do I just need to spend more time overtly critiquing the myths of fairy tale? Or is it more sinister than that?
Auden's Lullaby says it better than I could from here. Human loves, human creations, being beautiful, being perfect...they're nice fantasies, and they are rooted in some truth--The Imago Dei in me, the potential for good. But in myself, apart from the LORD, apart from His grace and Spirit working in me, they are lies. Good lies because they are based in truth. Dangerous lies. Abba, deliver me again from chasing these lies. Glass slippers can be broken when Your words never fail. Remind me of Your better, all-consuming, unfailing love. All other loves must be rooted in You, or they prove faithless in the end. Gratifying in the moment, beautiful, desirable, pleasurable...but faithless.
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit’s carnal ecstasy.
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
