Rock Paper Suburbs

By Danni Koko

After many years of staying quiet, I’m going to come clean.

I’m just not that into Disney. 

There, I said it.

I’m holding my breath right now.  Many of you might be more than a little incredulous.  How can a mom of young children not be completely taken with the magic of Disney?  How can anyone not be completely taken with the magic of Disney? 

Sometimes I puzzle myself.  Everyone else seems to get so excited about all things Disney, while I am less than obsessed.  Have I lost my sense of wonder?  Am I even American?

The truth, quite simply, is that Disney is just not my thing.  The fantasy genre has never held much appeal for me in adulthood.  Many of the franchises that are now affiliated with Disney – Harry Potter, Star Wars, Marvel – are about as interesting to me as current events in the Czech Republic.  I know basically nothing about them, and I’m okay with that.  If you’re a Czechian policy wonk, I’ll apologize now for my indifference.  

I have a record of wearing Mickey Mouse ears one time, and one time only: the day of my second birthday party.  I am photographed in Mickey Mouse attire, standing on a chair so that the adults can sing Happy Birthday.  The two boys who are having the party with me, the co-guests of honor, are smiling and laughing, so cute and so happy in their Mickey shirts and their Mickey ears.  We, the birthday queen and kings, are supposed to be smiling graciously.  Unlike the birthday boys, however, I have a completely sober expression on my face, clearly feeling embarrassed and terribly out of place.  I am not feeling the magic.  At the time I was too little to know what I was really feeling, but the pictures speak for themselves.

Looking back, I suppose the magic started to fade for good when I was in kindergarten.  At the time, I was completely in love with The Little Mermaid.  I thought Arial and her singing were just fantastic, and I wished I could know what it was like to be a real mermaid, if only for a day.  I suppose I empathized with Ariel, wishing to be part of her world.  Also, I liked that each of her sisters had her own color bikini that coordinated with the color of her fins.  Artistic geniuses, those Disney people are. 

Anyway, Halloween rolled around, and I had a classmate who came to school dressed as Ariel.  This girl always had a beautiful wardrobe, and her mermaid costume was no exception.  My costume was cute – I was a penguin – black and white and precious – but my classmate looked AMAZING.  She has glamourous.  She was colorful.  She was cool.  And she was rendered completely immobile on dry land.  As the day progressed, I realized that her fins made it basically impossible to get around school.  She had to ungracefully waddle her way around the classroom pulling her costume along, much like me, except I was supposed to waddle in my costume, because as you’ll remember, I was a penguin.  Turns out, Ariel was right.  Flippin’ your fins, you don’t get too far.  

The realities of mermaidhood had revealed themselves, and I was not about to sign up for such limitations.  As time went on, I started to see more cracks in Ariel’s story.  Sure, Prince Eric seemed sweet enough, but I started to wonder if Ariel would end up disappointed with her choice in the end, married to a goober of a prince who couldn’t begin to understand anything about her life growing up.  Did they even have anything in common?  The palace chef was clearly a jerk who was out of control.  Perhaps Prince Eric didn’t know how to manage his people.  The realist in me began to emerge.  

Once I reached middle school, I had trouble overlooking the cultural problems and gaps in the stories that came out with Disney-like precision once a year, even though I knew they were pretend.  Why, I wondered, was Mulan a tomboy when all the white princesses were sexy?  Why was Belle supposed to change all her expectations for her life and fall in love with a beast, when all the beast had to do was be reasonably nice to a gorgeous woman, like that’s so hard for a man to manage? 

I remember overhearing my grandfather complain that his Disney stock hadn’t moved at all.  He commented the stock had done nothing at that time, and my ears perked up.  Was it really true that Disney was supposed to be in business to make money?

These days I view the princess-superhero-villain realm simply as a business like any other for-profit business, and a successful one at that.  I don’t believe Disney exists just to make people happy, although that may be a part of their business model.  I know people who are cynical about capitalism but who love Disney nevertheless.  Let’s give credit where credit is due: Disney’s marketing has been extremely effective, and for many people it’s a part of their lifestyle.  I mean, I’ve seen the DVC stickers on your cars, right next to the stick figure families wearing their Mickey Mouse ears.

On a practical level, I’m not confounded by families wanting to go on vacation to the parks, but rather by the cultural preeminence of Disney in everyday life.  When Hendrix’s first birthday arrived, I went to the grocery store to pick out a cake design.  As I flipped through the cake book, it was filled with ideas for children’s birthdays, with page after page of Disney cakes.  Toy Story.  Frozen.  The designs were cute, but I started to feel annoyed.  Why was it so hard to find characters that would be appropriate for a black boy?  Some of the cakes featured characters who weren’t people.  There were the Pixar characters.  Cars?  Meh.  All I could think of was Owen Wilson’s voice, and besides, a Nascar-like theme didn’t seem fitting for Hendrix’s birthday.  My eyes were becoming as glazed over as the vanilla buttercream cakes in the display case.

Perhaps I have developed Disney Fatigue Syndrome.  I figure that, conservatively, I pick up a few toys each day, and let’s say just one of these toys is a Disney toy.  I’ve been a mom for eleven years, so that means by conservative estimates I’ve picked up Disney toys around 4,000 times.  No wonder I feel saturated by this stuff!  Disney licenses the rights to its characters with such frequency that our house is a true reflection of their brand being infused into nearly every aspect of the broader culture.  Characters from Disney movies appear on everything in our house from bandage boxes to Goldfish snacks to bubble wands.  Our family not only has princess Halloween costumes and Marvel coloring books, we have experienced everything from Disney dance camps to Disney themed recitals. 

Sometimes it feels like a culture of excess is being imposed on us, and a break would be nice.  As with all things, it’s about keeping things in perspective, making sure entertainment has its proper place in our lives.  My kids have had some parties with a Disney theme here and there, and I’m fine if someone gives my children clothes or toys that have a cute character on them.  In my opinion, it’s innocent fun when kept in the context of just that – fun.  As a parent, I’m responsible for teaching my kids the virtue of temperance, which on a very high level is about doing everything in moderation.  It’s about fulfilling our purpose even when it stops being fun, and consuming entertainment within reason, without reverencing it.  

A few years ago, I was talking to a family member who had just returned from Magic Kingdom.  “You know,” she observed, “to some people, it’s like heaven.”  I am sure this doesn’t apply to everyone, but from a human interest perspective, a part of me does wonder if a random sample of the population would respond with more excitement about going to Disney World or going to heaven.

When Tiny Dancer was little, she loved watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and she really and truly thought Minnie and Daisy were her friends.  It was completely adorable.  Then, when she went to kindergarten, she seemed to suddenly part ways with her cartoon besties, and honestly it was a little sad for me.  But, I guess she had become immersed in the realistic world of kindergarten, and truth be hold, she had balked at suspending her disbelief early on.  Tiny Dancer once saw a picture of a little girl meeting Cinderella at Disney World.  She was puzzled by the picture and squeaked, “Who is that?”  “That,” I replied, “is Cinderella.”  Tiny Dancer furrowed her brow and shook her head.  “That not Cinderella,” she muttered with disdain in her tiny three-year-old voice.  I wasn’t all that surprised by her reaction, but I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.  Some of us were just not born to see the magic.     

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