Cinderella Ate My Daughter---by Peggy Orenstein

This week, Clinton and Trump both spoke to the armed forces to outline their plans and policies should he or she become commander-in-chief.

The following morning, the RNC criticized Clinton for "not smiling enough."  Not smiling enough?  Not being "sugar and spice and everything nice"?

Would either party criticize a male candidate for his low-luster smile?  Or for staying a minute too long in the bathroom? Or because his face reflects age and is no longer youthful dewy handsome?

And should Hillary smile given the gravity of the subjects she was discussing, including admitting (to a gathering of soldiers and generals) that her vote for the war in which they lost friends and limbs and more was a mistake?

A powerful woman (still! In 2016) is a target for being called "Witch" or "Bitch." As Peggy Orenstein says in her excellent book on sources of female stereotypes, a woman of power is "damned if she does and doomed if she doesn't...."  (In the last political campaign, a McCain supporter asked the candidate, "What do we do to defeat the bitch?" to which he replied, ""Excellent question!")

I was once asked by a professor to stay after class.  As we stood by the elevator with our book bags, he said, "You look so serious today!  Where is your pretty smile?"  Would he have asked that question to a male graduate student?

In high school, my career conference with the counselor ended with these words, "Pretty girl like you, you should just go to college and get your MRS degree.  And you know what? Most of us did just that.  I didn't ask, didn't even imagine asking, "You have anything else for me, considering my grades are good?"

Women and girls get so many mixed messages it's mind-boggling.  On the surface, it seems that the messages to girls in the fifties and sixties are very different from the ones for girls in the 21st century, but I'm getting an eerie sense of deja vu.  In 2016, we have a candidate who who can get cheers for saying that a female interviewer's "probably bleeding...." or looks like a pig.  A man who can, with a straight face, claim that he's qualified because he's used to "calling the shots."

Cinderella Ate My Daughter, by Peggy Orenstein,  is a well-written,  appropriately-snarky rebuttal of the messages that disempower women, including those packaged by "the Disney machine," dead-set on molding a generation of pretty little princesses. Girls need more stories of powerful women--to counter the barrage of females who'll do anything, even give up their voice, to win Prince Charming (or the boy-prize by any other name.)

The  Grimm fairy tales are grim.  The stepsisters hack off parts of their own feet to fit into the shoe, and (as punishment for being so mean to their sister)  their eyes are poked out by birds. Bruno Bettelheim argues that these stories, grim as they are, have much more psychological grit and reality for kids than the cleaned-up, saccharine, happily-ever-afterwards Disney versions.

Of the hundreds of versions of Cinderella, it's the Disney most of us grew up with that made the prince the prize. In older versions, and in versions across many cultures, the Cinderella character, by different names, goes through transformations for herself, not to win the approval of some guy.

It may seem a stretch to connect Disneyland and politics, but this  book builds some brilliant bridges between the two. Messages imbibed by little boys and girls can play out in ghastly ways they grow up.   Or--with better role models in literature and the world--girls can grow up strong and powerful in their own skin.