I have been a Peggy Orenstein fan for a long time. Years ago I wrote about her now-famous New York Times article called “What’s Wrong With Cinderella?” I also read and adored both Flux and Waiting for Daisy. Schoolgirls is next on my list. I have read several reviews of her new book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, and I read it eagerly. Peggy is a beautiful and articulate writer tackling topics about which I care deeply. She is also hilariously funny. Holy Grail.
Cinderella Ate My Daughter addresses the culture in which our daughters are growing up. It confronts the increasingly urgent sexualization of girls, and identifies that it is happening younger and younger. The book’s central point is an exploration of how girls these days are “struggling to fulfill all the new expectations we have for them without letting go of the old ones.”
Orenstein explicates a set of new pressures that girls face today: to perform on the field and in the classroom, to demonstrate leadership, and to be involved in philanthropy, a “good person.” At the same time, girls are still expected to be pretty and thin. Far from replacing the old expectations, these new ones have simply piled on top, making the burden of perfection on our girls even more stifling.
Every day I am reminded that how a girl looks remains essential to how the world views her. People seem to constantly comment on how Grace looks. It is certainly, by a wide margin, the most common thing about her that I get comments about. It’s true: both of my children are thin. Bird-like, even. But it’s totally natural: that’s the kind of kid I am. The most infuriating comment I get, and I get it all the time, is how “well, you want a girl to be skinny.” People said this even when Grace was a toddler of 2 or 3. People also comment on Grace’s face, and I’m often told she is beautiful. She can frequently overhear this commentary, which worries me, because I don’t want her to internalize that it’s the most important thing about her. But if I am really honest, my own reaction is more complicated. I’m simultaneously horrified and proud. Because, just as Orenstein does, I grudgingly recognize that this is the world we live in. I wish it were otherwise, I desperately do. But it’s not. And I know that being attractive will be an advantage for Grace. I hate admitting this.
When Grace was five she took her first airplane ride by herself. She felt incredibly proud of herself, and I did too, which helped ameliorate the shocked, even judgmental, reactions from more than a few people who heard about this. A few days after the flight I got an email from a very dear friend, telling me that the story of Grace boarding her Delta flight alone with only a quick look over her shoulder reminded her of what I’d always said were my chief goals for Grace: that she be – and know she is – brave and smart. This was, my friend asserted, the behavior of a brave and smart child. My eyes filled with tears. I remember both of those moments viscerally: Grace boarding the plane, and reading my friend’s message.
Still, no matter how brave or smart, or how accomplished girls – or women – are, their looks still matter. This is a reality that I find both irrefutable and profoundly depressing. It is deeply, perniciously ingrained in our culture. Orenstein tells the story of when, while researching Schoolgirls, she followed students in middle school and realized that she was greeting them by commenting in their appearance. Even she, who knew this wasn’t her priority, or the right thing to do. She tried to go cold turkey and found it awkward to make conversation. This story reminded me of when I was pregnant the first time. I suddenly became blindingly aware that what everybody wanted to tell me was how great I looked. I used to feel like shouting: I am growing a human being in my body! Who the hell cares what I look like? And I swore that I would never comment on another pregnant woman’s looks. And you know what? I still do. Because in many cases my first reaction IS that they look beautiful. But still, like Orenstein, I know better.
Orenstein also raises the important and complex topic of of body image, sharing scary data that I’ve read before about how early girls become aware of and dissatisfied by their bodies. Like Orenstein, and many mothers I know, I make a determined effort never to disparage my own physical self in front of Grace. But I’ve been wondering, lately, do we actually need to go further? Should we be talking about how beautiful we are? I don’t do that, and it would be uncomfortable for me to do so (not to mention dishonest), but I do find myself wondering if we need to model self-love. We don’t want to raise daughters who think their appearance is all, but given the truth of the world out there, ought we demonstrate, actively, appreciation for our own physical bodies? I suspect that our silence on this topic holds an implicit message for our daughters.
It is inescapable, this fact that our girls’ looks are essential to their sense of themselves. “Talent? Effort? Intelligence? All are wonderful, yet by middle school, how a girl feels about her appearance – particularly whether she is thin enough, pretty enough, and hot enough – has become the single most important determinant of her self-esteem.” Even more provocatively, Orenstein challenges: “What is the alternative to thin, pretty, and hot (regardless of other qualities) as the source of feminine power and identity?” I don’t know the answer. And I do know that these expectations are real, and that coupled with the emphasis on achievement and success they create for our girls a tangled forest of pressure to be perfect.
Cinderella Ate My Daughter‘s chapter on the child beauty pageant circuit is riveting, and I was particularly impressed by how Orenstein identifies lesser-known, more humanizing aspects of each example of that much-vilified character, the Beauty Pageant Mom. A chapter on the older Disney “princesses,” Britney, Lindsay, Miley, Selena, and others struck me in particular because that is the phase in which Grace is definitely. Orenstein asserts that part of the unspoken promise of the Disney Princess brand is that it will keep our daughters safe. The pink and plastic world of Cinderella and Snow White may be replete with contradictory messages and an overemphasis on appearance, but it is a safe place devoid of sexuality and threat.
This world gives way to that of Hannah Montana and the Wizards of Waverly Place, and the real-life “princesses” take the place of cartoons. What to do, then, when these actresses grow up and the girls who loved them have to interpret images of Miley Cyrus on the cover of Vanity Fair naked in bed with mussed hair. The natural maturation of the teenage girls whose pre-sexual identities are fused with beloved, role-model characters renders even more complicated the already-rough terrain of adolescence. “The virgin/whore cycle of pop princesses, like so much of the girlie-girl culture pushes in the opposite direction, encouraging girls to view self-objectification as a feminine rite of passage.”
Orenstein’s last chapter focuses on the increasing power and reach of the internet social media and the ways in which it contributes to the commoditization of girlhood. In a world where girls think of themselves in terms of their “profile” earlier and earlier, material identifiers like what you were, what movies, songs, and celebrities you like, and what you wear become increasingly important. Orenstein also points out the ways in which electronic media have raised the stakes enormously on the standard mistakes of adolescence. Often there is a permanent record of those mistakes now, and one that is easily circulated well beyond a girl’s community. The power of online networks is seen clearly in some of the recent online bullying stories, and in many of those the push-pull of girl’s sexuality played a key role. Sexuality has become, Orenstein asserts, a “performance” like femininity itself. Girls see that “hotness” and being sexy carries power with it, but they also observe the speed with which a girl who uses this can be taken down (as a “slut” or a “whore”).
Orenstein’s final chapter brings this set of discussions of themes of girlhood to an alarming crescendo:
It would be disingenuous to claim that Disney Princess diapers or Ty Girlz or Hannah Montana or Twilight or the latest Shakira video or a Facebook account is inherently harmful. Each is, however, a cog in the round-the-clock, all-pervasive media machine aimed at our daughters – and at us – from womb to tomb; one that, again and again, presents femininity as performance, sexuality as performance, identity as performance, and each of those traits as available for a price. It tells girls that how you look is more important than how you feel. More than that, it tells them that how you look is how you feel, as well as who you are.
There are no conclusions at the end of Orenstein’s book, only a reminder that “our role is not to keep the world at bay but to prepare our daughters so they can thrive within it.” I closed the book and thought about it, aware of a deep unsettled feeling in my heart. I find myself reverting back to my college women’s studies courses, becoming angry at that old edifice, The Patriarchy. As women finally near equality in our culture (Grace simply could not believe how recently women were not allowed to vote in this country), garnering rights and achievements that were unimaginable even recently, the strictures of expectation grow more suffocating. Is this a way to muffle our power? A sly, subversive way to keep us secondary?
But then I ask myself: who is responsible for these expectations? Don’t we, women, the girls of yesterday, have to take some responsibility for them? Especially as we begin to participate in the discussions that set these kinds of agendas, don’t we start to take some ownership for them? You can’t tell me that everybody running Disney or childhood beauty pageants or Internet companies is male. We know that is not true. Still, most women I know share a deep discomfort with the themes that Orenstein so provocatively explores. How to determine where these embedded expectations and norms come from, so that we might begin to unseat them? I don’t have answers, but I do know that awareness and thoughtful exploration such as that in Cinderella Ate My Daughter is the only place to start.
16 thoughts on “Cinderella Ate My Daughter”
I have this book sitting here on the nightstand next to my bed. Can’t wait to read it.
her book is on my list too. thank you for sharing your thoughts, feelings, insights. these issues are so resonant, ones i have explored deeply with young women of color (adding race to this feminist dialogue about bodies and brains: beauty, sexuality, power, etc.). profound sociopolitical themes to explore from a personal and soulful place in mothering…yes?
How fascinating. I am definitely going to add it to my “books to read” list!
Your book reviews are stunning. I was debating on purchasing this book last week and hesitated. No more. I will be buying this book today. Thanks for your insight.
We have a rule in my house on exactly this topic:
Don’t say mean things about people’s bodies, hair, clothing, smarts, or personality. Including your sister’s and your own. They now hold me to this as well, and don’t let me even say I’m having a bad hair day.
We also have rules about appropriate clothing, although it basically comes down to my judgment on everything. Oh, and we do not have a television.
I see all three of these facts as crucial to the healthy development of my preteen girls.
As the girls’ friends begin making choices that don’t align with what is OK in our house, my girls notice. And they are proud of the way we handle things here.
This is one area where I will be rigid, and rigidly unapologetic…. they will believe themselves to be as beautiful as they are, but will know that there are many things way more important.
“Still, no matter how brave or smart, or how accomplished girls – or women – are, their looks still matter.”
I have particularly been struggling with this over the past months. Growing up, I was always labeled as “intelligent,” “talented,” and a “leader,” but always in conjunction with the qualfier of being those things despite being a chubby girl. After recently undergoing a dramatic weight loss, I suddenly find that all anyone wants to discuss is how I look. The other labels of “smart,” “outgoing,” and “funny,” have become less important now that I can be labeled as “pretty.” A lifetime worth of acheivements rendered secondary to a smaller dress size. Even more startling is that the strongest reactions come from friends who are themselves strong, independent, and extremely intelligent women. How sad that we all seem to fall into the same pitfall of valuing outward appearance first, at any age.
Lindsey, thank you for your words and for the book recommendation.
I’m going to pick up this book even though I don’t have a daughter. I have a baby niece…that’s close enough, right? Sounds so interesting!
Follow the money. Insecure girls and women spend money on bids to become Cinderella, and it only further plumps the foot which cannot then fit into the pump, slipper or other glass footwear. The true glass slipper is already on every girl’s foot, but like the ruby slippers, the real story is about realizing that the Wizard of Diz(ney) is all bluff and bluster (and utterly unnecessary if you know your own way home).
The most subversive thing we can support boys, girls and parents to be is happy and secure. Fear sells, inadequacy drives market share, and on Step-fords the hollow collective misery.
You are so right here Lindsey, and so right to encourage us to talk and think about these very important issues.
While it’s true that we must all take some responsibility for a culture that turns everything into performance, such pervasive narcissism may be best understood with compassion due to Narcissus and the cluelessness of not knowing who we are.
We can certainly arm our girls with the wide-eyed realization that they get virtually nothing out of living a performance rather than an authentic life. The more of us who somehow manage to opt-out of this train wreck the sooner we’ll find a way to honor the feminine rather than objectify, vilify, monetize and destroy it.
i think I should read this but, the topic is very distressing to me…I am thankful that my daughter who is nearly 16 talks to me… and it boggles the mind the stuff she is dealing with…
This topic is close to my heart too, as a woman and mother of a daughter. Believing whole-heartedly in the power of language, I have changed the way I say many things since she was born, to my benefit as well as hers. One of the words I am working to remove from my daily speech is “guys” unless it actually refers to a group of men or boys. Everyone says it but what does it teach our daughters? When a room full of women is addressed as “guys” what are we really saying? We, as women, are still subsumed into the patriarchy. I’ve actually heard people say it’s a gender-neutral term. My daughter is not a guy and I want her to treasure and understand both her masculine and feminine qualities, not devalue the feminine as I was so (and not-so) subtly taught.
I will definitely read the book – you have yet to steer me wrong!
This is something I really worry about as well. My children are both told on a consistent basis how beautiful they are. And I have the same reaction as you: I am simultaneously proud and worried about the effect these comments will have on them over time.
This focus on the superficial is one reason I have been searching so hard for the strength and power that I possess from within. It is so that I may be an example for my daughter(s) and hopefully instill in them belief in the beauty and values they intrinsically possess.
Before I was a mom, I wanted a girl desperately. I had two boys, and never planned on having a third child, so when the second was “announced,” that was it. Of course, I LOVE my boys, and have never missed having a girl, but the irony is that as time goes by, and I have realized just how incredibly hard parenting is, I have come to the realization that maybe, just maybe, the Universe/God knew what It/He was doing when I “got” two boys. Because I was a mess of a girl growing up, scared, confused, and with very low self-esteem, and always swore I’d bring up my girl differently than I was raised: she’d be athletic and have brains and her own sense of style and confidence and and and and and…I would’ve driven her crazy, and in the process, would’ve driven myself crazy. I give much props to the moms of girls…it’s an incredibly demanding and important job.
I have this book on my “to read” list and will hopefully get to it soon. I had to say that each and every time someone gifts my daughter anything fairytale related where a prince rescues a helpless girl the gift mysteriously disappears.
Finally reviewed this book and allowed myself to read your review! Funny how we took different approaches and yet our ultimate conclusion is similar. No answers but a great place to start!
I almost never create comments, but i did some searching and
wound up here Cinderella Ate My Daughter – A Design So Vast.
And I do have 2 questions for you if it’s allright. Is it just me or does it look as if like some of the responses look like coming from brain dead folks? 😛 And, if you are writing on other sites, I would like to keep up with anything new you have to post. Would you list of every one of your public pages like your Facebook page, twitter feed, or linkedin profile?
Comments are closed.