A few weeks ago, Stray and I found ourselves in Disney World through some delightfully unscheduled travel plans. It’s not the kind of place we’d pick for a vacation – we’re more inclined to go running around a city than stay at a resort – but we’re not ones to turn down trips that pop up out of thin air. We had three days to get through the Magic Kingdom (Disneyland is better), Disney’s Hollywood Studios (total letdown – damn you, Tower of Terror!), and Epcot/the World Showcase (which was surprisingly the most fun out of all of them, noshing our way around the lake beneath the fireworks). The Magic Kingdom was first – it had to be, it’s the park that’s dug its glittery little claws into every pre-adolescent imagination since 1971.

And its sharpest talon? Cinderella’s Castle, of course.

My genre appetite loves the worlds of fairies and witches and enchanted woods, especially the art of Mary Blair, and the neat things they’ve been doing with those dream suites lately; my punk conscience snarls at a megacorporation yanking on children’s dreams and parents’ heartstrings to hawk oodles of merchandise. According to Royal Table restaurant where children can dine with the characters. There was a long line for lunch when we walked in, and opposite the restaurant door was something else going on: a Snow White, a photographer’s flash, a very cute room done up femme baroque (hard to see, there were a ton of people blocking the way), a little Belle dress on a tiny dummy. Not a boutique, although it looked like one – turns out it’s the lobby where families can get their picture taken with Cinderella while waiting for a table to open up. I thought about what it would be like to be five or six, taken into whole sparkling world, and how it would blow a little girl’s mind: All this, for ME?

This kicked off a long discussion about what we’d do if we had kids, would this be something we’d bring our hypothetical daughter to? In spite of all my reservations, yeah, I would. How could I say no, when she’d be going to school and all the other little girls would have the backpacks, the pencils, the sneakers? Not only would I be holding her back from her peer group, forbidding it would just make her want it more.

And, it’s not totally bad.

One point in the Princess Phenomenon’s favor is the validation it confers on girls, who are all too quickly going to get their confidence bulldozed as they grow up: You’re too fat! Play dumb or boys won’t like you! Whatever you do, you’re not good enough! My cousin took her kid to Disneyland a few years ago and gave her daughter a blank book to collect the princesses’ autographs. They went to the grove where all the princesses were hanging out, and her daughter went up to Cinderella, asking for her autograph; Cinderella replied by asking her for her autograph. According to my cousin, her daughter’s face just lit up that anybody would think her autograph was worth collecting – Cinderella, of all people.

Childhood is a precious window of time for something this special to be enjoyed to its absolute fullest, and I wouldn’t want her to miss it.

And, being a princess means getting to run around an amusement park in a ballgown. Considering how much of my wardrobe is devoted to slinking around in the dark, I think that’s rather cool.

So, given the flamboyant turns my own fashion tastes have taken, and how strong a sense of self I’d want her to have, here’s how I’d go about the princess thing, if I had a daughter:

• First, I’d watch all the movies with her. Let her see all the princesses so she can pick her favorite from all of them, not the first one she sees. Then find out why she likes that particular one.
• On to the dress. There’s no way I’d buy one from Disney – too flimsy, too cheap. Instead, I’d go poking around the catalogs of costumers who do kids’ things, and have something high-quality whipped up for her. Something that not just looks better, but will withstand all the running around she’s bound to do. And machine washable.
• This is one of those things that’s going to happen or it’s not, but I’d certainly try: instead of having her dress like her favorite princess, I’d try to encourage to have her own dress, just for her, nobody else has one like it. I’d sit down with her, look through a bunch of different styles and find out what she likes, and get it done in her favorite color. Teach her to be herself, not somebody else.
• It might seem ridiculous to teach her accessorizing this young, but the fashion industry is setting its sights on a younger and younger demographic these days. I’d try and get the dress plain with some fairy wings, some ribbony sashy stuff, some play jewelry, and teach her that she doesn’t have to buy a bunch of dresses to have a lot of outfits – just move some pieces around to make it a little bit different every day.
• I’d tell her that the pretty dress is just the beginning – go play in it. Go get dirty, go learn things. Don’t laze around on a throne thinking that’s all you need to do to be valued, don’t wait around for some guy to be your prince, go be your own hero.
• If I had my own yard (boy, we’re really climbing into the realms of pure fantasy here), I’d build her a treehouse. (It was at this point in the discussion that we were up in the Swiss Family Robinson thing, and I was loving the prim Victorian bed nestled in the branches of a gigantic tree). Bring her flowery teacups, make potions with her. Dig up all sorts of strange and pretty little things, china cats, music boxes, seashells. Give her the foundations of what would later become, if she chooses to go that way, an altar. And if not, lots of childhood mementos for her to hang onto later in life, if she wants.
• Teach her that the villains kind of had a point in that if beauty was what got you adoration and castles, then no wonder they were angling so hard for it. That they were women of action, not passive. That she has a lot of strengths and talents within herself. That witches are just as wonderful as princesses. And that she doesn’t have to be evil to be fabulous.

And I’d take her to Cinderella’s Castle. I’d want her to know, before the cultural attack on her self-esteem gets underway: yes, all this, for you.