The word “princess” has a bad rap. And I get it. For a long time, the word princess was just associated with spoiled girls and actual royalty, and the idea of your little girl saying she wanted to grow up to be a princess was cringe. But princesses, in both history and Disney movies, have proven themselves over and over. They are strong, they are courageous, they are smart — and every little kid deserves to be called one. It’s the entire premise of 1995’s A Little Princess starring Liesel Matthews and Liam Cunningham (“All girls are princesses,” Sara routinely shares with the world), and I couldn’t wait to rewatch it with my own three daughters. It’s got social justice, “good trouble,” manifestation… it’s a movie I wanted them to watch and realize that “princess” is actually synonymous with bad*ss.
But what they really got from the movie — and what I realized as an adult rewatching it — surprised me.
I watched this film over and over as a kid. I owned it on VHS tape, and it came with a locket just like Sara’s in the front of the case (that I then had to destroy to get out). It was for sure one of those major movies that built up my childhood and fully pushed me into my Big Bow Girl era. It was packed with adventure, tragedy, and love, not to mention a bunch of great lacy outfits. It was one of those movies that just says, “Hey, girlhood isn’t dead and, actually, she’s thriving and ready to take over the world.” It’s the perfect kind of Girl Power flick we needed in the ‘90s! And Sara’s determined energy to remain kind and lovely no matter her circumstances is seriously still inspirational.
My girls got all of that. They loved the movie and were fully invested, my own 6-year-old bursting into tears when Papa leaves Sara at the school. My 10-year-old would ask me to rewind if she misheard part of it, trying to guess the fate of Sara’s Papa and how the neighbors factored into the whole thing. (My 2-year-old just kind of ran in circles as she watched.)
But my girls were more blown away by the scenes in which Sara relies on her imagination to bring herself out of the dark place. They saw how she teaches grief-stricken, screaming Lottie to imagine her mother is always with her and how she grows Ermengarde’s confidence with her stories. They noticed before I did that it’s not just that Sara’s a princess — like all little girls — or that she’s confident or brave because of it.
Her imagination and her creativity make her bold and strong and kind. She has empathy because she can see other people’s lives. She has joy because she can think it up whenever she wants. She has love because she creates magic for those around her.
By imagining her doll Emily is real, she believes Emily can actually receive the messages she whispers to her Papa. By pretending she’s not hungry and actually eating a great meal, she manifests a feast (thanks to helpful neighbors). By sharing a story with her friends and classmates over the course of weeks, she keeps spirits up and alive for all of them.
In a world where my girls are told over and over to grow up, to be serious, to act their age, to be prepared for whatever life comes at them, to do everything and nothing all at the same time, A Little Princess reminds them (and me) that our imaginations are tools. How many times have I thought about changing my perspective on something to make it easier to handle? Or talked myself out of feeling sad by focusing on something joyful instead? When I am feeling unmoored and discontent and antsy, being creative in some form always frees me, and knowing that I have that magic trick inside me at all times — like Sara and her stories — is such a great relief. A gift.
A Little Princess reminded me that our imaginations are not something to grow out of or ignore. Even in the darkest of hours, the deepest despairs, your imagination and dreams can save you. You are your own hero. You are your own princess.
As all little girls are. (Even us grown-up ones.)
