image credit: YouTube
When I was a little girl my great grandmother and I walked to the neighborhood grocery store about a half mile from her house almost daily. She'd pull the two wheel shopping cart that our whole small town knew her for — easily recognizable by the Cadillac emblem that my dad stole from the car lot he worked on zip tied to the back.
I'd carry my coin purse — the rubbery kind you squeezed to open — full of the change I'd earned from selling my only barely passable pencil sketched renderings of Garfield accompanying iconic phrases such as “I hate Mondays,” etc. up and down the street, for a quarter a piece, or a dime if it was really bad. If it was spring, I'd use that money to buy as many Cadbury eggs as my tiny dirty hands could hold. But most of the time I saved up until I could afford a book from the spinning metal display rack at the front of the store. The book was usually Stephen King or John Saul or some other horror writer’s best seller gone to paperback — I was a weird 8-year old.
So, as almost every media outlet and cologne company has been telling us since the dawn of time, people are only sexy if they are thin and probably only loveable if they are sexy.
The folks that owned the store, a middle aged Chinese couple, used to call me Snow White, which I now realize was not an exactly accurate nickname: My hair was brown instead of black, I almost never wore dresses (certainly not satin ones), my lips weren't really red, and my skin was almost always a dark golden brown — a tan I earned honestly by playing outside in the hot California dirt for five months of the year. I loved that they called me Snow White because I thought she was beautiful and I guess it never occurred to me that a woman living in a tiny house, cooking and cleaning for seven tiny men was pretty dang misogynistic. My other nickname was “tooter,” which I think I earned as a baby by frequently farting, so snow white was a vast improvement.
I think it was because of them that I loved her. I still have a porcelain figurine of her sitting on the ground holding a tiny bird — made in the 40s in occupied China — on a small shelf above my sewing machine. I tried to KonMari her, but she sparked too much joy.
When I watch the movie now, it's ridiculous of course: witch with a cooked warty nose (there are dermatologists for that), poisonous red apple, pig heart (that's just gross), prince's kiss saving her life and all that — but not as ridiculous as the movie that is supposed to be an updated version releasing later this year.
The trailer:
What. In. The. Hell?
(I know that the “Word. Word. Word.” sentence thing is so mommy-blogger-five-years-ago, but I honestly can't think of a more appropo way to indicate my profound level of shock.)
Some of you might remember when I took on Disney for Inside Out and the so absurdly stereotyped character, Sadness. I was pretty fired up about the idea that sad = short and fat with a turtleneck and glasses, while Joy got to be fuckin Tinkerbell, all glowing and gussied up like she's about to go to her senior prom. That article earned me more hate mail that I could ever have imagined it would — people really love Disney. A lot.
But this one is even more maddening, and oh holy night, I'm just bracing myself for the emails that are about to drop in my inbox. I'm guessing (since I've never even heard of them, and since the animation is kind of shitty) that Locus Productions doesn't have a Disney-sized following, so I might be ok?
Who thought this was a good idea? Was it an actual HUMAN PERSON who sat down one day and was like “Hm. What shall we make a movie about next? Fish? Done. Cars? Done. Mermaid trading her fins and family for a dude on land? Done. Fat princess it is!”
I want to believe that a malfunctioning piece of software spit out this garbage, but I don't think software has the capability of independent thought, so I guess that means it was definitely a human, and probably more than a couple of them.
I don't even know where to start with this one.
The folks at Locus insist that the movie is about, “A normal girl born into extraordinary circumstances, she's a Princess who doesn't fit into the celebrity world of Princesses—or their dress size. She wants to stay true to herself, but Fairy Tale Island is all about the looks, so it makes it hard not to want to be like the others. In her quest to find her lost father, she learns to not only accept herself, but to celebrate who she is inside and out. And to let the beauty within—the beauty that Prince Merlin falls in love with — shine brighter than anyone else's.”
Blah. Blah. Blahdy. Blah.
Boy, it sure does NOT look that way.
First of all, Snow White's hair was black and bobbed, not brown and shoulder length, but maybe Disney — since they own almost everything (including ABC, CNN, the Discovery channel, and for all I know, my house) — owns rights to that look, too.
Secondly, in the original film there were absolutely zero dwarves hiding under a coffee table like a couple of weirdo stalkers. I could be wrong about this one though, it's been a while since I've seen the movie.
Also, she never drank beer, and forget burping; she's a princess, for god sake.
Oh and she wasn't squeezing herself into an evening gown only to come home and let her fat just burst out (though if she was, I certainly could have related to that, that's exactly how I feel about pants.) Also, I know this is animation, but skinny legs don't just get fat when you take your clothes off.
So, as almost every media outlet and cologne company has been telling us since the dawn of time, people are only sexy if they are thin and probably only loveable if they are sexy.
Exhibit A:
Do these pervy dwarves eyes widen in anticipation at Snow White the Chunky? That would be a literal big fat nope.
I haven't see the movie, A. because it's not out yet, and 2. Because I'll never give these morons my money. But the trailer is enough for me to know that there is no redemption.
Even if Snow White turns out to be a BoPo princess, the message is crystal clear: Fat people are repulsive beer drinkers who like to kick it in an easy chair while being continually crushed by the weight of the patriarchy, pun absolutely intended. You can't be a BoPo princess if you're waist-training yourself into what amounts to a sequined slip — that's not comfortable or cool. (Burping is just a bodily function, but while we act like it's gross and impolite, the implication remains.)
Just when I think we've made a little headway, some asshole reminds me that yes, people still think fat people are gross.
And also yes, Donald Cheeto still stands at the helm of our image-obsessed culture full of horny dwarves lurking under every theoretical coffee table just waiting for a hot chick to take off her clothes And, if porn is any indication, kiss another hot chick, while they watch with their pants off. (Masturbation is also a bodily function but unless you're invited to engage in it in my presence, it's assault.)
When I was 16 and traveling alone in Italy, a hairy, smelly man came into my sleeping car and made small talk about how beautiful American girls are, while he jerked off three feet from me. Totally assault.
Anyway.
OMFG (abbreviated because I have a one fuck per article policy) I literally cannot. And that's the most eloquent way I can say, just, no. There is no redeeming factor. There cannot be. The damage is done by the end of the two minute trailer.
And shame on you Chloe Grace Moretz for taking the money of these pricks. I'd rather eat poisonous apples.
