When I found out I was expecting a girl, I made several commitments to myself. First, I aimed to curate a wardrobe for her that featured colors beyond the typical pink. I intended to fill her space with gender-neutral toys like building blocks, train sets, and puzzles. I promised I wouldn’t label her as “pretty,” as I wanted to ensure she understood that her worth wasn’t tied to her appearance. And, perhaps most importantly, I vowed never to call my daughter a princess. Yikes.
Well, here I am, admitting that I’ve broken all those promises—especially the last one. The term “princess” has gained a negative connotation for many, often associated with entitlement, tantrums, and passivity. Some view it as the antithesis of feminism. Yet, I find myself calling my daughter “princess” daily. What on earth am I thinking?
Despite my best intentions, the influence of toy makers, films, and her peers quickly unraveled my carefully constructed ideals. My daughter developed a deep affection for all things royal. To her, being a princess means donning fluffy dresses, frolicking with animals, residing in a castle, and bestowing glitter upon her loyal subjects (which includes me, her dad, and her ever-accommodating older brother). In her eyes, being a princess signifies being special. Referring to her as a princess carries the same weight as telling her I love her.
Is it unfair for my daughter to think of herself as a princess? Does that encourage her to feel superior? Absolutely not. We’re not cultivating arrogance or enforcing harmful gender stereotypes. We’re simply engaging in imaginative play. In our little family kingdom, she believes she is the princess—and she’s not mistaken. We even held a coronation ceremony. Very official, indeed.
This phase won’t last forever. While she wholeheartedly thinks she’s a princess now, I doubt she’ll stroll into college orientation wearing a tiara. By then, she’ll likely realize she’s not a real princess in the traditional sense. And if she does decide to arrive dressed as Princess Aurora with a pet squirrel in tow, who are we to criticize? Let her embrace her dreams and sing to animals if that brings her joy.
At five years old, my daughter can’t yet distinguish between her concept of a princess and the reality of a figurehead. I don’t feel the need to shatter her delightful fantasy just to maintain my feminist credentials. The other day, she declared that she doesn’t want a job when she grows up because “I want to take care of my babies myself.” As I pondered my response, my son jumped in, advising her, “No, you should go to college and earn your own money. Don’t depend on a husband.” My daughter retorted, “It’s my choice. You can’t decide for me.” So, she’s a feminist too! (And I still have time to teach her about the importance of independence.)
We refer to her by other nicknames as well: sweetheart, monkey, goober. “Princess” might not even be her top choice—just kidding, it absolutely is. We also highlight the qualities we cherish in her, such as compassion, creativity, determination, and intelligence—traits that truly make her our beloved princess.
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In summary, calling my daughter a princess isn’t about reinforcing outdated ideals; it’s about celebrating her uniqueness and joy. While I may have strayed from my initial promises, I believe in nurturing her imagination and self-worth in a loving and playful environment.