By the age of 10, I was in heavy prep in my plot to take over the world while other girls my age were primping for their lives as princesses. Perhaps its my trademark cynicism that has me baffled as to why any girl would aspire to be a princess. Don’t know about you, but I don’t relish the idea of being viewed as a fair yet defenseless creature that needs to be rescued because she is incapable of saving herself.
I never liked the tiara-toting maidens I read about in stories or saw in movies and shows. Between kidnappings and curses, they didn’t have much going on in the way of interests or goals. I guess cleaning, dancing, and singing simultaneously is the only hobby her royal highness needed.
I focused more on the damsels that were slaying vamps, piloting starships, and having close encounters of the dangerous kind. Those were the kind of people I wanted to be like. Why be treated like a princess when you could be treated like a badass?
Treat me like Buffy. Treat me like a girl that can battle it out with the Big Bad every Tuesday all while doling out pop cultures references and looking fierce. Someone who values the people she surrounds herself with and doesn’t stray away from responsibility (even if it means she might die occasionally).
Treat me like Ripley. Treat me like a woman fully capable of fighting for her ship, crew, and fat little kitty cat, Jonesy. Someone who can kill a xenomorph or twenty, deal with somewhat unpredictable androids, and play mother to Little Orphan Rebecca (Newt).
Treat me like Scully. Treat me like a lady who searches out there for the truth and lives to file the paperwork. Someone highly intelligent and good-natured that stands by her friend (and saves them frequently) despite their episodic differences.
Treat me like a princess?