Last month, Disney’s “Moana” came out in movie theaters across America, just one day before Thanksgiving. Like many who love Disney movies, I eagerly anticipated its release — though I haven’t seen it because I’m overseas, where it hasn’t been released yet. I anticipated the release of a Polynesian princess. Though I know nothing about Polynesian culture, I always look forward to new points of view and diversity.
Then the movie came out. Critics hailed “Moana” for both its depiction of Polynesia and its animation. But there’s another reason why “Moana” has been applauded by critics; Moana doesn’t have a love interest as the center of the story.
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I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I wish stories like this existed when I was a child.
It’s not that I’m against romance. I love men — well sometimes I hate them. But really, I have nothing against men. What I’m against, at least now, is the idea of a love interest as the means to an end. For a woman to be comfortable with herself, or to escape some sort of external or internal conflict, she must have a man. This movie has taught me to fight against this idea.
I wasn't always this way.
In my childhood, I was shy and quiet. I also had a couple of learning disabilities that caused me to suffer from low self-esteem. And the solution, according to the Disney movies and Nicholas Sparks films, was to find someone to love me — even the parts of myself that I didn't like.
Having dyspraxia, there was plenty I didn't like about myself. I had a hard time joining in on games because my motor skills were much lower than other kids that age. Other children were quick to notice that and bullied me. Consequentially, I didn’t have too many friends, and the feeling of being different remained even as I had a good group of friends in high school. But I aimed too high, or too low I guess, I believed in the power of Disney, love, and magic — instead of homework and studying. I believed that, "Someday, my prince would come," and I hung on to that belief with the ferocity of a saber-toothed tiger.
In high school, I had my first boyfriend. “Going out” was all the rage at the time, and because movies, and my friends, seemed to think that having a guy notice me would make me happy. Actually, I should probably mention that while I use the term "boyfriend", we only went on one date. It was a group date. His friends picked out a scary movie, and because I didn't know any better I didn’t realize they had picked out a scary movie on purpose. We were half way through the movie when I started reaching for his hand. It didn’t have anything to do with him, I was just scared and thought that holding hands with a guy at a movie theater was more socially acceptable than chewing on your fingernails during a date. After the movie we had Italian. It would have been one thing if it was, you know, a nice Italian restaurant but this was really bad Italian in the food court at the mall, and my noodles were soggy.
So I went home feeling disappointed about my date, but also proud that I had had my first date. All of my friends were dating. I was now a normal teenager, not one defined by dyspraxia — even though I was the one defining myself by it. Two days later, my mom found the text messages I had exchanged with that boy when I left my phone on the kitchen counter. She asked me about what had happened and I told her. In our conversation, my mom made two points. One, "You’re too young." Two, "As a kid with a learning disability, you won’t be able to handle having a boyfriend and completing your schoolwork."
I realized that I couldn't avoid being different. Dyspraxia made me take forever to answer test questions; I might have been in honors, but I still needed extra time on tests,and that made me feel stupid. I couldn't put on makeup, and I couldn't be one of the kids driving their car to homecoming or even to Subway during lunch period. I felt like I desperately wanted to reach for the stars, but gravity was pulling me back down to earth.
A few months later, the school play was mentioned and I had that and looking for colleges to keep me busy. It was enough to keep me confident for six months. But then something happened to undo my new sense of self-awareness. I saw a T.V. show and a movie that brought back my dreams of Prince Charming.
I started watching “Desperate Housewives” with my mom. That romantic-comedy with women who lived in the suburbs, who all had secrets. Teri Hatcher’s role as the divorced and “klutzy” Susan spoke to me. I was far too young to be divorced, but a clumsy character spoke to me, the teenager struggling with dyspraxia. To top it off, Teri developed a relationship with the hottest guy on the show, who found her clumsiness endearing. This caused my heart to soar.
But “Bridget Jones’ Diary" was even better than Susan and Mike. It followed in the same footsteps of Disney princess movies, with the belief that a man was the key to living happily ever after. Except Bridget Jones was different in a huge way. She wasn’t thin, she said things she wasn’t supposed to say, and she was falling and tripping over things. Every time I laughed at that movie, I envisioned what the future might be for me, a woman who wears size 12 and tries to look fashionable all the while, looking silly wearing a skirt while climbing a firehose — watch the movie and you'll understand what I'm talking about. And the best part? Bridget found love with a man who appreciated her quirks at the very end.
It wasn’t until I started dating and meeting people that I realized how silly these fantasies were — what I thought was a prescription for a normal and happy life. I was briefly with a man who had an entirely different agenda than me, and I ended up broken-hearted. I went to a speed dating event on campus, and it helped me realize men weren’t “princes” to save “damsels in distress”. Rather, they were just people —I know, big surprise there. One of the questions the emcee prepared for the "dates" was, “What was the most fun you’ve had?” . Now, this was an interesting question to ask each other. I said the most fun I had ever had was watching Jim Carrey dressed as the Black Swan on Saturday Night Live with my best friends. The young man at that round looked bored and said the most fun he had was while playing baseball. I couldn't believe that men all had their different interests, values, and beliefs.
My belief in Disney, and daydreaming about horse-drawn carriages, fairy godmothers, and magic, had blinded me to the fact that men are people. Slowly, I have started the process of believing in myself, trying to be confident, and deciding on what I want. Sure, it doesn't offer immediate gratification for my low self-esteem, but slowly over time, writing/doing office work does improve my confidence.
Thank God we have Moana for the next generation of girls growing up. That way, they can do things for themselves from a young age, instead of waiting for someone to make their "happily ever after."
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