When I discovered I was expecting a daughter, I made a series of promises to myself. First, I aimed to curate a wardrobe filled with colors other than pink. I envisioned her room filled with toys that broke away from traditional gender norms—think Legos, train sets, and puzzles. I vowed not to call her “pretty,” believing that I could spare her from equating her self-worth with her appearance. And one thing I was absolutely certain about was that I would never refer to my daughter as a princess. No way.
Well, here we are.
I’ve gone back on all of those promises, especially the last one. The term “princess” has garnered a bad reputation; for some, it conjures images of spoiled behavior, while for others, it suggests passivity and adherence to outdated ideals. It seems that calling a girl a princess stands in direct opposition to feminist values. Yet, I call my daughter “princess” every single day. What could possibly be going through my mind?
The reality is that toy makers, movies, and countless friends have unraveled my careful plans in the blink of an eye. My daughter has developed a delightful fascination with all things royal, believing that being a princess means wearing fancy dresses, frolicking with animals, and ruling over a kingdom (which, in her case, includes her dad, her accommodating older brother, and me). To her, the term “princess” embodies a sense of being special, and calling her that feels as natural as telling her I love her.
Am I doing her a disservice by letting her think of herself as a princess? Does it spoil her and inflate her ego? Absolutely not. We’re not breeding arrogance or promoting harmful ideals. We’re simply engaging in imaginative play. In her eyes, she is the princess of our little family kingdom, and you know what? She’s not wrong. We even had an official coronation ceremony—very regal.
This phase won’t last forever. As she grows, I’m certain that my daughter will come to understand the difference between her imaginative concept of a princess and the more complex reality of actual royalty. Even if she decides to show up at college wearing a tiara and accompanied by a pet squirrel, who are we to judge? If that brings her joy, let her shine in her little dress.
At five years old, my daughter can’t yet differentiate between her fantasy of a princess and the reality of being a figurehead. I don’t feel the need to shatter her precious dreams just to hold onto my feminist principles. The other day, she declared her intention to be a stay-at-home mom, citing, “I want to take care of my babies myself.” Before I could respond, her brother chimed in, insisting she should pursue a career and be financially independent. To which she confidently replied, “It’s my choice. You can’t decide for me.” So, she’s got some feminist spirit in her after all.
We do have other affectionate nicknames for her—pooky, monkey, sweetheart, goober—and while “princess” may not be her absolute favorite (just kidding, it totally is), we also emphasize qualities that we cherish deeply: her compassion, thoughtfulness, tenacity, generosity, creativity, and intelligence. These traits, woven together, are what truly make her our princess.
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In summary, calling my daughter a princess isn’t about limiting her potential or reinforcing stereotypes. It’s about nurturing her imagination and celebrating the incredible person she is becoming—one royal moment at a time.
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