Miss Ashley Pants

CARTOON SLAGS

Oh, boobs!

Disney was the jump start that shot me into spending my youth praying for the day I’d have some D’s to display.

I mean, their various pretty protagonists shared other attractive features also – wide eyes, slim physiques, and inflection injected voices laden with laughter; but nothing spoke to my inner 8 year-old-going-on-18 like the pert plus twos each of them proudly postured up and out for the world to see.

But screw these “What Disney Taught Me” videos I see circulating. I mean – don’t get me wrong; the idea that Belle caught Stockholm Syndrome and Snow White was a reverse polygamist are all cute and funny concepts. But let’s face it. Nothing happens in a vacuum.

Now, the problem is this:

As a six year old, your brain is still developing and making associations. Before I lose you completely with talk of psych. stuff, let me impart some Cher wisdom onto you to help clarify my point:

THE LITTLE MERMAID

See, The Little Mermaid came out in 1989. I remember seeing it on VHS, which means I was probably around six or so the first time I watched it. After that, I reviewed it about a million times on repeat (pausing, rewinding, and writing down the lyrics on my dad’s post-it notes) until I literally knew “Part of This World” by heart.

The playroom floor of my basement was no longer a blue carpet, but a surly sea that harbored the handsome Eric’s boat (my mom’s old box of clothes whose contents I ejected, while trying to ignore the smell of mothballs). And that was all well and good and innocent.

But you know what came out on VHS about a year later?

PRETTY WOMAN

Dinner time (as with most families in the 90’s) meant meeting around the TV set to watch whatever was new from the local “Video Station”. If it was a super sexy flick, my mom would wait to watch it while we were at school. But I guess the reviews she heard on the new romantic comedy called Pretty Woman were benign enough to let us kids also watch along with “Parental Guidance”.

Now, my mom was big on that thing where she’d kind of groan and say, “Turn your head!” when the sex scenes started heating up the screen.

And, likewise, I was big on finding that one perfect place on the family room furniture where I could both obey mommy dearest, turn my head as told, and then proceed to let my eyes perceive exactly what was transpiring between Roberts and Richard Gere via the glass encased painting’s reflection, perfectly positioned over the couch.

I didn’t miss a beat.

Being too smart for my own good, however (and unbeknownst to me), my developing brain which had viewed these two classics barely a year apart, started to make these indelible networks and associations between the “princess” and the “prostitute”.

POOR LITTLE BITCH GIRL

Both stories initiate with scantily clad, sexy red-headed chicks who are disillusioned with their lives to the point of having to sneak off – Ariel away from her father-king, and Julia – evading her landlord via fire escape.

THE HANDSOME PRINCE

We’re also shown in a subsequent shot, the prince-to-be: Some devastatingly dark haired handsome stranger manning his vehicle of choice. It’s automatically implied that they are not only a “nice guy”, but men of means.

Eric is some sort of a prince, while Richard clearly has money to blow (as he’s shown driving a souped up sports car).

Yet, both are portrayed more as the “tangible” down-to-earth type and less “high and mighty”, despite their obviously escalated social statuses: Eric’s regal nature doesn’t keep him from being an adventurous sea farer, rocking the politician-on-tour style “sleeve roll up”. And Julia’s imminent prince is portrayed as classy, yetjust derpy enough to balance out, when we see that Gere can’t even get his car into gear.

NO-WAY-HO DRIVE

When Ariel comes to land, she has to pretty much acquiesce to the life of the rich and royal. Losing her voice seemed to me like the perfect parallel to how Julia’s character had to cover up her gaudy getup with Gere’s coat just to walk into the Beverly Hills Hotel, stop chomping her gum, and pretty much try not to speak at all (lest she sound like an uncultured cow). Then, of course, the super sad scene of her trying to “fit in” during the boutique shopping sprees further spotlighted the culture shock element for both of them.

SUR[F] LA TABLE

Finally, the dinner scene was the biggest parallel piece for me. While former-fish Ariel starts combing her hair with a fork and blowing smoke everywhere from the old dude’s pipe, Julia also starts desperately attempting to hide her roots, while also displaying “fork troubles”.

Since her “finishing school” crash course left her with little room for improv, confusion abounded when the salad wasn’t served first. The final touch was when her escargot went flying across the room. As far as composure went, the two acted equally sheepish over their respective faux pas moments.

HAPPILY EVER AFTER

Blah, blah, blah… there’s probably so much more similarity-wise to these two tales than I’ve mentioned: Both have the flowy red hair, they’re both beautiful adventurous goof balls, Julia’s dorky sidekick even dresses like flounder looks…

And then – naturally – there’s the fairytale ending we all know about, on a white horse (limo), Romeo and Juliet (which is cute because their names are really Richard and Julia) style, and all.

For a wee bit growing up in the 90’s (already being exposed to stuff like Madonna or the raunchy comedy that was Married With Children) was that visually – it’s half naked sexy chicks in your face for an hour and a half. When the two stories’ visual aspects and plot coalesce, you can’t help but start to see them as sort of similar. And when they both win the guy, well… duh.. you want to BE that chick. Who wouldn’t want to emulate the hooker or the hussy who lands a happy ending?

Take home message? Your story too can go from slutty to Cinderella with a rich and handsome stranger, provided that you stand on the right street corner, flash your purple seashell style bra, and then (if that doesn’t land you in multiple garbage bags under the bridge) you only have to change everything about your natural self to meet his high social echelon expectations.

But, look! I’m not alone. I mean, fast forward a couple decades and look at what my companion cohort group has spawned. Apparently, these days, a harlot with a heart is so championed by the moms of our “Sexy Baby” culture, that parents themselves are first in line to morph their tots into tarts:

*Sigh*

Reason #97493 I chose the “child-free” life. And the world makes sense again.

xoxo
<3~A