Snow White is a 34C

A Casting Confidential

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

I was there for Snow White and felt like Cinderella--the version dressed and assembled by mice and woodland creatures, dizzying the undiscovered princess with earnest preening. 

Covered in people, I detached as a human being and embodied the two-dimensional woman I yearned to be: animated, calm, accommodating, and unaffected. I was used to strangers dressing me while I stared into nowhere; I was familiar with people touching me as a means to an end--I was in Disney entertainment, and people got me ready for parts each day. I was a dancer, chipmunk, penguin, and Pooh bear with a smile painted on my face--it didn't matter if the mask was on or not.  

Today was an internal princess casting call--only those in the family could attend, those who were selected and plucked from the cattle talent pool by management's perceived potential. 

"Your bone structure is like that of Maleficent."

"Your hairline resembles Poppins."

"I see Snow White's eyebrow's on you!" 

I felt special to be in the room. I felt wanted, selected, and unique, even more so than the day I got the initial entertainment job where I auditioned for eight straight hours, one of ten chosen out of two hundred that day. I would be an actress, and being a Disney princess seemed an excellent albeit alternative gateway to such. 

The energy was hopeful and distant as the team of inspectors began documenting their findings and reflections. They did this silently at first, and then one ran down the list with me out loud. 

"Honey."

The drawl signaled a disappointment in the body they found.  

"You need at least 140 on you, and you're what, maybe 115?"

I swallowed in disbelief. Did I hear that correctly? Are they questioning my tiny size, the thing I had worked so hard to reduce? 

"Here's how it goes. Do you know when a princess, Snow White, for instance, extends her arms into a hug?" 

I nodded.

"The elbow needs to dimple, like your mouth, to give off the illusion you're a cartoon. Yours don't do that; your elbows are pointy and sharp."

I crossed my arms and hugged my body, cupping my dangerous elbows in an embrace. 

"Secondly, your nose. It's not a ski-slope; it doesn't round up or fit your face. You'll need a nose job to go with that weight gain." 

My hand would travel from the edges of my elbow to the bridge of my nose. My fingers ran over the slight bump in an apology. 

"Lastly, your chest. You have no breasts. You'll need some work to fill out any of the costumes and dresses, no more than a C, though. Snow would be about a 34C if I had to guess."

My arms fell to my slides, perfect curtains for the subject and the moment. 

"I'm sorry, but unless you change those things I mentioned, we don't have room for you in princess."

They floated away, head held high and onto the next. 

I grabbed my things and went from the venue straight to my car. 

There was no way to fix this, no way to run from it except to hide. 

Leaving Disney and Dreams

I would move out of my apartment that day and load my car to travel back to my childhood home. I had exposed some things I could not change and, in that, felt irreversibly naked: my size, my nose, my breasts. If being an entertainer meant others would freely reveal my supposed flaws, speak like I was a product and not a person, suggest surgical modifications to book work, or stay in business in the business, I was out. 

I was hard on the outside and soft and fluid on the inside, like an egg. I could break, and it would be messy; I knew I must stay contained and in one piece. That meant making the majority move--that meant attending college, getting a job, and taking no chances. So I left Disney and my dreams on the same day. 

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

Twenty-four years later, I am standing on the Main Street curb at the Magic Kingdom. My adult children surround me; we wait for a break in the parade to cross into the air-conditioned gift shop before leaving our trip. The floats stop so that characters can sing and dance for the crowds, and I miss the gap.

There she is, the modern Snow White, waving at me from above, we lock eyes, and she holds my gaze as I scan her. I think back to that girl who wanted nothing more than this moment in reverse — the little woman I was, wished to be bigger and better, and more. And if I’m honest, the woman I am today wishes she was smaller and better, and more. The grass isn’t always greener; it’s meaner and unforgiving.

Why do I agonize over whatever body version I have to the degree that I do?

Why is my today never enough?

Living Happily Ever After

I'm no princess, but I do have my castle. A place of my own built with my hard work, my creativity, and my success. Maybe this is part of my dream, where I manage hard things independently, the one where I find self-love through trial and error. 

I wave back to the princess on the float, noticing my arms now dimple when outstretched. I look down at my feet, and the view is interrupted by my 36 C breast protrusion. 

The parade moves on, and so do I.  

This flash was originally published on The Candid Cuppa on Medium