I have three older sisters. Yes, I’m the baby boy of a female heavy family and yes, they smothered me, a lot. “Whoa, what was that like” is usually the gut response. The short answer is it was tough, but now it’s good. In my late adolescent years, I truly appreciated my sisters’ presence in my life. They taught me things that nobody else could have taught me and they did so in a way that was unique to them. But man, I used to pray—yes, actually pray—for a brother. All I wanted was another male figure to talk to me, to play games with me, to watch movies with me.
Like many other children, I watched a lot of television. Perhaps it was my “escape” from the suffocating clutches of my sisters; who knows? We had a small box TV in the kitchen. It was must have been 11 by 11 inches and was probably no bigger than any standard black and white clock on the wall. I used to drag a high stool from the family room and position it directly in front of the TV. So, if I had too many girly cooties in my life, what would you assume my favorite childhood movie would be? G.I. Jo? Peter Pan? Star Wars? Nope. I watched Mulan, and I watched it a lot. When I went over to my grandma’s house, I insisted on watching Mulan, a Disney movie with a female protagonist about female empowerment that, on many levels, shattered gender stereotypes. At the time, was I aware of this? Of course not. It had enough action and excitement in it to not get made fun of on the playground. After all, it was about Chinese fighters taking on a group of Huns, essentially nomad terrorists who strived to undermine greater China. There were clear bad guys (with a badass leader named Shan Yu) and clear good guys. There were enormous battles, fight scenes, an avalanche, and even a talking miniature dragon. Sounds pretty cool to me.
Taking a step back, why was Mulan so appealing? It clearly had enough action, but there was a girl as the main character, that had to deter boys from watching it. Taking a closer look at Mulan, and any progressive Disney movie, while there might be many progressive aspects of a given movie, these liberal adjustments can be seen through a larger traditional lens. In short, sometimes Disney gets certain parts right, but not the entire movie. Take Mulan. While it was incredible to watch Mulan, a woman who had no place in battle, defy the expectations of her society, she had to do so as a man! Throughout the entire movie she had to disguise her true identity because it was not suitable for a woman to do what a man could do. Women and men were not equal. That doesn’t sound gender stereotype shattering to me.
Mulan pushes back against traditional gender roles in Disney movies and in society and is a shining light among older Disney movies. Mulan is disguised as a progressive Disney movie; in reality, it portrays a woman who needs to change herself in order to confine to the expectations set by men. This dichotomy rings true when taking a closer look at the climactic song “I’ll Make a Man Out of You.” As I child, I loved this song and sang it all the time. It tells the story of an underdog woman who has been struggling to “fit in” with the men. The other men in her unit aren’t exactly the ideal fighter, but she is conveyed as the weak link among the unit. She is about to give up when she climbs a wooden pole using only two gold medallions, something that nobody else in the unit is able to achieve. Once she accomplishes this feet, the rest follows. Suddenly, her and the rest of the unit become elite soldiers and “transform into men.”
After thinking about this song almost 20 years after it was written, I am still drawn to the song’s emotion. I want to scream “Hell yeah!” at the end of the song because Mulan does it; she proves to herself that she can do it. She doesn’t need to be a man to fit in with the men, but does she prove to everyone that women can do it? Not quite. On the other hand, this song puts “being a man” into a narrow, concrete box. And when I look closely at the lyrics, it leaves me in a bit of a nauseous state. It’s disgusting. Why must she, and everyone, prescribe to being a man. What does it even mean to be a man? Be a man. We must be swift as a coursing river. Be a man. With all the force of a great typhoon. Be a man. With all the strength of a raging fire. Mysterious as the dark side of the moon. It’s like Mulan is shoving what it means to be a man down your throat. Be a man, be a man, be a man. Enough already.
To be a man, according to the lyrics, you must be swift, you must have force, you must have strength, you must be mysterious. What kind of message does this send to children? This sends a distressingly narrow and traditional message: boys must be strong. In order to become a man, you must mirror the stereotypical man.
And if you cannot do that, then you're a spineless, pale, pathetic lot. If you aren’t a man, according to this song, then you’re pathetic and spineless. And if you are a boy, you need to eventually become a man. You can bet before we're through Mister, I'll make a man out of youHard work, brutal training, hardship, fighting. That is what will make a man out of you. This is what will make you toughen up.
After thinking about this song, and the film as a whole, in a contemporary perspective, I personally resonate with Mulan’s struggle. In the beginning of the movie, she sings a song about identity entitled, “Reflection.” In this song, she speaks about how she wants to be on the battlefield fighting, but she can’t. That isn’t what society will let her do. When will my reflection show who I am, inside? Both in the beginning and immediately after “I’ll Make a Man Out of You,” Mulan doesn’t feel like she can relate to a man, to a soldier. She feels pressured into being a woman who wears makeup and wears dresses.
She simply wants the opportunity to take a step outside of the box that society raised her in.
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I grew up in two bubbles. The first is a bubble that shielded me from issues like racism, sexism, and homophobia. It is my body. The second is a bubble that guarded me from social issues, minorities, and national problems. It is my physical environment, which prevented a sense consciousness for others outside of my communities. These bubbles thinned as I left home and came to Ann Arbor, perhaps a bubble in its own way. I became more exposed to diverse people and the issues tied to them. These bubbles dramatically popped when Donald Trump was elected to be the 45th president of the United States of America.
I remember the night vividly. It was a night filled with arguments, projections, and hesitations, but it was the following day, November 8th, that brought true emotions to the surface. On that day it felt like my physical characteristics were at the center of my being. My whiteness overcame me, coloring my face. My masculinity dominated the sidewalk, dwarfing it before my every step. My hetero-normativity lay at the center of my thoughts. My socioeconomic status reeked on my clothing like the scent of a fresh cigarette. Scared and troubled faces walked by me; I tried to reciprocate but could not. I lacked the background and the understanding.
That evening, I attended a rally on the diag. There were a few others there who were like me, but we were the vast minority. There, I—the majority—was the minority. I—the normal—was the abnormal. I applauded at inspirational statements, but my clapping seemed softer than others. I nodded my head at personal stories, but I had no business agreeing with what I could not relate. Which affected me more? Was it the thought of Trump as president or the identity crisis that it ignited? In the moment, my sense was that it was a combination of the two.
Now, as I sit two weeks into 2017, I am not angry that Trump was elected president. I do not blame America for reaching this point; rather, I question what led to this shift in society, how are minority groups—such as women—affected, and why did this moment trigger an identity conflict that penetrated my upbringing? In exploring these questions about national and personal identity, while some may flip through the history books or analyze the progression of political climate, I propose a different approach: Disney films. By juxtaposing Disney films with societal change and social issues, there is much to be learned about the American dynamics between minorities and majorities.
For Peggy Orenstein, Disney movies certainly play an active role in America’s social issues, but for Orenstein, this hits much closer to home. In Orenstein’s book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, she writes about Disney films, but does so with her own daughter in mind. How will her daughter digest old and contemporary Disney princess films? In other words, she comments how the misogyny in older Disney films will perpetuate modern day gender stereotypes and even debates whether she should allow her daughter to see newer Disney movies such as Tangled. Basically, has Disney evolved enough or are they still stuck in the dark ages? For newer Disney movies, how deep do these films go in terms of conveying a social message for families? Do they provide young boys and girls with positive lessons such as women empowerment and inclusion?