In defense of the Disney Adult
For too long derision of the Disney Adult has gone on unchecked. The world has been all too eager to sneer at the oblivious saccharine happiness of the woman – for it is always a woman – who dares to freely enjoy the most magical place on earth. It's easy to place the blame for the ills of modernity on this mouse-ear-bedecked scapegoat, for she embodies all the cringing mannerisms of the aging millennial, from their too-insistent sincerity to their generational refusal to put away childish things long after childhood has passed them by. Despite sharing their normative age and sex, I too have always counted myself among the haters, defining myself against type. “Not like other girls,” I said. “Not like other millennials.” Until this week.