"Dear Walt Disney:
Thankful first of all for the prodigies of stories that you and your company have created. They have managed to make the most hated animal, the face behind the most recognized love stories.
And that if that is quite an achievement. They have rescued beauty from marshes and towers, from horsemen and princesses. They have made hunchbacked heroes and endless royalty stories.
But this writing is not to praise you.
Unsuspecting since childhood, I have revered the image of hemiplegic loves, dependent on social contracts and anodyne of reason, superfluous and one-dimensional that, as a poet, leave me a sting when trying to imitate him.
That is why I have come to address some questions of semantics and populism. Of cultism, and what really pleases the masses. From changing generations, and from what your stories are reflecting.
What the hell happens with the parents?
And to avoid the plurality of the binomial (and other rubbish of inclusive language), I will refer specifically to men.
Where the hell do we have our head?!
It is not just that we always manage to get rid of our women, but that we are going to pay attention to the carnality with the worst stepmother. And in fatherhood, zero. Neither talk nor mention.
Is it really about Cinderella?
That with all the power, with all the grace, and all the charisma of the fairy godmother, was not made of a Mazeratti, a friend of the nearest town and the song of the moment, to live moments of madness and zero lucidity. Or use magic to put an end to the bullying that plagued her, or the issue of poverty, or her slavery. Abolish differences, assert her rights.
But it's a small thing! Let's make a pretty dress, and wear it at the prince's party.
At least a favor was done in his image (although in the name of the prince, and for a limited time).
Not like Fiona who sold her tower, her family and beauty, all because of a man who stayed as an ogre. And I understand that Dreamswork is not Disney, but there my problem is strengthened.
We sell schemes of love, that of love have nothing. Men to steed, and women imprisoned. Evil mothers-in-law, women leaving up to the voice for bleachers of a bleached smile. I am tired of the love stories that deify insipid symbolism of what we would like; we praise the Beauties and their love for the beasts.
Child, if your love is a beast, that beast does not really love you!
Value yourself and grow, that in a tower you do not deserve to be locked up.
We need stories of princesses who are self-reliant, with their struggles and failures, with their fears and battles. With stretch marks, and why not? In love, but under real standards, and not in fairy tales.
Because love is and doesn't need ornaments. Neither wonders or explanations.
In real life, love is not found in birds that sing and in mice that spin and weave.
The beauty of man is not to travel the kingdom to fit a shoe but to learn to love you with or without it.
Don't believe that we are incomplete fruits in search of our complement, but orange ready and willing to be happy with another (or without them).
Because in that lies the true certainty of love: to value yourself in your failures, and then to find grace in the efforts of that person who, with all his errant being, shares that value for you, and for himself.
Then love is, and it does not need our ornaments.
That's how we give the fairy godmother rest, and let's let the dreams blossom. Well...
Here the
magic
begins
with you.
Sincerely, a dreamer".
It says: "here the magic begins with you".
The photographs are completely original.
The model is Paola A. Barrios.