Screen & Sound · The Lori Diaries
Disney's Cinderella turned ten just a few days ago, which gave me the perfect excuse to revisit the blue dress, the grand staircase, the romantic music, and a prince who looks like Richard Madden. A decade later, I'm still completely willing to believe in a little fairy-tale magic. But watching it again made me wonder about one part of the story I hadn't thought much about before: what happens after the glass slipper fits?
It's one of those films I can appreciate simply for how beautiful it is. The costumes. The colours. The ballroom. Lily James looking as though she was born to walk down that staircase in a blue gown.
And Cate Blanchett as Lady Tremaine, being so magnificently unpleasant that even her wardrobe seems to have a superiority complex.
Kenneth Branagh's film doesn't try to reinvent the fairy tale. It lets it be romantic, old-fashioned, and completely enchanted by its own magic. I like that about it.
I also think it's interesting how differently the same story can feel depending on when you watch it.
When you're younger, the glass slipper is proof that the prince has found the girl he's been looking for. When you're older, you might find yourself wondering how comfortable those shoes are, whether she's had a chance to get to know him properly, and what on earth she's going to do with a palace full of people she has never met.
Romance is lovely.
But I have questions.
He Liked Her Before the Dress, and That Matters
One detail I particularly like about the 2015 film is that Ella and Kit meet before the ball.
She's riding through the woods. He introduces himself as an apprentice at the palace rather than revealing that he's the prince. They talk, she challenges him, and there's a little spark between them.
No blue gown. No royal invitation. No spectacular entrance designed to make everyone stop and stare.
He likes her before he knows how she looks in glass slippers.
I think that's a much nicer beginning to a love story than the idea that someone finally recognises your worth after you've transformed into the most beautiful woman in the room.
Not that I object to a beautiful dress. I would happily accept the dress.
I just wouldn't want it to be the reason someone decided I was worth knowing.
That feels relevant beyond fairy tales. It's easy to get caught up in the idea that we'll become more lovable after we've changed something about ourselves. When we look different. Earn more. Feel more confident. Finally become the impressive version of ourselves we've been imagining.
But the person you're trying so hard to turn into is not the only version of you who deserves affection.
Ella doesn't need the gown to become interesting. The gown simply makes her entrance a little more memorable.
The Glass Slipper Is a Terrible Dating Strategy
I understand the appeal of the glass slipper. There's something wonderfully romantic about the idea of a person who fits into your life so perfectly that nobody else could possibly take their place.
Unfortunately, I have bought enough actual shoes to know that a perfect fit is rarely guaranteed.
Sometimes something looks beautiful in the shop and starts hurting after ten minutes. Sometimes you convince yourself you can make it work because you've already decided you love it. Sometimes you keep wearing it long after it becomes clear that you should have chosen something else.
I feel like there's a dating metaphor in there somewhere.
The idea of “the one” can be comforting. I like the thought of meeting someone with whom things feel easy and natural. I don't think there's anything embarrassing about wanting that.
What I find less convincing is the idea that the right relationship never requires effort.
Real people have different habits, fears, expectations, and occasionally very strong opinions about where the dishwasher should be loaded. Getting along beautifully at a ball doesn't tell you how you'll handle a difficult conversation on an ordinary Wednesday.
Chemistry matters. So does curiosity. So does finding out whether you can be honest with someone when you're not both having the most magical evening of your lives.
Maybe the right person isn't someone who fits into every part of your life without a single adjustment. Maybe it's someone who wants to build a life with you, even when things aren't quite so effortless.
“Be Kind” Is Lovely Advice. It Needs a Little Company.
The line that stays with me most from this version of Cinderella is her mother's advice: “Have courage and be kind.”
I've always liked it. Especially the fact that courage and kindness belong in the same sentence.
But Ella's story also raises a question I think is worth asking: what happens when the people around you keep taking advantage of your kindness?
Lady Tremaine and her daughters are cruel to her. They make her work, humiliate her, and try to stop her from having a life outside their household. Ella keeps trying to honour the values her parents taught her, even as her circumstances become harder to bear.
I understand why that matters to the film. Her kindness is part of who she is, and she refuses to let other people's behaviour turn her into someone she doesn't want to become.
But I wouldn't want anyone watching to take away the idea that being a good person means enduring bad treatment indefinitely.
You can be kind and say no. You can understand why someone behaves badly and still decide that you don't want to be around them. You can forgive a person without inviting them back into your life.
In fact, I think the courage part of that famous advice deserves just as much attention as the kindness.
Sometimes courage looks like standing up to someone. Sometimes it looks like asking for help. Sometimes it means admitting that a situation isn't going to change just because you keep being nice.
Kindness is a beautiful quality.
It shouldn't cost you your entire life.
Actually, I Wouldn't Mind a Fairy Godmother
There's a popular way of retelling Cinderella for adults that goes something like this: forget the prince, forget the fairy godmother, save yourself, and become the heroine of your own story.
I understand the sentiment. I think it's important to make choices for ourselves rather than waiting for life to change on our behalf.
But I don't think we need to remove everybody else from the story to make Ella strong.
She's been treated terribly. She's grieving her parents. She wants to go to the ball and has been deliberately prevented from doing so. Then someone arrives who can help her.
I'm not sure why accepting that help should make her any less brave.
We all need people sometimes. Friends who tell us to apply for the job. Someone who listens when we don't know what to do next. A person who reminds us that our current circumstances aren't the only circumstances we'll ever have.
Most fairy godmothers don't arrive with a magic wand and turn a pumpkin into a carriage.
Mine would probably tell me to stop overthinking, put on the dress I already own, and leave the house before I talk myself out of going.
Honestly, that would still be extremely useful.
And What Happens After Midnight?
The ending of Cinderella is designed to give us exactly what we've been waiting for. The slipper fits. Ella and Kit find each other. The cruel stepfamily loses its power over her. The wedding follows, and we can close the story knowing that everything has turned out beautifully.
I still love a happy ending.
But as an adult, I've become much more interested in what comes after it.
What does Ella's new life look like once the excitement settles? How does she feel in a palace after spending so long in a house where she had so little freedom? Does she miss the home where she grew up? How do she and Kit get to know each other beyond the woods and the ballroom?
The film doesn't need to answer those questions. It's a fairy tale, not a documentary about the first year of royal marriage.
But real relationships don't end when two people choose each other. That's where the much less photogenic part begins: getting to know one another, making plans, changing them, apologising when necessary, and deciding what kind of life you actually want to share.
A wedding can be wonderful. A grand romantic gesture can be unforgettable.
Neither can do the everyday work of loving someone for you.
I don't want to outgrow Cinderella. I still want the magic, the dress, the dance, and the possibility that love can arrive when you least expect it.
I just don't want to spend my life treating everything before that moment as a waiting room.
There's a whole life to live before the ball, and there would be one to live after it. Friends to love. Places to go. Work to do. A home to make your own. Ordinary days that might not look like much in a film but still deserve your attention.
And if a wonderful person comes along and wants to share those days with you? I'd still find that romantic. Perhaps even more romantic than a glass slipper.
Maybe happily ever after isn't the moment someone finally chooses you. Maybe it's what the two of you keep choosing, long after the music stops and the beautiful shoes come off.
Do you still love a fairy-tale romance, or do you find yourself watching these stories a little differently now? I'd love to know which Disney film has changed for you as you've got older.
xoxo,
Lori
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