![]() As a result, “you probably have a lot less white middle- to upper-class women in any of the other fandoms,” Mittermeier says. ![]() Given how expensive merch, park entry, and resort reservations are, with vacations costing thousands of dollars at a minimum, it requires a great deal of economic capital to devote oneself to the fandom. So it’s sort of all perpetuated in this sickly capitalistic cycle.”Īdding an extra layer of repulsion to outsiders, Disney adults’ ability to escape into this fantasy is almost entirely dependent on their ability to afford it. “It’s very commercialized and engineered and focus-grouped there’s a whole lot of work that goes into selling this sort of experience. candidate in sociology who studies memes and fandoms. “One of the reasons people find Disney adults so abject is that they decide to live in this world because they can, if they pay enough money or buy all the merch it almost signals a break from regular society or real life,” says Idil Galip, a Ph.D. With its emphasis on selling “magic moments” and “making dreams come true,” Disney sells a rather unsophisticated version of wish fulfillment to consumers, who willingly spend thousands of dollars on an authentic emotional experience that they know, at least on some level, isn’t really authentic at all. And if it doesn’t, it has the opposite effect,” says Sabrina Mittermeier, a Disney fan and postdoctoral researcher and lecturer of American cultural history at the University of Kassel in Germany. It’s a lot of escapism, and if that works for you, then it works very well. In my discussions with other Disney fans and experts, the word that kept coming up was, simply “cringe.” On its most basic level, it strikes outsiders as deeply embarrassing to throw oneself into a subculture ostensibly aimed at children - despite the fact that the Disney parks, as Walt Disney first conceived of them, were very much intended for people of all ages. Is this accurate? Do Disney adults truly signal the end of Western civilization? Or are they simply just mildly annoying stans with an insanely high threshold for expensive mixed drinks? To find out, and to learn where the concept of the “Disney adult” comes from in the first place, I talked to a slew of academics, internet culture and fandom experts, and, yes, Disney adults. To declare oneself a Disney fan in adulthood is to profess to being nothing less than an uncritical bubblehead ensconced in one’s own privilege, suspended in a state of permanent adolescence, raised on a diet of wasp-waisted princesses and talking-animal sidekicks and dancing candelabras, refusing to acknowledge the grim reality that dreams really don’t come true. A Disney adult is someone who lives and breathes the brand, buying limited-edition mouse ears and popcorn buckets and branded fitness trackers the moment they drop, constantly posting free advertisements for the park in the form of Cinderella’s Castle and Purple Wall selfies (so named for the violently mauve wall in Tomorrowland) whilst wearing rose-gold mouse ears. On the internet, however, being a Disney adult is nothing short of an embarrassment. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a $17 oversalted margarita. I’m one of those people who scream “Bob and weave! Bob and weave!” when trying to navigate my family through the swells of humanoid mozzarella sticks on Main Street, so we can make our 6:30 dinner reservation at the Mexico pavilion at EPCOT. And I’ve adopted a strategy of Germanic efficiency toward conquering the massive crowds and wait times at the U.S. I have strong opinions on various developments in the theme park ecosystem: the rebranding of Splash Mountain (staunchly pro!), the new exorbitantly priced Star Wars resort (con), the new Genie + ride reservation system (con, and which I feel more passionately about than most voting-reform legislation). I have seen all of the movies multiple times, and enjoy most of them at least a little bit. By all reasonable definitions and standards, I am a Disney Adult.
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