“
In 2012,
Disney released a line of villain dolls depicting Ursula, the
classically full-figured Sea Witch from The Little Mermaid as a
designer, couture, size zero. From one rolling midsection and
tameless will to another, my sweet Ursula — I cannot
imagine the sick flip of your stomach, to see your image
dissected, chins shaved, waist cinched, your silhouette robbed
of every ounce of delicious curve. To find after two decades of
existence that your evil was more worthy of preservation than
the iconic body that held you, you — big lady, were the
only Disney character who ever looked like me. And while you
may not have had the waistline of a princess I'll be
godd.amned if you
didn't have the swagger of a Queen. The way you sashayed
around your lair in full makeup, black flamenco number cut so
low in the back that your every twist and shimmy displayed the
gorgeous tuck of your rolls... You made back-fat look
f.ucking
s.exy. You
made living in this body a little less like a curse. I wonder
how they told you, did they sit you down over tea, delicately
frosted cakes lining your chipped porcelain? Explain it as a
marketing technique, a vehicle to make you more palatable to a
culture that demands perfection? I hope you crushed the
f.ucking
teapot in the clench of your fist. I hope you grew a thousand
feet tall and drowned them in the whirlpool of your rage. I
wish I could have watched you suck the voices from their tiny,
breakable throats. But I know you wept, I know you licked the
icing from each and every cake, I know you broke, like a slow
burn. Wasn't it enough that they made you a witch? That you
were already beyond the bounds of their franchise royalty? They
expected little girls to recoil from the wicked inside your
laugh, when instead, they worshiped your honesty. Ursula, I
don't want you cut down into bite-sized pieces. You
weren't easy to swallow for a reason. I want you larger
than life, flaming red lips, black flamenco dress — I
want the thick of your tentacles, your conjurer's hands,
the jiggle of your ample bust. I want you dressed to the nines
on a runway, I want every little girl to see a heroine in a
size 24. Ursula, Queen of the Ocean, you were never just a
witch to me. You were perfect — every pound, every inch,
every swell, perfect. And I pity the poor, unfortunate soul who
would dare paint you as anything less.
—MELISSA MAY-DUNN, DEAR
URSULA.