Down the Tubes Productions

I am a Star Wars fan.

So there. 

I have finally admitted it publicly. 

I was born in the 70s, grew up in the 80s, had a time for myself in the 90s, and have mostly pulled it together in the 2000s. Over the years, I have secretly kept tucked away under wraps my sheer love for all things Star Wars. I have rarely revealed this to others, choosing instead to demure when all the things that orbit in a galaxy far, far away crept its way into conversation. I bit back my opinions on whether Han shot first (he did) and never shared my irrational fears of the Sand People (they still make me anxious) – and for years, I could never quite put my finger on why I kept my fandom hidden away. 

I think I have finally figured out why I have held back my passion for hyperspace flights and cuddly Ewoks. I first became aware of Star Wars during a very strict period where certain toys and interests were divided down assigned gender lines. There were boy things and girl things – and Star Wars belonged exclusively to the boy’s camp. I was expected to be content with play vacuums, delicate dolls, and the prospect of playing “dress up” with jeweled gowns and shoes adorned with pink marabou feathers. I was expected to be dainty, polite, and “grossed out” by worms and mudpies. I was expected to be dreaming of my Prince Charming and planning my dream wedding in my mind while I played with Barbies and made up storylines with my stuffed animals. 

It was unexpected that I would hate all of it. 

I despised dolls, tea parties, and experimenting with makeup. I relished in recreating smackdowns with my brothers’ Wrestlemania figures. I played kickball at recess instead of making beaded friendship pins with my classmates. I jumped eagerly at being chosen for the job of beating the erasers together outside and welcomed getting smothered in chalk dust. I certainly never sat around and dreamt of my wedding, and I definitely was not about to wait around for Prince Charming to show up and sweep me off my feet. Instead, I thought about how I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up, all of the places I wanted to travel, and how many books I wanted to publish. I remember having a strong feeling of how I wanted to design my life, but didn’t have the words for it that I do now – I wanted to live a good story. 

I wanted to be Princess Leia. 

I identified with her so strongly from the first scene in “A New Hope” – she looked like me with her dark hair, dark eyes, and unruly hair bound into cinnamon buns that framed her face. (My hair was just unruly, forever tamed into ponytails and braids as opposed to the now iconic circular coif). Princess Leia had a clear goal in mind, and did whatever was needed to reach it, inspiring me to set lofty goals for myself with an expectation that they would be met. Princess Leia never hesitated to speak her truth. As a child with hearing loss, I made sure to use my own voice to ensure that I got the accommodations and modifications I deserved to access a world not designed with my needs in mind. I drew inspiration from her strength in never backing down from those that tried to diminish her, and fought to hold space for myself through elementary school when I was on the receiving end of abject cruelty from ignorant children that mocked my disability. I loved that she was a fighter, much like I was, clawing back at oppression while I clawed my way to my own personal achievements in spite of my hearing loss. For the first time, in her example, I owned my own power and understood that there was more than one way to be feminine.

 I abhorred the frilly, and was finally given permission to embrace the fierce.