February 4, 2022

Dear Her Serene and Royal Highness Princess Amethyst Alexandra Augusta Araminta Adelaide Aurelia Anne, the Ordinary Princess,

When I was just a little girl, I discovered fantasy fiction. I read many books of fantasy and fairy tales, and I loved them all. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the next one and the next and the next. I daydreamed I was a brave knight battling dragons, a wizard casting magic spells, a witch cooking up daring schemes, a Queen ruling her nation. And sometimes, deep down inside of me, I dreamed of being a princess.

I didn’t like to daydream of being a princess too loudly or too seriously. For starters, there was a serious lack of interesting things for princesses to do in their stories at the time (not your fault, but you understand sitting in a tower when there were dragons to encounter held no interest for me). But I think the reason why I never wanted to pretend to be a princess was because that was a fantasy that was truly a fantasy, or at least I thought it to be.

You see, I didn’t look like a princess, not the princesses I was introduced to. I didn’t have blonde hair or blue eyes or a fair complexion. I didn’t have nice dresses or jewels or a big house. I didn’t go to a fancy school or have maids waiting on me. And I certainly didn’t have princes lining up to marry me! So, I couldn’t possibly be a princess. The evidence was right there in front of me, whereas I hadn’t faced a dragon yet, so there was no reason to believe I couldn’t defeat one, nor had I attempted to cast a spell, so perhaps I could have secret magic. But I already didn’t look the part of a princess, so the likelihood of me being one, even in pretend, was just too impossible for me to entertain.

Until I met you. The Ordinary Princess by M.M. Kaye. A princess gifted—not cursed—by her fairy godmother with ordinariness. A princess with brown hair and eyes, terrible at dancing, and that would much rather play in the dirt than entertain a prince. It was the first time I had ever seen myself on the page as anything other than a poor peasant’s daughter or random bystander. Here I was the main character, a princess, and I had adventures and snagged a prince that didn’t mind adventuring with me. I was astounded, amazed, and I read your story over and over and over again. Princess Amy. Princess Jenna. It wasn’t a fantasy daydream. It was real.

Seeing your story prompted me to seek out others, for there had to be more, I reasoned. It took some work, and some examples were less than complimentary, but I found the other brown-eyed princesses, and they joined this little club that you started, a club for ordinary princesses like us.

It took me a long time to find even more princesses that fit the other aspects of myself that weren’t very princess-like: princesses that didn’t want to wait for a prince, princesses that said what was on their mind, princesses that wore pants with pockets and maybe killed a little when necessary. But I found them because I knew they were out there, and when I couldn’t find them I made them up myself because I knew that they weren’t so far-fetched.

It’s important to see yourself in fiction. I didn’t believe that before. I thought the reason I had an imagination was so I didn’t have to see myself, so I could insert myself wherever I wanted. I thought it was too selfish to want to see someone exactly like me. Who was I, ordinary girl that I was, to demand to be in stories? Ordinary people didn’t belong there. But we do. I do. And I know this because of you.

There is a special place in my heart for the brown-eyed ordinary princesses. You carved it there decades ago and made it into something special. I’ve found a home there, and I hope that I can use it to help other children and adults find a home, too. Thank you.

I love you,

Jenna