2016 is the year that said to 1943, “Now you’re really gonna see something.”
I’d be crying about my ideal princess, if I wasn’t so tired, in front of other people, and overwhelmed.
I was called “Princess Lea” in high school, and I owned it. Leia was a badass teenage princess. She dragged Vader, lied like a carpet to Grand Moff Tarkin, blasted her way out of jail, rescued men (the Sulk is Strong with the Skywalker males LUKE, KYLO), and beat bad guys. Then Leia became an admirable general; tough, careworn, kind, and grieving. Leia’s journey, Carrie Fisher’s journey, has see-sawed from young and addled (Carrie Fisher was addled, not Princess Leia) to fierce and wise, and giving no fucks about men bitching that she wasn’t a kid anymore.
Carrie Fisher could write, too, true and funny stories. My best friend Lisa read me all of Wishful Drinking in a marathon phone call because once she started, she couldn’t stop reading it, and I kept asking for another chapter until the last page.
I understand Carrie Fisher’s and the Princess/Admiral life arc so well. Any girl who grew up alongside them does.