Simone

It starts with the theme from 1997’s Anastasia, which I recently discovered was an actual fake Disney movie, and not just some movie plot I’d made up in my head as a child to explain the mysteries of the Russian revolution. Themes from animated fairy tales are real goddamn catchy. Soon, I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of nostalgia, that disastrous pit of mushy-hearted distraction I so often find myself in. A Spotify playlist leads me into the realm of real Disney, where my ears are befriended by the music of Elton John and lyrics of Tim Rice: The Lion King. The Lion King was my favorite movie, because Simba sounded vaguely like Simone, and, like Simone wanted, Simba had a lot of fun.

I feel free and young and happy listening to him sing about wanting to be king. The song is careless and spunky. It’s an expression of childhood idealism, a childhood idealism I abandoned long ago.

I imagine being king is very similar to the first scene in Coming to America, except I know this is a false notion. Not because I’m defining the responsibility and status of a royal by a film, but because, in that part of the film, Eddie Murphy is not yet king.

Familiar with the ills of the world, and thus more familiar with the truths of reality, no Disney princess (or any princess) wants to be queen. They know power is burdened and boring and stressful. Queens have to wear uncomfortable dresses and make horribly difficult decisions and oversee their castle. They have to be proper. Few women want to be queens, and only because they want power. In Disney movies, those women are always wild and ugly and mean.

Just as it would to be a queen, being king probably sucks. But waiting to be a king, waiting to a king is like the first scene in Coming to America. Waiting to be king is singing to your girlfriend and bird nanny whilst pouncing about the African savannah.

I just want to wait to be king. ♦