Cinderella, as you may or may not be aware, was one of those irritating girls you just want to strangle with jealousy. The kind of girl clad in rags with her face soot streaked and looking every bit as radiant as any bride. The kind of girl who hid behind her ugly sisters and her cruel stepmother, scrubbing away at the gold-plated fireplace like she was one of the servants. Don’t be fooled! Don’t pity her! For Cinderella was nothing more than a martyr.
Granted, a martyr with outrageous natural beauty, but let’s look through her tear-filled eyes and her downcast – but oh-so-hard-working – sweeping, and lay our hands upon her devious plan.
It’s something of a coincidence that only the ugliest of people would be her siblings, and only the cruellest of Cruella’s would be her stepmother. Cinder’s plan wouldn’t be quite as effective if her sister’s were somewhat plain, but with excessively attractive personalities. And if her stepmother was a kind, sweet, middle-aged woman with a round belly and an oven full of cakes, well then one wouldn’t feel quite so sympathetic towards the poorly-clothed beauty asked to partake in the household chores.
It is not, after all, an unreasonable request. ‘Cinders, darling, give the hall a sweep, would you?’ Nothing different to any parent’s desperate need to offload some of the burden of housekeeping. Cinderella was nothing but a complainer, and no one likes complainers.
Did she appreciate the fact she’d been blessed with sisters? She should try life if she’d been given two handsome brothers, bringing home beautiful girls every night. I wonder how her pretty pauper’s face would hold up then.
Her sisters were ugly. Thus, they had no men and were reduced to taking it in turns to wear trousers to accompany one another to a dance. And yet, she was jealous? No pleasing some people.
All this nonsense when she finally gets to go the ball – oh my, I’ll just have to travel by glass, diamond-encrusted coach, there’s no possible other way for my little peasant feet to travel. I couldn’t walk! Not with my beautiful new clothing that just happened to fall onto my perfect little shoulders! No, no, I’m still humble at heart; I just can’t be seen dead on anything that isn’t worth ten times as much as whatever my sister’s arrive on. Sibling rivalry? No excuse for greed, my dear.
And even if you do believe that she was nothing but a poor, mistreated, lonely soul admist materialism, ugliness and brutality, you cannot disagree that she pushed boundaries by getting home late. I mean, here’s a girl that has never experienced luxury (supposedly) and yet there she was, granted jewels and riches to give her the night of her life, and she can’t even stick to her curfew! It’s irresponsible, is what it is.

And excuse me if I find it just a teensy bit unbelievable that a man she dances with for an hour or two manages to fall in love with her to the extent he searches the land to find her again. Personally, I find such a man too weak to earn the title of one. It’s also just a smidge unlikely that a girl practically chained to her mop bucket for most of her life would have the slightest inkling of how to talk to a man, let alone impress him with her womanly charm.
Which brings me to my next point – if Cinderella was so very dashing and charismatic, what does she think she’s doing falling for the first guy that comes along? Call me old fashioned, but in my day we got to know a person before giving them our shoes to follow us home!
But of course, leaving her shoe behind was most definitely not purposefully done. One drops one’s shoe at many times in one’s life, most irritatingly at the most inconvenient times – such as running from the prince before he realises the shocking truth; oh gosh! She doesn’t really own a big puffy dress!!
And, actually, Cinders was in such a terrible rush because her magic was running out – her carriage turning back into a pumpkin and whatnot...so why didn’t the shoe change back as well? RIDDLE ME THAT.
So what aimed to be a heart-warming fairy-tale that embraced the poorer civilians into the privileges of the gold-wearing, Porsche-driving community of snobs failed entirely, instead creating the tale of an ungrateful stepdaughter who proved nothing but skin-deep beauty is the only way to find true love. My, don’t I feel inspired.