Disney's Grooming Problem

I know it, you know it, even some nearsighted little kid sitting too close to the screen knows it: Disney has a serious grooming problem. Don’t believe me? Just look at their history, objectively and honestly, assessing exactly where these cartoonish arbiters of good taste have lost the plot. 

Mickey Mouse, for all his seemingly rodential tendencies, lacks the avaricious nature and scruffiness of a typical house mouse. Neither he, nor his domestic life partner (mice can’t legally marry in the state of Florida) are strangers to the generous application of hair product, used to smooth out any rough locks. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen a mouse use mousse.

Now picture the big blue Genie from Aladdin. Here’s a guy stuck in a lamp for about 10,000 years, collecting dust inside a stuffy antique, and yet he exits without so much as a single hair out of place. He skips the combing and goes straight to the crooning. Somehow, he’s been diligently shaving inside, watching his whiskers, waiting for the perfectly timed rub of a long-anticipated, much-appreciated release.

Cruella de Vil wears canine coats to complement her inimitable sense of transgressive fashion. Even though “wet dog” is something feared and known the world-over, she perseveres and looks sharp despite it. This is not an unkempt individual sullied by dissonant barking from the fur averse.

And although Donald Duck goes through life pantsless and speech-impaired, he remains a well-coiffed canard, without a split end disrupting his migratory pattern. Flying does a number on visibility, namely hair, but not for D.D. He’s quacking his way to primping bliss.   

This is all to say that what Disney does in the realm of grooming, has helped cultivate a wildly unrealistic depiction of the world. It’s one thing to have a talking dog or a talking mouse or a talking candlestick, but quite another to have each possess the perfectionism and attention to detail of Anna Wintour. From Tinker Bell’s complexion to Simba’s majestic mane, grooming is an obvious, highly destructive obsession with Disney.

Even the aptly named “Goofy” has the visage of someone all too familiar with the trappings of a personal stylist. Who are we kidding? Dogs lick themselves to freshen up. The seven dwarves are comically cute without the expected comb-overs of characters their age. Why else would someone wear a ridiculously pointy hat if not to cover up an obvious, unbecoming bald spot?

Of course, there are a few examples critics point to as proof not every Disney character is the model of grace and style. Bambi’s mother only had a “bad hair day” after getting her head blown off. She’s the exception though, not the rule.

I didn’t make this up and neither did Governor DeSantis. What I’m calling for is a series of unkempt, messy characters to proliferate Disney’s vast fictional universe. Children admire these cartoons. My taste for lobster wasn’t born in the briny fog of a New England shanty, but after repeated viewings of The Little Mermaid. The disheveled haven’t always gotten their due. Though they have made significant strides over the years. 

There are many examples for Disney to model their future, more sensitive projects on. Einstein and counter cultural icon Scooby Doo were both known for their trademark shagginess. And say what you will about The Unabomber, but the man wasn’t a groomer.