Why I don’t do Disney vacations

I wrote this post almost four years ago while on a journalism field trip on Disney property, but these thoughts are still my thoughts today. 

The Happiest Place on Earth

Or so they say. Whoever “they” are.

This slogan (or catchphrase, or whatever you want to call it) lures thousands of people through Disney’s gates each day with promises of practical heaven on earth and a day spent surrounded by fulfilled childhood dreams.

But Disney, my friends, is a lie.

Before you raise your arms in protest and call me a cynic, I must inform you: I am a Florida kid.

Any kid that grows up in Florida has a certain disillusionment about Disney. While children in most other states dream of visiting the giant castle of wonderment, we’ve gone to Disney several times a year since we can remember.

Florida kids remember when Pirates of the Caribbean didn’t have a crazy life-like version of Johnny Depp in it, and Hollywood Studios will always be MGM to us, no matter what anyone says. If our parents didn’t take us to Disney at least once a year as children, we still went with someone else’s family or a school field trip of some sort. If someone asked most of us (on pain of death, matey, argh!) how many times we’d been to Disney in our lives, I would venture to guess that most of us couldn’t answer.

Now, there are some Florida kids who grew up in “Disney Families.” These are the people who get annual passes each year and have a timeshare on Disney property. The parks are their home away from home and they can tell you how to get practically anywhere on Disney transportation.

This post is not for those people.

Take all of this into consideration when I say that Disney is a damned lie.

Getting into a Disney park is a feat that should not be taken on by the faint of heart. You will have to walk longer than you can possibly imagine, and you will take no less than two modes of transportation, and one of them is probably a boat. On said forms of transportation will be happy and smiling children. Imprint their joyous faces into your mind right now and try to remember them in three hours when they’re screaming next to you at lunch. If they are yours, then I am sorry, there’s nothing you can do about it except hope the sight of the next character or ride will placate your overly tired, sugar filled toddler. Which it probably will, because that’s the magic of Disney.

Once you have forked over three days worth of pay/ a small fortune/ the GDP of a small nation your money for a ticket, you will enter the park and realize that because you did not spend three months scheduling your Disney experience and aren’t part of a “Disney Family,” you have no idea what the hell to do in the park or how to make the most of your day. At this point you have two choices: 1) freak out or 2) embrace the day and just walk around.

I always choose option #2, which is obviously the right choice (and an even better decision if you happen to be in Epcot and there’s a plethora of food and drink). Choosing option #2 means you will spend the day meandering around the wonderment of Disney, which will leave you dehydrated, tired, and in need of a nap, deep tissue massage, and possibly a lobotomy.

As a childless, relatively young adult, it would stand to reason that I could make it through a day of Disney in good physical and mental condition. In reality, I am ready to go home before I’ve even made it into the gate.

So why do we keep going? Why do we torture our bodies, test our patience and sanity, and burn giant holes in our bank accounts (hello, $7 latte, I am talking to you)?

Disney is beautiful. It is unmatched in decor and nostalgia. All it takes is the first three melodic bars of Under the Sea, and I am immediately five years old again pretending to be a mermaid in my bathtub. In my youth I was Ariel, Belle, and Jasmine for Halloween, but I pretended to be these women nearly every day. Even in adulthood, I listen to Disney music often, and it instantly puts me in a good mood. Though the feminist in me wants to scream from the rooftops about the inherent female helplessness and sexism rampant in Disney stories, the kid in me can’t help but squeal at the sight of a giant yellow ball gown.

And that, friends, is why 17 million people a year visit. Because Walt Disney was a marketing genius who knew one thing to be sure: to get lifelong customers, you have to get them young. It is a knowledge that he also shared with Ray Kroc, the guy who basically made McDonald’s, and it is the reason why you can’t smell french fries and not pine for them.

As I sit here in the lobby of the Dolphin Hotel (which is actually not a dolphin, but a fish– a topic for another day) while my students spend the day learning about journalism, it is easy to say that Disney is terrible and overly-hyped, and not worth it. But would I bring my children, if I decide to have them, here? Probably.

I would bring them here because that’s what you do. Because Disney is childhood, and as a child it probably was my happiest place on earth. Yes, that is because I was blissfully unaware of what my mother and teachers went through to take me here, but some of my best childhood memories took place because of Disney. I would be a hypocrite to deny my own children that same joy for the sake of my comfort (and sanity).

But will I, a childless, 30-something go to Disney? Not unless it is free, which it often is because I am a high school teacher who gets to chaperone field trips.

And now that two days have passed and I’ve vented a thousand words on its insanity, I sort of miss it a little bit.

Thanks, Walt.