By all conventional standards, I am a “Disney adult.” Growing up an hour away from the gates of Magic Kingdom, Disney World was practically my backyard. Fridays meant packed bags and a full car as my family drove to Orlando straight after school. The troubles of our young lives melted away as we frolicked around the “most magical place on earth.” We twirled with princesses, indulged in various rodent-shaped delicacies, and were even hand-picked to participate in a now-defunct Jedi training experience. I lost my first tooth while in line for Space Mountain, threw a massive tantrum after dropping my Mickey ice cream, and met one of my best friends at a RunDisney race.
As we got older, our growth wasn’t marked by pencil lines on the wall but by our progress towards rides’ height requirements. Impatiently, we stuffed tissues into our shoes and teased our hair to its fullest potential. But soon enough, I surpassed all of Disney’s litmus tests , and it wasn’t just because I was a beastly, tall child. It’s as though time had whisked me away from the days of being an innocent “Disney child” to the realm of the vilified “Disney adult.” But as I matured, the childlike wonder never waned. I can still stroll down Main Street USA each day and be awestruck. I now take a moment to marvel at the intricate artistry of the park, the subtle nuances hidden in its corners, the ecstatic family behind me on their inaugural visit. I often find myself plopping down on a bench and people-watching, enjoying the ambiance, and reminiscing on memories with my family. I ride an attraction I’ve been on dozens of times before, not for the novelty, but for the comfort of something familiar.
As a 21-year-old adult, the internet has deemed me “cringe.” To be a Disney adult is to be a frivolous bubblehead nestled in the cocoon of their own privilege. Social media is awash with viral videos of influencers falling to their knees at the sight of Cinderella’s castle, proudly flaunting massive merchandise collections, and tattooing Walt Disney shrines onto their backs. At a basic level, this disdain for the Disney adult comes from a pervasive discomfort towards adults indulging in hobbies. The societal expectation for adults to prioritize work and familial obligations above all else makes us forget that adults can still revel in youthful exuberance and carefree whimsy. I mean, if weekly pub trivia or indulging in a half bottle of wine while binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy is considered a more acceptable hobby than being a Disney adult, then so be it. But I personally fail to see any harm in a mature, functional individual engaging in interests beyond the realm of their daily life. At its core, being a Disney adult challenges society’s narrow and conformist view of hobbies. From “Disneybounding,” which allows for creative and artistic expression through clothing reminiscent of characters, to RunDisney marathon weekends that create a space for both runners and Disney enthusiasts—the Disney community has space for everyone. And, contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to spend your life’s savings to be part of the Disney community. While keyboard warriors continue to bash Disney adults online, the fandom persits in celebrating Disney enchantment and embracing the inner child—a sentiment I believe is valuable for everyone.
So, despite the judgments and eye-rolls from the digital realm, I refuse to relinquish my love for all things Disney. Maybe it’s “cringe,” but as I make the treacherous walk up Science Hill at 9 a.m., I find myself longing to simply be idle in Magic Kingdom, pretzel in hand and mouse ears perched on my head. While I can never go back to my childhood, I can escape to this world of wonder with others who embrace the idea that you never truly grow up. Although my Disney escapades may look a bit different as I’ve grown, they continue to provide a comforting embrace akin to the taste of a nostalgic meal or the melodies of an old-timey tune, and I will always proudly label myself a “Disney adult.”