Hans Christian Andersen was a weird guy. Honestly, he was. He was tall, awkward, and perpetually felt like an outsider in Danish high society. That feeling—that stinging, raw sense of not belonging—is exactly why The Little Mermaid princess isn't just a cartoon character with a shell bra. She’s a monument to unrequited love and the agony of trying to be something you aren't.
Most people think they know the story. They don't.
If your only exposure to this character is the 1989 Disney film or the 2023 live-action remake, you’re missing the actual point of the original 1837 fairy tale. The real story is brutal. It’s a story about physical pain, spiritual longing, and a girl who literally dissolves into sea foam because she couldn't make a guy love her back. It’s dark. It’s beautiful. And it’s way more relevant to our modern lives than we’d like to admit.
The Brutal Reality of the Original Little Mermaid Princess
Let’s talk about the feet. In the Disney version, Ariel gets legs, stumbles around a bit, and eventually learns to dance. In Andersen’s original text, every single step the mermaid takes feels like she is walking on sharp knives or needles. Imagine that. She’s dancing for the Prince, looking graceful and ethereal, while her feet are metaphorically—and literally, in the text—bleeding.
She did it for a soul.
That’s the part the movies usually gloss over. The mermaid didn't just want the Prince because he was cute; she wanted an immortal soul. Merfolk in Andersen’s world live for 300 years, but when they die, they just turn into foam. Humans die, but their souls live on forever. The Little Mermaid princess was undergoing a spiritual crisis as much as a romantic one. She was willing to endure "the sharpest knives" for a chance at eternity.
The deal with the Sea Witch wasn't just about her voice, either. It was a total sacrifice of identity. The Witch tells her straight up: if the Prince marries someone else, the mermaid’s heart will break and she’ll die the very next morning. No pressure, right?
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Why the "Disney-fication" Changed Everything
We have to look at 1989. It was a massive year for animation. Ron Clements and John Musker took this depressing Danish tragedy and turned it into a Broadway-style musical. This is where the name "Ariel" comes from. Before the movie, she was just "the little mermaid."
Disney needed a hero with agency.
In the book, the mermaid is somewhat passive, driven by a desperate, quiet longing. In the movie, Ariel is a hoarder of "human stuff" and a rebellious teenager. It shifted the narrative from a story about the soul to a story about father-daughter conflict and teenage independence. It worked. It saved Disney Animation. But it also scrubbed away the specific, jagged edges of Andersen’s sadness.
Critics like Roger Ebert noted at the time that Ariel was the first Disney princess who truly thought and acted for herself. She wasn't waiting for a prince; she was actively seeking a way into his world before they even met. But there’s a trade-off. By giving her the "happily ever after," we lose the lesson of the original: sometimes, you give up everything for someone, and they still choose someone else.
The Real-Life Inspiration: Edvard Collin
Historical scholars, including those at the Hans Christian Andersen Museum in Odense, often point to a real-life heartbreak that fueled the story. Andersen was deeply in love with a man named Edvard Collin.
When Collin married a woman, Andersen wrote The Little Mermaid as a sort of coded letter. He felt like the mermaid—a creature from another world who couldn't communicate his true feelings and had to watch his "Prince" marry someone else.
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When you read the story through that lens, the physical pain of her legs and the loss of her voice become a devastating metaphor for the queer experience in the 19th century. She is "muted" because her love is forbidden or impossible to express.
The Evolution of the Little Mermaid Princess in Modern Media
The 2023 reimagining with Halle Bailey brought the character back into the cultural zeitgeist with a vengeance. It’s interesting how people get so protective over the "look" of a fictional sea creature.
The backlash was intense, but it highlighted how much the Little Mermaid princess has become a universal archetype. She represents the "Other." Whether that "Otherness" is defined by race, disability, or just feeling like a weirdo in your own hometown, the core of the character remains the same: the desire to cross a boundary that society says you shouldn't.
Modern interpretations are starting to lean back into the darker roots. We see this in:
- Professional "mermaiding" subcultures where people spend thousands on silicone tails to escape reality.
- Darker YA novels like To Kill a Kingdom by Alexandra Christo.
- The 1913 bronze statue in Copenhagen which has been decapitated and spray-painted multiple times—a reflection of the character’s complicated status as a national icon.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
The ending of the original tale is actually "happier" than most people realize, though still not a wedding. After the Prince marries the princess from the neighboring kingdom, the mermaid’s sisters bring her a magical dagger. If she kills the Prince and lets his blood drip on her feet, she can become a mermaid again and live out her 300 years.
She chooses not to.
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She throws the dagger into the waves and prepares to dissolve. But because she strove so hard for a soul, she doesn't turn into foam. She becomes a "daughter of the air." She gets a chance to earn an immortal soul through 300 years of good deeds. It’s a middle ground. It’s not the guy, but it’s not nothingness either.
Actionable Takeaways for Fans and Creators
If you're looking to engage with the Little Mermaid princess beyond just rewatching the movies, there are ways to experience the depth of this character more fully.
First, read the original 1837 text. It’s short. You can find it for free online via the Hans Christian Andersen Center. Pay attention to the descriptions of the underwater garden and the specific way the Witch describes the transformation. It’s visceral.
Second, if you're a writer or artist, look at the concept of "The Silent Protagonist." The mermaid’s lack of voice is her defining trait in the second half of the story. How do you communicate desire when your primary tool of expression is taken away? That’s the ultimate creative challenge.
Finally, acknowledge the "pain" in the story. We live in a world that prizes instant gratification and "happily ever afters." The mermaid teaches us about the dignity of sacrifice and the reality that sometimes, despite our best efforts, we don't get the girl or the guy. And that’s okay. You can still become a "daughter of the air."
Visit the statue in Copenhagen if you ever get the chance, but be warned: she’s smaller than you think. Much like the character herself, she doesn't demand space. She just sits there, looking at the water, caught between two worlds.
To truly understand the Little Mermaid princess, stop looking for the happy ending and start looking at the courage it took for her to step onto those knives in the first place. That’s where the real story lives. It’s in the struggle, not the wedding.