
In the early 1990s, the world fell in love with the adorable Mara Wilson, the child actor known for playing the precocious little girl in family classics like Mrs. Doubtfire and Miracle on 34th Street.
The young star, who turned 37 on July 24, seemed poised for success but as she grew older, she stopped being “cute” and disappeared from the big screen.
“Hollywood was burned out on me,” she says, adding that “if you’re not cute anymore, if you’re not beautiful, then you are worthless.
In 1993, five-year-old Mara Wilson stole the hearts of millions of fans when she starred as Robin Williams’ youngest child in Mrs. Doubtfire.
The California-born star had previously appeared in commercials when she received the invitation to star in one of the biggest-grossing comedies in Hollywood history.
“My parents were proud, but they kept me grounded. If I ever said something like, ‘I’m the greatest!’ my mother would remind me, ‘You’re just an actor. You’re just a kid,’” Wilson, now 37, said.
After her big screen debut, she won the role of Susan Walker – the same role played by Natalie Wood in 1947 – in 1994’s Miracle on 34th Street.
In an essay for the Guardian, Wilson writes of her audition, “I read my lines for the production team and told them I didn’t believe in Santa Claus.” Referencing the Oscar-winning actor who played her mom in Mrs. Doubtfire, she continues, “but I did believe in the tooth fairy and had named mine after Sally Field.”
‘Most unhappy’
Next, Wilson played the magical girl in 1996’s Matilda, starring alongside Danny DeVito and his real-life wife Rhea Perlman.
It was also the same year her mother, Suzie, lost her battle with breast cancer.
“I didn’t really know who I was…There was who I was before that, and who I was after that. She was like this omnipresent thing in my life,” Wilson says of the deep grief she experienced after losing her mother. She adds, “I found it kind of overwhelming. Most of the time, I just wanted to be a normal kid, especially after my mother died.”
The young girl was exhausted and when she was “very famous,” she says she “was the most unhappy.”
When she was 11, she begrudgingly played her last major role in the 2000 fantasy adventure film Thomas and the Magic Railroad. “The characters were too young. At 11, I had a visceral reaction to [the] script…Ugh, I thought. How cute,” she tells the Guardian.
‘Burned out’
But her exit from Hollywood wasn’t only her decision.
As a young teenager, the roles weren’t coming in for Wilson, who was going through puberty and outgrowing the “cute.”
She was “just another weird, nerdy, loud girl with bad teeth and bad hair, whose bra strap was always showing.”
“At 13, no one had called me cute or mentioned the way I looked in years, at least not in a positive way,” she says.
Wilson was forced to deal with the pressures of fame and the challenges of transitioning to adulthood in the public eye. Her changing image had a profound effect on her.
“I had this Hollywood idea that if you’re not cute anymore, if you’re not beautiful, then you are worthless. Because I directly tied that to the demise of my career. Even though I was sort of burned out on it, and Hollywood was burned out on me, it still doesn’t feel good to be rejected.”
Mara as the writer
Wilson, now a writer, authored her first book “Where Am I Now? True Stories of Girlhood and Accidental Fame,” in 2016.
The book discusses “everything from what she learned about sex on the set of Melrose Place, to discovering in adolescence that she was no longer ‘cute’ enough for Hollywood, these essays chart her journey from accidental fame to relative (but happy) obscurity.”
She also wrote “Good Girls Don’t” a memoir that examines her life as a child actor living up to expectations.
“Being cute just made me miserable,” she writes in her essay for the Guardian. “I had always thought it would be me giving up acting, not the other way around.”
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The husband who frequently disparaged his wife’s culinary skills was profoundly shaken by a covert message tucked into his sandwich
Throughout our relationship, my husband habitually treated me with disrespect, but a recent incident pushed me to my limit. Fueled by frustration, I crafted a memorable lesson that ultimately led to the dissolution of our marriage.
On what appeared to be an ordinary weekend filled with routine chores and work commitments, my husband’s playful yet often harsh humor escalated inappropriateness. Over our two-year marriage, his constant belittlement had become a painful norm. He criticized everything from my housekeeping to my appearance, frequently berating my culinary efforts.
His comments on my cooking were particularly cutting. “You really can’t do anything right, can you? You can’t even cook properly,” he would half-joke, his words laced with seriousness. Recently, these comments had become intolerably hurtful.
Last weekend, while preparing dinner in hopes of easing his criticisms, I decided to make pasta. It was not just any pasta, but a rich, meaty sauce with vegetables that required hours of simmering. My husband, preoccupied with a work deadline, paid little attention as I meticulously cooked.
When dinner was ready, I called him to the table, hoping for a brief respite from our ongoing disputes over my cooking. However, his response was immediate and scornful. “What kind of garbage did you cook up tonight?” he sneered, not even bothering to look at the meal before insulting it.
His words were the final straw. Overwhelmed by the constant degradation and the stress of my nursing job, I snapped. The pot of sauce, a symbol of my efforts, crashed to the floor, splattering the rug with my frustration. I declared sharply, “Well, now there’s nothing for dinner, and I better not hear that word from you again!”
Rather than empathizing with my distress, he fixated on the ruined rug. “Jenna, that’s an expensive rug! It was just a joke!” he exclaimed, attempting to downplay the situation. His trivializing of my feelings only deepened my resolve.
Perhaps it was the accumulation of insults or just the strain of a rough day, but I left without a word, seeking solace with takeout food and a friend’s company. My friend found humor in the situation, but Jimmy, my husband, was irate, bombarding me with messages trying to explain that his derogatory comment was part of a viral TikTok trend.
His excuses did little to mend the emotional damage his words had caused. The disrespect, masked as humor, was more than I could bear. Despite his continued pleas, I had reached my breaking point.
Resolved to enact my revenge, I devised a plan. That night, after returning home to find Jimmy asleep, I accessed his phone, gathering his pin codes and passwords.
The next morning, I greeted him with feigned kindness, which he met with sarcasm. Despite his coldness, I prepared him a special breakfast, which, to my surprise, he enjoyed. As he prepared for work, I packed him a sandwich with a hidden note inside: “Real garbage, see you never.”
With my belongings packed, I awaited the unfolding of my plan. Shortly after he discovered the note at work, Jimmy’s desperate messages began, but I was unmoved. The note’s other side bore a grim warning about his career, hinting at a devastating revelation.
My final act of revenge involved sending an email from his account to his company, exposing his fraudulent activities. His subsequent apologies were met with silence from me.
The journey through this ordeal was arduous but necessary. I divorced Jimmy, freeing myself from the cycle of disrespect. My parting gift was more than a mere note; it was a reflection of the consequences of his actions.
As I embarked on a new chapter, free from the shadow of devaluation, I recognized the true measure of self-worth. The dignity I preserved by leaving a situation that failed to honor my value marked the beginning of a promising future, one rich with respect, love, and self-appreciation.
This story serves as a prelude to another complex tale from the “AITA” subreddit, involving a woman, her husband, and his insensitive friend, Austin. Their story dives into the nuances of relationship dynamics, empathy, and the emotional toll of infertility, highlighting the importance of support and understanding within a partnership.
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