Drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra

I wanted to say something about Carrie Fisher, and that was before I even knew about Debbie Reynolds' passing. One of my favourite stories about Carrie has been circulating around the internet ever since she passed, and I see no reason not to include it here, if only to have it for myself. She told this anecdote concerning the white dress she wore on the first day of filming:

George comes up to me the first day of filming and he takes one look at the dress and says, "You can't wear a bra under that dress."

So, I say, "Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

And he says, "Because... there's no underwear in space."

I promise you this is true, and he says it with such conviction, too! Like he had been to space and looked around and didn't see any bras or panties or briefs.

"What happens is, you go to space and become weightless. So far so good, right? But then your body expands but your bra doesn't—so you get strangled by your own bra."

Now I think that this would make for a fantastic obit—so I tell my younger friends that no matter how I go, I want it reported that I drowned in moonlight, strangled my own bra.

So in accordance with her own wishes, that is how I'm going to remember her death: not cardiac arrest, but drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra.

People on social media have been very loud about how we should remember her as General Organna, or for all the brilliant writing and script doctoring and acting she did aside from that, and not as Princess Leia. The regular media all seem desperately keen on showing her in the "slave Leia" golden bikini, and there is no middle ground, it seems.

The thing is, Carrie Fisher was absolutely brilliant, and passionate. She was an outspoken mental health activist long before it was socially acceptable to talk about bipolar disorder in public. She survived drug addiction and living with mental illness for years, and she made it to age 60 by becoming unapologetic and giving no fucks about people's opinions of her. That didn't start after Star Wars, though. Her mother had already provided an example for her, and she then blazed her own trails. There are photographs of the Star Wars scripts she annotated, adding her own savvy corrections to improve the films.

I grew up on Star Wars. I grew up admiring Luke Skywalker and wanting to be Han Solo (mostly so I'd know what Chewie was saying), but it was the only woman in the films that I identified with the most, and that was Princess Leia. I grew up knowing that little girls should aspire to be princesses, that our lot in life was pretty dresses and hairdos and marrying princes and living happily ever after. Princess Leia, though, taught me that princesses could be fierce and badass and lead rebellions. I was at the perfect age to understand that Leia was bucking against everything we'd been shown. She was beautiful and vulnerable, yes, but she was also tough as nails, and she choked to death the crime lord who had imprisoned her against her will and forced her to wear clothes that she would never have even thought of putting on herself. I had seen Leia Organna's choice of garments, and they were sturdy and practical, common sense articles for someone who might be plunged into battle at any moment. Even her ceremonial garb was simple and white, another nod to practicality in spite of the colour.

No one was surprised that she became a general in the sequels. Not a single person, not even the most backward and sexist Star Wars fan out there.

So, no, I won't remember only General Organna. I'm going to remember Princess Leia, who showed me what all princesses could and should be: loving, independent, leaders, and strong with the Force. Leia stood up to Darth Vader without blinking, and slew her captor with the very chains with which he'd tried to enslave her.

I'm also going to remember Carrie Fisher, who showed me that a life beyond bipolar was not only possible, but desirable. That there was a tough but doable future beyond a diagnosis, and that you could live unapologetically and survive it. Do I live as she did? No, because we're vastly different people. But that doesn't mean I didn't learn many valuable lessons from her. I also learned that, if you're going to be a woman and be brash and outspoken and give absolutely no fucks about what people think, then most of the media are only going to treat you nicely after you're dead (if you're famous, that is).

I'm also probably going to cry all the way through Episode VIII. RIP, Carrie, and thank you for everything you did for generations of girls.