Adorno Could Have Saved Me $35

    Recently, I took my three-year-old daughter to Disneyland. I was excited because this girl LOVES all things sparkles and princesses. The day we arrived in California and the night before we went to the park, we walked through Downtown Disney. I had promised my daughter she could pick out one souvenir on our trip. As we walked through the giant Disney store, she was enamored by all of her favorite characters turned into adorable little plushies. After agonizing deliberation, she chose Pua, the pig from Moana.

    For those without a three-year-old daughter who may not be as well-versed in Disney princess movies, let me explain who Pua is. Pua is probably the most irrelevant character in any movie ever. This pig doesn’t sing, he doesn’t talk, he doesn’t even go on the big adventure with Moana. All he does is follow Moana around at the beginning of the movie. According to ChatGPT, I spent $35 on a stuffed pig that appears for 4.5 minutes in a 107-minute film—less than 5%. Here I am, baffled that my daughter even knows this character’s name, let alone wants him as her only souvenir. You know who isn’t surprised? Disney and Adorno.

    Adorno argues that the culture industry treats cultural products not as art, but as commodities designed purely for profit. Thinking back on me shelling out $35 for a pig with absolutely zero relevance to the Moana plot, it’s hard not to see his point. Disney is undeniably a money-making machine. They understand their audience and market their products with precision. As Disney created Moana, I honestly imagine that one of the purposes of Pua’s existence was to sell merchandise after the film’s release. He is cute, soft, and easily detachable from the narrative—perfect for a toy shelf. Pua is not alone in this strategy; Disney is full of “irrelevant” but adorable characters that seem designed with merchandise in mind (I’m looking at you, fire salamander from Frozen 2).

    If Adorno were evaluating Moana, he would likely argue that this kind of commodification strips the film of its artistic value altogether. From that perspective, the emotional beats, music, and characters are secondary to profit, and any meaning audiences find is manufactured and illusory. However, does cultural commodification automatically take away a movie’s place as art? I don’t think it does. It seems to me that two things can be true at once.

    Disney absolutely planned Moana with its cute characters, catchy songs, and distinctive costumes to maximize profit and merchandise sales. At the same time, I can’t deny that the movie still holds genuine emotional and artistic value. The first time I watched Moana, I teared up at Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “I Am Moana.” I connected with Moana’s emotional struggle and was inspired by her resilience and determination. These feelings didn’t disappear simply because Disney wanted to sell plush pigs alongside them. While we can (and should) have critical conversations about how little control we have over media consumption, the emotional impact of pop culture cannot be dismissed. Manufactured or not, these moments still move us. My daughter didn’t choose Pua because Disney’s marketing team told her to—she chose him because, to her, he mattered. Despite its commodification, pop culture retains value because of the lasting emotional connections it creates. Even if Pua exists to be sold, the joy he brought my daughter—and the meaning I found in Moana—suggest that art can survive, and even thrive, within the culture industry.