Real Disney Princess: Max Klinger Wears the Crown

M*A*S*H was one of my favorite shows as a kid. I watched it religiously with my dad, like some unspoken ritual. No matter what else was going on, we parked it in front of the TV and let Hawkeye, Radar, and Klinger take us to that weird, bittersweet little corner of the Korean War.

It’s funny. As a kid, I didn’t realize how much M*A*S*H wasn’t really about the war. It was about surviving the insanity of it. The absurdity. The cruelty. And about trying to hang on to your humanity when the whole world was going to hell around you. Even now, as an adult, I’ll catch reruns and think... damn. This show had layers.

I liked all the characters and their interactions with one another but Max Klinger was my guy.

The cross-dressing antics? Hilarious. Absolutely. But they weren’t cheap laughs. Klinger wasn’t just a clown in a dress. The dude was running the longest con in television history: trying to get that Section 8 discharge. And he was fearless about it. Back in the 70s, cross-dressing on national TV wasn’t exactly mainstream comedy. But Klinger didn’t give a shit. He’d put on a wedding gown, high heels, a feathered hat, whatever it took. And Jamie Farr sold it. The guy probably wore more dresses on screen than most women will in a lifetime. And he made it work every single time.

The thing that always stuck with me, though? Klinger wasn’t a coward. He didn’t actually hate his country, and he wasn’t trying to dodge duty out of weakness. He just didn’t believe he belonged there, patching up bodies in a war that wasn’t his. And yet... every time it mattered, Klinger was right there. Helping. Fighting. Protecting his people. That’s the beauty of it—under all the silk and chiffon, Klinger had more balls than half the army.

Now here’s where it gets wild. M*A*S*H was owned by Fox. Fox got bought by Disney. You know what that means? Max Klinger is now, technically, a Disney Princess.

Let that sink in.

Sorry, Leia. I love you. Star Wars is awesome. You’re a badass. And yeah, you’ll always have a permanent seat in the Princess Hall of Fame for the whole Jabba bikini thing (because let’s not lie... even as kids, we noticed). But you’re second place now. Klinger takes my crown.

And honestly? I think he’d look fabulous in it.

Look, I’m not saying the other Disney princesses aren’t great in their own ways. But let’s be real. Cinderella? Lost a shoe at a party. Snow White? Took a sketchy apple from a stranger and passed out on the job. Ariel? Literally gave up her voice for a man she hadn’t even gone on a date with. Amateurs.

Klinger, on the other hand, worked a long game in hostile territory while dodging shrapnel and incoming fire. No magic fairy godmother. No enchanted woodland creatures. Just grit, a sense of humor, and an uncanny ability to rock a polka-dot skirt while arguing over supply shortages.

This whole realization hit me while I was watching Disney’s endless machine of sequels and remakes churn out yet another live-action reboot no one asked for. And I thought... where’s my Klinger reboot? Where’s Cinderella: Seoul Edition starring a wise-cracking guy in heels dodging mortar fire? Where’s The Princess and the MASH Unit?

You know what makes it even funnier? M*A*S*H wasn’t just slapstick. It was subversive as hell for its time. Underneath all the jokes and hijinks, the show was a thinly veiled commentary on the Vietnam War. They set it in Korea, but everybody watching in the 70s knew what it was really about. That’s why the humor hit so hard. The writers used comedy as a pressure valve for the real-world horrors people were seeing on their nightly news.

And Klinger? He embodied that contradiction perfectly. He’d make you laugh in a sequined dress one moment and gut-punch you with raw humanity the next. No Disney princess has ever had that kind of range.

If Disney wants to milk nostalgia, they’re sitting on a gold mine. Imagine the merchandising. Klinger in a ball gown Funko Pop. Kids in Klinger tiaras. Hell, I’d buy one.

But they won’t do it. Because this was back when TV writers had the guts to make characters like Klinger. When a sitcom could be funny, political, heartbreaking, and subversive all at the same time. Today’s studios wouldn’t touch him. Too messy. Too complicated. Too... human.

That’s the irony. The House of Mouse owns him, but they couldn’t create him if they tried.

So yeah. Klinger’s my favorite Disney Princess. Not just because it’s funny, but because he earned it. He didn’t need a fairy godmother or a handsome prince. He just needed a pair of heels, a little lipstick, and the stubbornness to survive hell on earth with his dignity intact.