Can we just take a minute to talk about the fact that Elsa is twenty-one years old. Like, if she lived in America today she would spend Saturday nights bar-hopping with eight of her closest friends, she’d be too young to rent a car, maybe she would still get carded going into rated R movies, but here she is, she’s just be crowned queen, she struggles with depression, anxiety, and childhood trauma, she’s been without any sort of guidance for three years and hasn’t spoken to anyone other than her parents in thirteen, she has this sister who she loves more than anything in the world and whom she feels like she has to take care of but she can’t go anywhere near her, she has to govern a country when she probably doesn’t even know how people work anymore, and she has these ice powers that she can’t control, not to mention she’s been told she was a danger to society for most of her life. She’s this twenty-one year old kid with the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Like, one person can’t feel all that. They’d explode.
Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn’t mean we all have.