The mothers spending £1,000 to turn their daughters into Disney Princesses

Swathed in yards of pink tulle, with crystal slippers peeping from under her petticoats, my six-year-old daughter is in heaven. Her eyes are glittering both with excitement and the sparkly eyeshadow that spills like pixie dust on to her cheeks.

With her dark hair festooned in ringlets and silk flowers, and bathed in the peachy light emanating from a huge crystal chandelier, she looks like a cross between Cinderella and a stick of candyfloss.

Imogen's beatific smile breaks only to squeal with pleasure as Marian, her 'fairy godmother in-waiting', approaches with a tiara. 'May all your dreams come true,' she sighs in her tinkly, sing-song voice as she places it, Coronation-style, upon Imogen's head. 'Now you are a real princess.'

Little princess: Thea's daughter Imogen is given a fairytale make-over at Harrods

I have to admit I am starting to feel a little queasy, and not just from the overwhelming clouds of hairspray drifting like mustard gas across the room.

Imogen and I are trying out the ultimate in girly grooming at the newly opened Disney 'Bibbidi Bobbidi' Boutique on the fourth floor of Harrods, Knightsbridge.

Parents will recognise the name of the boutique from the song sung by the Fairy Godmother in the Disney film of Cinderella, but all connections to ordinary family experiences end there.

For an eye-watering £1,000, little girls are treated to an hour of preening that would seem over the top for Liberace. They are also given an obscenely large goody bag including all the Disney princess dolls, a luxury travel case and a party dress guaranteed to make them the envy of the school party scene for as long as it fits.

Princess Imogen when off regal duty

The princess makeover has attracted a steady stream of young ladies, said to include a real princess or two, since it was launched before Christmas - though Harrods and Disney won't name names.

One of the fairy godmothers in waiting explained it thus: 'The sum of £1,000 means nothing to lots of people who come to Harrods.' Surveying the opulence, I see her point.

Just a browse through the children's clothing department during the sales demonstrates how much wealthy parents are prepared to spend on their children: Dolce & Gabbana shoes for £287, sparkly tights for pre-schoolers, reduced from £80 to £40.

I watch opened-mouthed as Imogen falls into a quasi-swoon of girlie bliss. What has happened to my tomboy daughter? She is absolutely loving this.

Five packages are on offer, costing £100 right up to the £1,000 Royal Experience, which includes the full makeover, framed photo, glittery shoes, tiara and dress.

From the moment you arrive at reception, complete with stained glass windows, your girl becomes the centre of the universe.

She is greeted by her own fairy-godmother in waiting - in this case, Marian - who hovers at the doors of the mock 'castle' before whisking her inside. We walk through a corridor designed to look like the walls of a medieval fortress, pausing to stop at the Magic Mirror. This reveals the curvaceous form of the Fairy Godmother herself, who tells Imogen to not just look like a princess but act like one, too.

And then, a few magic words later, we are ushered into the pink and gold boutique itself. I note with a raised eyebrow that there are crystals inlaid into the floor.

After slipping into her truly amazing pink dress, Imogen clambers up on her blue and gold high seat next to seven-year-old Maria.

Like me, Maria’s mother, Kristina, 32, a health and fitness specialist from Weston-Super-Mare in Somerset, has come with her husband, George, 39, to watch her daughter be transformed into a princess. Maria is Kristina's only daughter and she wants to spoil her while she can. 'It's great to give them the chance to become a princess while they're young enough to enjoy it.'

Sunita Patel, an accountant from North-West London and mother of Nerisa, four, waited two weeks for her appointment.

'I think £200 to £500 is reasonable to spend on a child - £1,000 does seem a lot but if you can afford it, why not?' she says.

And it seems there is no shortage of parents who can - although, in fairness, the 'budget' end seems very popular, too.

No expense spared: The Harrods boutique offers experiences from £100 to £1,000

I spy three-year-old Ellie having the £100 experience. Luckily, she is too young to care that she only gets a T-shirt and a tutu, but I can see her parents looking unhappily at our fancier princess ballgowns. 

I can't help thinking children shouldn't be exposed to an adult pecking order within their fantasy world

 

Her parents don't look rich, and they probably had to save hard to buy this fairytale for their child. I suddenly worry that Disney's magic is placing unfair pressure on parents to let children live out their dreams, even if it means spending money they don't have.

While Imogen is loving being top of the princess tree, it makes me uncomfortable: I can't help thinking children shouldn't be exposed to an adult pecking order within their fantasy world.

When I try to discuss this subject with one of the fairy godmothers-in-waiting, I'm met with a blank stare. They never step out of their carefully rehearsed roles.

Marian keeps breaking into song and spinning around the room as piped Disney film music fills the air. Imogen, meanwhile, treats this as nothing more than her due: I swear if the furniture started dancing and singing, she wouldn't bat an eye.

Everyone calls her Your Highness and hangs on her every word. During her makeover, she is very sure of what she wants: princess pink nail polish and, to my dismay, the gaudiest face paint imaginable.

Inspiration: Children can get their own fairy godmother for the day - if their parents can afford it

At the end of the experience, I have to admit Imogen does look amazing and I can't stop a smile of pride crossing my face. She nods regally as Marian asks her to confirm her royal oath - to be kind and gentle, loyal and trustworthy.

Then comes the best bit - Imogen making her grand exit down the Egyptian Escalator and through the Food Hall, with the elan of a teeny Audrey Hepburn.

The throng of shoppers parts like the Red Sea, and there is even a ripple of applause as she passes the shellfish counter.

How on Earth do you tell your daughter that she isn't really a princess when she decides she doesn't want to tidy her room any more?

All eyes are upon her for those few minutes as she makes her Royal Progress to Basil Street. Not even the ranks of Middle Eastern supercars can outshine her as she steps into a taxi, aided by a charmed Harrods concierge.

I can't help thinking the 'once in a lifetime experience' could be setting me up for a lifetime of trouble. How on Earth do you tell your daughter that she isn't really a princess when she decides she doesn't want to tidy her room any more?

And can it ever be right to blow the price of a small second-hand car on a few moments of happiness for a child? Will she now be disappointed with the treats we can usually afford, such as trips to the zoo?  

I would love to tell you Imogen lived up to all the solemn promises she made when she was crowned atop her velvet throne.

But no. When I gently suggested she share some of her treasures with her cousins, explaining she had no need for 11 princess dolls, she stamped her foot at the idea.

But then, perhaps even real princesses are allowed to have tantrums sometimes.