In the spring of 2025, Rachel Zegler, the 23-year-old star of Disney’s live-action Snow White, sat down for a rare, heartfelt interview on a small podcast, Dreamers & Doers, known for its intimate conversations. The buzz around Snow White had quieted—its $142.7 million box office take against a $350 million budget still stung, and Rachel had weathered storms of controversy over her casting, her politics, and her candid critiques of the 1937 original. But this conversation wasn’t about drama. Rachel, her voice warm and unguarded, wanted to share a story that meant the world to her: the moment she received her iconic Snow White dress—not the one she wore on screen, but a replica gifted by someone someone very special, a gesture that left her in tears and redefined her connection to the role.

Rachel began with a laugh, admitting she’d kept the story private until now. “I’ve been waiting to tell this,” she said, “because it’s not just about a dress—it’s about family, love, and why I fought so hard to be Snow White.” The dress, a meticulous recreation of her film costume with its blue bodice, red cape, and golden skirt, wasn’t from Disney or a designer. It came from her grandmother, Abuela Rosa, a 78-year-old seamstress from Bogotá, Colombia, who’d immigrated to the U.S. decades ago. “Abuela is the heart of our family,” Rachel said. “She’s the reason I’m here, and she’s the one who gave me Snow White.”

Rachel grew up in Clifton, New in New Jersey, in a tight-knit Colombian-American family where Abuela Rosa’s stories and songs filled their home. As a child, Rachel loved watching Disney’s Snow White on VHS, singing “Someday My Prince Will Come” while Abuela stitched dresses for neighbors. “She’d tell me Snow White was brave, kind, and never gave up,” Rachel recalled. “She’d say, ‘Mija, you’re like her—stronger than you know.’” When Rachel was cast as Snow White at 17, after her breakout in West Side Story, Abuela Rosa wept with pride. “She said it was destiny,” Rachel said, her voice catching.

But the casting wasn’t easy. Rachel faced vicious online hate for her Latina heritage—trolls cited Snow White’s “skin as white as snow” to argue she didn’t belong. Her comments calling the 1937 film “dated” and her pro-Palestine posts fueled more backlash, with critics like Megyn Kelly slamming her as ungrateful. Through it all, Abuela Rosa was her anchor. “She’d call me every night,” Rachel said. “She’d say, ‘They don’t know you, but I do. Keep shining.’”

In 2024, as Snow White filmed in London, Abuela Rosa quietly worked on a secret project. She’d saved for years, collecting fabric swatches and studying Rachel’s costume photos from set. A seamstress with a lifetime of skill, she spent months hand-stitching a replica of the Snow White dress, down to the puffed sleeves and embroidered details. “She didn’t tell anyone,” Rachel said. “Not even my mom knew.” When Rachel returned home for Christmas, Abuela invited her to the old apartment in Hackensack, where she’d raised Rachel’s mother. There, on a mannequin in the living room, was the dress.

“I walked in, and I just froze,” Rachel said. “It was perfect, like it came straight from the movie. I started bawling.” Abuela Rosa, frail but beaming, hugged her. “This is for you, mi princesa,” she said. “You’re my Snow White, always.” The dress wasn’t just fabric—it was a testament to Abuela’s sacrifices, from leaving Colombia to working late nights in a factory to give her family a better life. “She poured her heart into it,” Rachel said. “It felt like she was saying, ‘I see you. I believe in you.’”

Rachel wore the dress that night, twirling in the living room as Abuela sang “Heigh-Ho.” They laughed, cried, and took photos, Rachel’s curls bouncing under the red hairbow. “I felt like a kid again,” she said. “Like I could do anything.” She later wore it to a family party, where cousins cheered and Abuela told everyone, “My nieta is a star.” The dress now hangs in Rachel’s apartment, framed like art. “I’ll never wear it again,” she said. “It’s too precious. But I look at it every day, and it grounds me.”

The story hit X after Rachel shared a photo of her and Abuela with the dress, captioned, “My hero made this. Te amo, Abuela.” Fans flooded the post with love, one writing, “This is why Rachel’s Snow White matters—family and heart.” Another said, “Abuela Rosa is the real queen.” The story even reached Gal Gadot, Rachel’s co-star, who’d navigated her own tensions with Rachel during filming. Gal messaged her, “Your abuela is incredible. You’re lucky to have her.” It was a small but meaningful olive branch.

Rachel’s Snow White faced challenges—$142.7 million at the box office against a $350 million budget, mixed reviews, and CGI dwarf controversies. Rachel endured scrutiny for her activism and candor, with some blaming her for the film’s struggles. But Abuela’s gift reframed her perspective. “She taught me to stand tall,” Rachel said. “This dress reminds me who I am, no matter what they say.”

In May 2025, Rachel invited Abuela Rosa to a Snow White charity screening for underserved kids. When Rachel thanked her grandmother on stage, the crowd gave Abuela a standing ovation. “I’m just a seamstress,” Abuela said, shyly. “Rachel’s the magic.” Rachel shook her head, tears falling. “No, Abuela. You are.”

The dress, like Rachel’s journey, is a story of love, resilience, and heritage. It’s a reminder that behind every princess is a family who believed in her first. As Rachel told the podcast, “Abuela gave me more than a dress. She gave me my why.” And in sharing that, Rachel Zegler showed the world what it means to be a real-life Snow White.