Time to Break the Bonds of Royal Servitude
I pity the (soon to be) royal baby.
That nine-pound glob of goo currently swimming around blissfully next to the intestines of a brunette goddess is doomed. From its very moment of conception, it doesn’t stand a chance of living and breathing as a free soul. Ever.
Sure, the so-called “royal” will be surrounded by immeasurable wealth and fame during its entire life. Its every whim — from cradle to grave — will be tended to by an army of servants, nannies, butlers, and sycophants. It will be pampered like no one else on earth. As if this is all a “good” thing.
On the contrary. Instead of enjoying a fairy-tale life as some might imagine, I see it more as a nightmare, a dream from which there is no waking up. Fact is, the royal baby is ultimately destined to play a rather tragic role — one that it neither asks for nor should be mandated to assume. It shall forever be reduced to supplying boredom-killing fodder for the daily tabloids — and via those tawdry pages soon to be discarded along with tomorrow’s trash — entertainment and amusement for tens of millions of dull and debased rubber-necking voyeurs. Once born, it’s little more than a prized show dog incubated by the royal puppy mill.
That baby will never have a chance to chose its own path. All major decisions will have already been made. His or her schools are already predestined. His career path has been ordained. Friends and associates will be screened and scrutinized. Every waking hour of his miserable life will be scripted and set to a tidy schedule that satisfies others. Some life.
And so for this baby soon to be, its next century will be spent hopelessly trying to live up to the expectations of a perverse nest of half-wits called the royal family, not to mention a hundred millions citizens of the empire and a billion more tabloid readers worldwide who want every salacious detail of the royal’s life. If it falls down on the ski slopes, that’s news the following day. If it gets drunk in Las Vegas, as one of the royals recently did just as many young people do, it creates a national scandal. If it begs for even a moment of privacy — dare I say humanity — those pleas will be utterly ignored by the paparazzi eager to make a buck at the expense of common decency.
And don’t insist for a second that these children and the people born into this whacked-out circus of celebrity culture ask for it. They do not. They are in fact born into servitude, destined to wear the golden handcuffs of obligation forever to perpetuating what is the lunacy of the royal family.
I wonder what Queen Elizabeth would say privately if she was asked what kind of life she would have preferred if ever given a real choice for herself? Who knows? Perhaps the Queen is so self-absorbed in her royal cocoon, that she’s completely incapable of even imagining what living a “normal” life might be like. Maybe she never stood a chance. But given what we know about royalty and their often-scandalous behavior for centuries — history clearly shows most royals either feel like prisoners or eventually become so narcissistic that they lose all sense of perspective. Princess Di and Henry VIII provide us with some very interesting bookends into royal happiness, don’t they?
Let’s hope this one turns out different from all the others. Let’s hope he or she will somehow make a clean break away from all the madness and dissolve the divisions of class by birthright. Let’s hope that once this baby turns 18, it will announce “fuck you all, now I’m going to live my life on my own terms — not yours.”
What would be even better is creating some sense of preemptive destiny for this child. Here’s hoping the two royal parents do something truly extraordinary, by ending the unnecessary masquerade dating back to the Dark Ages that is aristocracy — a thoroughly absurd tradition not based on any individual merit, but simply by being born to a specific couple in a certain pecking order.
Ending the madness — now that would be a bold action fitting a real king and queen.