I noticed today in retrieving my People from the mailbox that every magazine, newspaper and tabloid is still abuzz about the Royal Wedding. Two weeks have passed, and yet the time gone by has seemingly increased America’s interest in the majestic affair. Perfect pictures grace glossy covers and accompany headlines boasting, “From Waity Katie to Princess Catherine,” “Pippa: The Sister who Sparkled,” and (what I find to be the most hysterical), “When will Kate Middleton Get Pregnant!?” The Royal Wedding of 2011 has been hailed the event of the century. And, if loving the event was wrong, I don’t want to be right!
All joking aside, it was a beautiful day. Kate looked magnificent in McQueen. Daylight glistened through the stain glassed windows of Westminster Abbey as the bride took her 4-minute stride down the aisle. Harry looked dapper in black, and William seemed perfectly blissful. Pippa, wondrous in white, was every bride’s dream of a lady in waiting. Even the Queen herself seemed sunnier than normal.
After spending my own fair share of time perusing RW coverage, I began to wonder, what is our fascination with this marriage? Could it be that most of us are relieved to see joyful news on television and in the newspaper? Could it be that, as Americans, a wedding abroad is just plain fun to watch? Might it be that after the sad ending to Diana’s marriage, privacy and life, that it was nice to witness this pair tying the knot so connected and in love? Probably.
But perhaps the real reason we revel in these fanciful moments is because we have secretly dreamt of being princesses since we were little girls – of having the wardrobe and the castle and the life.
Maybe growing up changes that.
We spend our twenties building our lives, so often forgetting that we get to choose our fairytale. And the funny thing is, being a princess is probably not all it’s cracked up to be.
Here’s the truth. Most of us will never have to deal with the media during the biggest moments of our lives. We won’t need to worry about our siblings being exposed, or our vacations being interrupted, or our lives being under constant scrutiny. Pictures of us lounging in bathing suits will probably never hit the newsstands (and I am particularly grateful for that).
So, since we’re not princesses, we may never stand on a balcony in front of thousands cheering for a kiss. But we’ll also never have to sit down with reporters later asking why, exactly, the kiss was so short.
And, if we’re lucky, we’ll snag our own version of a prince, who – not because of a crowd, or an expectation, or a photo, but just because – asks for just one more.