To some, the sight of Prince George wearing a suit and tie at Wembley on Sunday night was simply too much. The Mum mob on Twitter roared ‘Who dresses a child like that?’ presumably hoping that the future King would be wearing a football shirt and shorts like the rest of the child population lined up way past their bedtime on Sunday to watch England lose. For the little Prince to wear the apparel of power and privilege was seen as an act of cruelty, a scheme designed by his parents to set him apart from other children. Let kids be kids, the reasoning goes. Let them wear whatever they like. Far be it from parents to impose any kind of sartorial authority over their offspring.
As a mother to a small child, I am familiar with the psychodrama that comes with getting a minor dressed every morning. Any clothes I proffer from the great tangled skein of my daughter’s chest of drawers are almost invariably refused. Sometimes this refusal is predicated on the grounds of comfort or climate, at other times the refusal is more opaque: ‘Those socks are wonky’ or ‘the trousers are like dragons’. At all times it is a battle of wills. When she finally emerges into the light of day it is not unusual for her to be wearing a combination of different lengths and styles the effect of which is somewhere between Mr Magnolia and Elmer the Elephant. Clothes are emotional and, in the young mind, they must surely represent some form of identity-formation.
The Duchess of Cambridge– for presumably it is her who decides – has always been careful to evoke the formality of the Victorian nursery with her children’s clothes.
Whilst I try to meet my daughter half-way on the issue, there are times when I put my foot down. When we go to Church, for example. Children have come a long way from the ‘Sunday best’ attitude to clothing where, once a week they would be funneled into various dresses, suits, and smart shoes to go and sit in a cold pew to listen to a sermon. But I believe there is value in insisting on a more formal mode of dress to match a more formal atmosphere. In wearing a dress and shoes (not trainers or worse, Crocs) on Sunday an air of reverence and pride descends upon my daughter, a hush not usually heard at that time in the morning. Perhaps the same reverence settled upon Prince George as he affixed his tie on Sunday afternoon.
The Duchess of Cambridge – for presumably it is she who decides – has always been careful to evoke the formality of the Victorian nursery with her children’s clothes. As soon as any of them were big enough they have been pictured in outfits worthy of Christopher Robin: starched white shirts with Peter Pan collars, shorts (at all times of the year) and classic leather buckled shoes. As the only girl, Princess Charlotte has been kitted out in the classic smock dress and Mary Janes for as long as she has been photographed. Such a uniform, for indeed it is, conveys the message of orderliness, a certain ‘children should be seen and not heard’ approach to parenting whereby your clothes are laid out for you every morning and that’s that.
In an age of unprecedented visibility for the Royal children, how they are dressed must communicate not only their station but also the public expectation of a royal childhood. The Cambridges have gone some way to moving with the times on this front. Prince George was pictured for his sixth birthday wearing his England shirt and beaming toothily at the camera in a nod his status as child first, Prince second. Equally, the photos released of Prince Louis on his third birthday wearing Adidas trainers and a backpack gesture towards an understanding that the Royal children must mimic their peers in order to survive.
Much indignation has arisen from Prince George’s ‘mini-me’ look at the football on Sunday, his suit and tie directly matching that of his father’s. But what has been taken as an act of narcissism on the part of Prince William in making his son dress exactly like him doesn’t take into account the unpopular – and unfashionable – truth that perhaps little George wanted to dress up for such a huge occasion. Could it be that we are far too formulaic in equating formality with unhappiness? Given the choice, I know that my daughter would have opted for full Victoriana at Wembley, sceptre and all.
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