The Rise of the Postmodern Princess

 

Just as every little boy goes through the phase of thinking he is a pirate or a knight, every little girl goes through the phase of thinking she is a princess.  It doesn't matter how right-on the family or how many dumper trucks and plastic toolboxes she is given at Christmas, she will, at some stage in her life, insist on walking around the house in something pink and frilly, with a petticoat over her head.  (In fact, it's so much fun, I even know one or two little boys who do it, too.)  And it's not just a commoner thing, either.  I have it on good authority, for example, that Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie were just the same when they were younger--the only difference being that the tiaras they used as props weren't necessarily made of plastic.

Does one ever grow out of wanting to be a princess?  Probably not.  I'm not what you might call one of life's raging monarchists, but if I were forced to marry a prince, the first thing I'd do would be to have my cheque book and passport changed.  Of all the titles one could have, "Princess" has to be the prettiest and most popular.  The word, "princess", for me, instantly brings to mind Princess Grace of Monaco, the ultimate fairy-tale princess--or Rita Hayworth, whose legions of fans all turned up for her Côte d'Azur wedding to Prince Aly Khan.  Then, of course, there's Diana, Princess of Wales.  I can still picture her walking down the aisle at St. Paul's Cathedral, trussed up in all that virginal ivory silk and blushing shyly.

Deep down, of course, we all know that we will never see Diana's like again.  But then, are we actually on the right track?  Isn't it just a teeny bit ethnocentric to think that the only role model who could possibly satisfy our girlish fantasies must be of British stock?  Besides--isn't it time now that we're finally in the twenty-first century, that the concept of the anguished, put-upon princess had a bit of a makeover?

Which is where the Postmodern European Princess (PMP) coolly sashays in.  I know, I know--European royals with their page-long titles are supposed to be a dime a dozen, but when one flicks through Hello! and OK! and sees what the Continent currently has to offer in terms of stylish, independent-spirited female royals; when one sees the confidence and aplomb with which these soignee specimens carry out their roles, one can't help wondering what it is about the stodgy old House of Windsor that has captivated the media all these years.

So who is the ultimate PMP, and what is her provenance?  Opinions are divided on this one, but the top six are probably Princess Marie-Chantal of Greece, her sister Alexandra (who married Prince Alexander Von Furstenberg, son of Prince Egon Von Furstenberg of Austria and his first wife, the designer Diane Von Furstenberg), Princess Alexandra of Denmark, Maxima Zorreguieta, who is engaged to Crown Prince Willem-Alexander of Holland, Princess Mette-Marit of Norway, and Princess Mathilde of Belgium.

None of them, tellingly, has even a smidgen of blue-blood running in her veins.  Whether this is because European princes are subconsciously wary of inbreeding and producing a future line of banjo players, whether experience has shown arranged marriages don't work, or whether, as ravishing Prince Felipe of Spain once drily put it, "the princess market is rather limited," some of the finest examples of the type happen to have been born commoners.  Marie-Chantal (or MC, as she is informally known), for example, is the daughter of duty-free billionaire Robert Miller; Princess Alexandra of Denmark's father is a retired Anglo-Chinese merchant banker.  Mette-Marit, meanwhile, who recently married Crown Prince Haakon of Norway (the great-great-great-grandson of Queen Victoria) was--horrors!--a part-time waitress and had a child out of wedlock with her former partner, a convicted cocaine dealer.

Former banker Maxima Zorreguieta, meanwhile, who is about to marry the stonkingly rich Crown Prince "Pils" of Holland (so named because of his love of beer) is the daughter of a former member of Argentina's brutal junta dictatorship.  The idea of our Prince Wills marrying a girl with such links when his father's perfectly respectable girlfriend from the shires is barely acknowledged by the Queen is too ludicrous to contemplate.  However, Maxima, a kittenish blonde with chocolate-brown eyes and a love of partying, is nothing if not tenacious.  By studiously learning her husband-to-be's language, wearing fewer low-cut T-shirts and agreeing not to invite her father to the wedding, she has become the favourite cover girl of the Netherlands and has utterly beguiled her fiancé's formidable mother, Queen Beatrix.

Mette-Marit's intial "living in sin" with Prince Haakon is said to have fuelled a major swing towards republicanism in Norway (a country, according to a one-time declaration by Prince Charles, that is "grander, and more pompous" than our own).  At first, she was said to be loathed by the prince's mother, Queen Sonja (herself a former shopkeeper's daughter--but then, isn't a parvenu always someone else?).  However, she has managed to emerge almost unscathed.  Indeed, to many Norwegian people, it's as though this Gwyneth Paltrow lookalike was anything BUT a princess.  As Swedish gossip columnist Sten Hedman recently commented, "She looks real royal already."

In tracing the PMP's lineage, one cannot ignore the enormous influence of Princess Diane Von Furstenberg (of whom more later) and Princess Caroline of Monaco, the epitome of royal elegance and wilfulness.  Princess Caroline's sister, Stephanie, may have held some sway too, but there is something unhinged about her eurotrashy antics--something perversely chippy and rather pathetic about her inability to come to terms with her aristocratic position that prevents her from being a true role model for today's ultra-together, ultra-decorous PMP.  Besides which, she doesn't look the part.  And that is key to the allure of this new brand of renegade princesses.  In stark contrast to Stephanie, who has taken to wearing white clogs since moving her family into the caravan of her lion-tamer boyfriend, Franco Knie, these girls just LOVE the idea of looking like princesses, and between them have come up with a kind of sartorial vernacular for the species.  Chloe sunglasses, Hermes Birkin Bag, jewels from JAR, Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress and shoes from Manolo Blahnik or Christian Louboutin:  these are just a few of the must-have accessories for a budding PMP.

Whether the PMP is born royal or not, she always, always makes an effort to look the part.  Her nails are always meticulously groomed, her hair always expertly coiffed (by Alexandre Zouari in Paris, who, incidentally, flew to New York especially for Princess Arriana zu Hohnelohe's marriage to entrepeneur Dixon Boardman).  Her underwear, if not from Sabbia Rosa, is custom made by Cadolle on the rue Cambon.

Just as good at playing the people's princess (visiting hospitals and comforting victims of tragedy) as Diana was, the PMP knows it is of quintessential importance to look good while she's doing it.  But does she feel secretly guilty about all the money she spends on her appearance?  Not a bit of it.  Guilt is a very twentieth-century emotion.  Shopping-bag-handle-cramp is her affliction, while a love of mink is something the true PMP wears like a badge of honour.  Princess Alexandra of Denmark, for example, has an absolute thing for Chanel; Princess Mette-Marit, an unabashed passion for anything by Alberta Ferretti.  Princess Marie-Chantal (whose mother presented her husband, Prince Pavlos, with a solid-silver frog as a wedding gift) ALWAYS gets a front-row seat at the couture show in Paris.  As well as she might.  When she got married in London in 1995, she spent £75,000 on a couture dress from Valentino (which took four months to hand-embroider) and £5,000 on 20 pairs of custom-made Manolo Blahniks--just in case.

Unlike their husbands' (or their own) female ancestors--many of whom, judging by the family portraits, bear a stunning resemblance to ogreish Princess Fiona in Shrek--they wear all their finery extremely well.  This is because most of them have bodies, like, well, Elle Macpherson (who, come to think of it, would make an absolutely fabulous PMP).  Often this can be attributed to sound maternal advice (Chantal Miller used to tell her daughters, "Never bite your nails and don't get fat"; and Queen Silvia of Sweden once instructed her daughter, Victoria, to "eat fewer burgers"); but also to a profound understanding of what the Modern European Prince's taste in women usually runs to.  For in stark contrast to his English counterpart, he would rather die than let his wife do the school run in a tracksuit or gain six stone in pregnancy (indeed, one of the surest ways of identifying a PMP is by the way she manages to look like a whippet with a slight beer gut when she is with child).

In other words, the modern European prince likes his other half to look as much like a model as possible.  Cases in point are Prince Felipe of Spain, whose fiancée is the Danish bombshell Eva Sannum, and Crown Prince Willem-Alexander of Holland, whose former flame is the Victoria's Secret model Frederique van der Wal.  Princess Mathilde (née d'Udekem d'Acoz), meanwhile, the breathtaking young psychology student student from the Ardennes who married Crown Prince Philippe of Belgium, is universally described as the Flemish answer to Claudia Schiffer.

Emotionally speaking, the PMP tends to be a far tougher example of the species than Stephanie or Diana.  Despite her delicate porcelain skin (de-pored, no doubt, by the facialist Anne Semonin, who operates spas conveniently placed in the PMP zones:  Claridge's, the Plaza and the Hotel Bristol), the true PMP has the hide of a rhinoceros when it comes to any of the tedious royal finger-wagging and tut-tutting that has made Princess Stephanie cry in public.  Although she understands the importance of royal deference inside-out, she nonetheless tends to follow her own instincts about almost everything, whether it be smoking in public, what she has in her wardrobe, or getting a job.  That's another thing.  However loaded a PMP is, there is nothing she likes more than the idea of going to work.  Not, you can bet, on a bicycle, but in a spotless, silver, chauffeur-driven Mercedes SUV.  Although money, clearly, is not the issue, the average PMP isn't the least embarrassed about making it--a function, perhaps, of her non-aristocratic genes.

This is the legacy of Diane Von Furstenberg.  Not only is she the spiritual godmother of all PMPs, she is also the mother-in-law of one--Marie-Chantal's sister Alexandra.  The daughter of an Auschwitz survivor who grew up in Brussels, Von Furstenberg was perhaps the original PMP.  Born plain old Diane Michelle Halfin, she experienced a life change after her student days when she married Prince Egon Von Furstenberg in the early Sixties--but not in the way everybody expected back then.  Using her newfound wealth and position in society (although she divorced the prince only four years later), she has built up a multimillion dollar clothing company and became one of New York's most enduring social figures.  Now Mrs. Barry Diller, she once said:  "Most fairy tales end with the girl marrying the prince.  That's where mine began."

Having a grand title wasn't a millstone around Von Furstenberg's neck (as it so often was for the red tape-observing British royals)--quite the contrary, in fact.  She has passed on that legacy, not only to her daughter-in-law Alexandra (who works as a creative director for her mini fashion empire), but also to Marie-Chantal, who has just launched an exquisite collection of baby clothes.

Although it helps to be born a commoner if you want to be a PMP, it is not essential.  Take Princess Hermine de Clermont-Tonnére, who is descended from Henry VI of France and cuts a truly postmodern figure, riding a Harley-Davidson around the streets of Paris with her little terrier riding pillion (possessing a dog small enough to be toted around in one's Birkin bag is very PMP).  Not at all wary of cashing in on her lofty title, Hermine, 33, (an acquaintance of Prince Andrew and once a former lover of Fergie's financial adviser Johnny Bryan) has recently made a packet out of her book, One Day My Prince Will Come--But Where, When, and How?  She is also--Sophie Wessex do take note--happily ensconced in the business of PR, promoting, among other things, a relaunched restaurant called Bermuda Onion and the dernier cri in Parisian florists, Au Nom de La Rose.

Then there's Princess Arriana zu Hohenlohe, 25, the doe-like daughter of LA actress Jacqueline Lane and His Serene Highness Prince Alfonso zu Hohenlohe-Langenburg (aka the proprietor of the Marbella Club), who recently shocked high society by "doing a Princess Caroline" and marrying Dixon Boardman, the divorced New York billionaire who is 30 years her senior.

As for the next wave of PMPs, we must look to Princess Caroline's eldest daughter Charlotte Marie Pomeline Casiraghi.  Despite her not technically deserving of the title (Monégasque royalty only passes down the male line), Charlotte, 16, is probably the most perfect of PMP-dom that ever existed.  Horse-mad, trilingual, sophisticated beyond words (she asked for a Givenchy dress for her fifth birthday) and so beautiful she almost eclipses her mother, Miss Casiraghi--in PMP terms anyway--absolutely ROCKS.  What a pity that arranged marriages are not really part of a PMP's style...  She'd make a great future Queen of England.

 

 

By Christa D'Souza
pp 151-156
British Vogue
December 2001