I have to admit it. I’m a royalist. It started at birth, being named after Queen Elizabeth the First. My parents are Anglophiles. My Dad was born in Canada and when he was four, my grandmother held him up to view for himself King George and his lovely daughter, Elizabeth. They were on a war tour, garnishing up support for entry into WW II after the Battle of Britain nearly broke them. Thus, for Halloween, in first grade, my mother the costumer made me a a complete and historically accurate outfit, with stiff collar wig and white makeup for the pocked marked coverup effect.

I was so regal, but at age five, no one knew who I was. They were frolicking around the schoolyard their store-bought paper costumes, while I promenaded, as if the playground was my royal court. I loved the verisimilitude of it, even if it meant I stood apart.

Royally undeterred, I channeled her.

Again, when I watched The Tudors, it rekindled my love affair for Mother England. My boyfriend and I stayed up all night to watch The Royal Wedding, particularly loving the entrances of the peacock ladies and their fascinators. Oh those bloody fascinators!

My mother had given me a couple fascinators, but nothing as outlandish as these teacups sidling on the edge of these heads. Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie took my heart. The stunner of all was the one with many names, the “Octopus” or “Floating I.U.D.”

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 I had to get one.

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This Alexander McQueen one, also worn by Princess Beatrice, went to the racetracks.

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Brilliant.

What could be funnier, my boyfriend and I mused, then to go to tea at The Tudor House, then to Skid Row and see William and Kate when they came to downtown Los Angeles last year.

People were selling t-shirts Skid Row Royal tour, or Skid Royal. All the news people were there,  the Drake Hotel emptied out, and an African band set up to play. Plus, all the tiaras a little girl could dream of.

Great, I saw William’s arm and her shadow through a tinted window. The real royals were on the street. I spoke to one homeless woman in a wheelchair, asking her what she thought of the affair, “I never wear a dress and look at me!” New York Times got a picture – there I am in the giant green and white sun hat.

(Picture to come.)

This year, when I saw Kate in the Zara necklace at the Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom premiere, I was bent on having it. I called every Zara in Los Angeles. One store had it. I went there, and they’d held the wrong one. I went to Zara online. It had sold out within hours of her wearing it. I checked eBay. Some were asking for over $150! I said no, and forgot about it. A few days later, I happened to be in Century City for a meeting, so I decided to check to see at the Zara there. As luck would have it, they had JUST that day opened a box and found two of them. Only two. I could have bought both and sold one, but I thought better of joining the racket. Let the next woman enjoy the surprise of finding it. I think I piqued the interest of the woman behind me in line, who snatched it up.Image

I wear the necklace and think of royals and Madiba. Ah, Madiba. The attendees of the movie heard about his passing as the credits were rolling. I like that the necklace looks like his tribal wear from his first court date in 1963, a year before the Rivonia trial which sentenced him to life in prison and sent him to Robben Island.

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Royals and their necklaces.

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