The fascination with royal babies

Every detail of their life is pored over: the birth, the name, the hair colour, the first step, the first tooth, the first word—nothing about them escapes public scrutiny.

We speculate whether their mother is even pregnant, analysing the shininess of her hair, whether her fashion choices or body language are hinting at pregnancy. Her morning sickness makes front pages, her every action is dissected—after all, it’s her job to produce an heir and a spare.

These tiny babies represent more than a new member of the Royal family: they’re a symbol of continuity, a bulwark against changing social tides. They’re the future of the nation and are welcomed with great excitement and expectations from a waiting world. We may have come a long way since the presence of the Home Secretary was deemed necessary at the birth to ensure the infant was not a changeling—now the world’s media passes judgement on the latest bundle of joy.

Royal babies have always been a subject of intense fascination, and none more so than Prince George, by virtue of the times. At 4.24pm on 22 July 2013, there was a new heir: the third in line to the throne. The following evening, the prince was presented to the biggest media circus in royal history outside St Mary’s Hospital in London. The attention beforehand was understandable: Prince George was the first child of Prince William and Kate Middleton; until the gender was announced, Parliament was ready to change the succession laws to allow a princess to inherit the throne; the nation was waiting for their first glimpse of their heir to the next generation of royals. Hundreds of TV crews and reporters lined up outside the Lindo Wing of St Mary’s for almost a month—the international media attention was frenetic.

And too much for Kate Middleton. Not only were her pregnancies marred by extreme morning sickness—known as Hyperemesis Gravidarum—she couldn’t have expected the intensity of the focus on her and her bump. Her first child; while she had experience of being in the public eye, it’s a different matter entirely trying to navigate your first pregnancy under such scrutiny. She was exhausted and frightened by the constant attention and then paraded in front of the media just a day after giving birth. Media cooed over her perfect hair and makeup, her choice of dress and swaddling blanket for Prince George. She didn’t ‘stop for a few quick photos’ with her husband: the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge performed their 21st century Royal duties.

Kate’s reaction was nothing new: in 1982, the attention had frightened Princess Diana too. As soon as the car carrying her and her newborn son (again: her first child) had turned the corner away from the crowds at St Mary’s hospital, she burst into tears.

The list of babies who accomplish something simply by virtue of their birth is very short. There’s one: Louise Brown, the first test-tube baby.

Prince George was born into a world where celebrity worship and royal worship have collided; celebrations surrounding his birth injected $400 million into the British economy, news tickers and bookies alike pondered his name, and people all around the globe clamoured for the first glimpses of the latest heir. The royal family itself shoulders part of the blame for this attention— during the Victorian era, Britain was the richest nation in the world, an ever-expanding empire embracing a quarter of the planet.

This power needed a mythology: the concept that the royal family symbolised all the strengths of the nation stepped in.

Fuelled by the emergence of the media-savvy royals including Princes William and Harry, and a frankly astounding public relations team, the royal family enjoys goodwill and fascination around the world, despite wielding no real power in this day and age. Their position is largely ceremonial and it’s that traditional aspect we respond to. They’re an institution; a symbol of the nation’s longevity and splendour. The sheer volume of 24/7 media outlets helps: audiences worldwide can feel part of the story. Prince Charles and Princess Diana’s divorce turned the family into a global soap opera; once we were familiar with the characters, we wanted to know what happened next. When Princess Diana died in 1997, the nation mourned alongside the young princes, and then watched them grow up. We waited with bated breath for a new princess to step into Diana’s shoes—it helped that Kate fulfilled the fairy tale, a commoner marrying a prince. The media focus has made us care about their lives; it’s had a humanising effect on a once unreachable and closeted family.

The family aspect plays a huge role—babies are adorable. It had been a long time since we had a new royal baby and a new family to coo over. This new generation of parents comes at the perfect time for a media storm: social media affords us constant insight and discussion opportunity, paparazzi can be found on every street, and the younger royals are more open than ever before. We have access to this family and that access fans the flames of our fascination. An injection of cuteness in an otherwise pompous occasion (Grace van Cutsem covering her ears on the balcony at the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, scowling adorably; Prince George tossing aside the toy kangaroo presented to him in Australia) and a candid snap of a delighted child during an official tour (Princess Charlotte overjoyed at the sight of balloons in Canada) work wonders in humanising the royal family. These children remind us that amongst the glamour and the fantasy, the crowns and the ball gowns, the royals are just people, raising their own little families in their own way.

There’s also no choice but to become interested: constant media exposure creates a feedback loop. As long as there are people interested in celebrities, media outlets will continue to cover them—the more a celebrity is in the media, the more people notice them. The royal family is no different and even though celebrities worldwide live in enormous houses and enjoy extravagant lifestyles, only royals live in castles and enjoy the fairy tale lifestyle. We grow up on stories of princesses in castles and here they are in real life. They help us escape from the everyday mundane—we can live the fairy tale vicariously. The major royal events are celebrations— injections of happiness in difficult times. The constant media cycle presents us little more than sensationalism and pessimism; announcing Meghan Markle is expecting gives us a respite from the headlines and lets us enjoy pictures of happy couples and children.

Royal babies are a tangible part of our nation’s history; they’re the next chapter in the sagas of the kings and queens of Great Britain. They connect us to our history and traditions—to our identities as subjects of the Crown. We can romanticise our history and our culture through the royal family; they’re a stabilising force in turbulent times. Queen Elizabeth is living history: she’s been the head of the government through the 20th and 21st centuries. She’s the only ruler most Brits have ever known—that one day she won’t be is almost unthinkable. And yet we look to the future with each new child.

We are inundated with talk of their svelteness, their clothes, their fresh and calm approach. No sooner has a baby been popped out than we’re commenting on how long it’ll take her to ‘snap back into shape’, as if this woman’s weight is her biggest concern right now. For Kate Middleton, the media focus made it a concern. When the Duchess of Cambridge attended a volleyball game, Kate took a leap for the ball in wedges, skinny jeans and a top that floated upwards as she did: a flat stomach greeted the world just 89 days after the birth of her first child. Rather than commend the Duchess on her first solo public engagement since the birth, or her pretty amazing volleyball skills in skinny jeans and fiveinch heels, the focus was on her figure—and how she did it. The message to women everywhere: if she can do it, so can you. The standard has been set, ladies.

Once the mother has done her job and produced an heir and a spare, we can turn to the children themselves. Royal babies are trendsetters from the get-go: when Prince George met President Obama, in 2016, dressed adorably in a dressing gown from British brand My 1st Years, it sold out within minutes. The receiving blanket wrapped around Princess Charlotte as she was carried out of the Lindo Wing was another instant sellout. This isn’t a new phenomenon: when the Duke of Windsor wore a straw boater as a child back in the 1980s, he single-handedly revived the Nottingham straw industry. Their sartorial choices will be scrutinised for the rest of their lives: who can forget that fascinator Princess Beatrice wore?

These children didn’t ask for this; does anyone care that Prince George appeared shy and uncomfortable on the way to the Lindo Wing to meet his newest sibling this year? Does anyone care these children may not be among the naturally charismatic figures that handle the limelight with aplomb—have we all forgotten they’re children? The intensity doesn’t fade as they age either: we will follow the rest of their lives and judge their clothes, actions, and choices. Born into the highest family in the land through no choice or fault of their own, they will never know privacy.

Britain is far from becoming a republic and the pomp and circumstance surrounding anything Royal is too comforting to deny. From the official declaration of the birth on an easel outside Buckingham Palace, too tiny to read through the sky high fence, to the town crier in all his garb announcing the gender to the waiting public. Royal life represents a welcome reprieve from our day-to-day, a diamond in our dull grey existence. And diamonds usually survive: our fascination shows no signs of ending soon. ■