When Harry Met Jane
The riveting fashion minutia of Harry’s Spare – ripped jeans, baby bridesmaid dresses – channels the world of Jane Austen. (Some of it, anyway. The bespoke cock cushion – not so much.)
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a working internet connection must be constantly updated on Harry and Meghan. I’d long resisted – everything I’d learned about the present-day Royal Family had been primarily against my will. (I’m not above tawdry gossip – I’ll gladly present a detailed timeline of the affair between GMA hosts TJ Holmes and Amy Robach.) The Windsors just don’t grab me. But my resolve weakened in the face of, without doubt, the most effective book promo campaign in my lifetime. The tidbits grew dishier and dishier: Lip gloss gate! Princely fisticuffs! Frozen penises! Who could remain Spare agnostic?
Parts of Spare – primarily Harry’s poignant longing for his late mother – are extremely emotionally wrenching. But overall, this chronicle of an uber-privileged family – one endowed by its Creator (and funded by its public) with regal status, palaces, and a trove of tiaras – reads more like satire than memoir. Lacking discernible employment (Harry’s military service a notable exception), family members seem to have little else to do but obsess over arcane social strictures, attend fancy events and engage constantly in petty squabbles around weddings, marriages and romantic entanglements. It’s the stuff of a modern-day Jane Austen novel, if the characters were orders of magnitude richer and several clicks dimmer.
For a writer whose works designers have referenced on mood boards since mood boards were invented (the visuals supplied by a raft of movie and TV adaptations), Austen is remarkably light on descriptions of clothing; she’s less concerned with specifics of silhouette and fabric than with how attitudes toward fashion reveal character. Though not immune to the upside of style, Austen depicts excessive focus on it as indicative of lack of substance. Case in point: the younger Bennet girls, whose attentions to handsome officers can be diverted by “nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed…” That brand of shallowness is how a Lydia Bennet might find herself married off to a cadish George Wickham.
Back to Spare, any Austenian echoes are likely unintentional; Harry concedes at the outset that he’s not much of a reader. Moreover, while it’s been years since I read Mansfield Park, I don’t remember an ermine thong or “bespoke cock cushion” making an appearance. But Spare certainly reveals some Austen-worthy attitudes. Harry sets out his sartorial opinions plainly: “As a rule, I didn’t think about clothing.” Not a trait that runs in the family. On the eve of Prince William’s wedding, Harry finds big brother in a bit of distress. One possible reason for his pique? Willy longs to be married sporting his “Household Cavalry frock coat uniform.” He is instead forced to wear “the bright red uniform of the Irish Guards.” By dear old Granny’s command, nothing but “the Number One Ceremonial” will do.
A fancy jacket fracas? Really? Perhaps the future King should have headed Northanger Abbey’s narrator: “Dress is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about it often destroys its own aim.” Unlikely. Several years later, William pulls rank and orders his younger sibling freshly shorn before his wedding, “Because I wasn’t allowed to keep my beard!” Fortunately, Harry had preemptively appealed to a higher authority: “Granny, please, may I, for my wedding, keep my beard?” Apparently, the divine right of queens applies to facial hair, and so the scruff stayed.
Like everything else in the 21st-century House of Windsor, matters of who’s wearing what and how only get dicier when a beautiful American interloper arrives on the scene. Harry is depressed, bemoaning his perpetual bachelorhood. Is there a young lass brave enough to withstand the scrutiny that comes with a royal pairing? Will our dashing hero be forever alone? Cue Meghan Markle. Unfussy, unpretentious and intriguing (in her husband’s loving characterization), she attends their first meeting at the London Soho House dressed in the cool LA-gal uniform of black sweater, jeans and heels. This is the moment of epiphany when sartorial enlightenment foreshadowed love: “I knew nothing about clothes, but I knew she looked chic.”
Romance was inevitable. Step one in the whirlwind: The two lovebirds coordinate their busy calendars to abscond to Botswana to stay with dear friends of Harry’s. When Meghan starts unpacking, he fears the worst – “the makeup kit, the fluffy duvet, the dozen pairs of shoes.” Not so! She’s packed appropriately – “Shorts, ripped jeans and snacks. And a yoga mat.” Quelle relief!
Of course, not all are equally besotted. For the couple’s first public outing together, the 2017 Invictus Games in Toronto, Meghan wears ripped jeans and a button-down. The British press has a field day -- another Austenian moment. When Elizabeth Bennet treks on foot to visit her sick sister at Netherfield, the Bingley women immediately tsk-tsk her appearance: “I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it, not doing its office.” Lizzy had it easy – imagine negotiating with an entire national media of Carolines Bingley, all screeching, “We hope you saw her ripped jeans!”
Insult to injury, enemies lurk without and within. Harry laments that no one “at the Palace' came to his beloved’s defense, even though her Invictus outfit had been “pre-approved!” Ripped jeans and all! Serious internal sabotage is a constant refrain in Spare, usually regarding matters of far greater import than clothes. But wardrobe causes a fair share of handwringing. After their honeymoon, the press savages Meghan for “daring not to wear a hat in Granny’s presence.” And how does the Palace react? With silence. Even though they’re the ones who specifically advised her to go sans bonnet! The nerve!
Just like in Jane Austen, the serious stuff is quite serious, but the frivolity is oh so frivolous. It becomes increasingly evident that Meg doesn’t quite fit the royal-spouse model. While hosting William and Kate for dinner, even the fellow who doesn’t “think about clothing” notes that Kate is “done up to the nines,” while Meghan (undeterred in her love for distressed denim) is “in ripped jeans, barefoot.” Soon after, the two women find themselves in a Regency living-room drama, the saga of good princess/bad princess playing out in the tabloids – with their contrasting fashion senses one of many ongoing motifs.
As the Harry-Meghan nuptials approach, rumors fly about everything from seating arrangements to the luxuriousness of the Portaloos. Meanwhile, four days before the wedding, during a period of actual strife involving Meghan’s father, Kate picks the most ridiculous fight imaginable. The Duchess’s cause de guerre? Bridesmaids dresses. Specifically, a “French couture, hand-sewn” frock for little Charlotte, then three years old. The dress doesn’t fit right! Kate expresses her dismay via text. Preoccupied with her own familial woes, Meghan, understandably, does not respond promptly. When she does, she offers that a tailor is on hand at “K.P.” (Kensington Palace) to make alterations. Not good enough! The dress must be remade! Kate’s own wedding dress designer agrees with her! (Is the Duchess of Cambridge referring to Alexander McQueen’s Sarah Burton, who designed her own bridal gown and the look she wore to the Harry-Meghan wedding? Harry does not confirm.) Back and forth the texts go. Poor Ajay the tailor stays on call all day. Finally, Kate signs off with a chilly “Fine.” Transport this whole affair back two centuries ago, and it’s not Austen parallel, it’s parody. A “frivolous distinction” indeed.
Things get more harrowing from there. Finally pushed to the breaking point by the press and the family, Harry and Meghan accept that there’s no moving forward in dear old England. Instead, they flee Stateside for a new life – one that more than makes up for its lack of titles with its giant Netflix and book deals. (And what the heck, let’s keep the Duke and Duchess titles.) Harry finds himself at peace, though he still misses his family. Will they find reconciliation? How will the Sussexes’ dual media careers fare? Will Meghan continue to work those ripped jeans? For now, to borrow from Lady Susan, “the world must judge from probabilities.”