The Spencers and the Windsors may as well be the Montagues and the Capulets. England approaching the 21st century isn't so far removed from England in the 17th century in that royalty is still so vain. What's in a name? A few palaces, pure-bred offspring, the public's taxes, private jets, a royal biographer and-this is the best part-tiaras and crowns. Why would anybody want to give up a fairy-tale world of jewels and evening gowns, red carpet and antique staircases?
Clearly Princess Diana severed ties with Windsor Palace because her ex-husband is insensitive, narrow-minded, controlling, pompous and conservative. Or so they say and so we believe. A more accurate truth is that their relationship is an untouchable mystery. We don't know the status of the pair's domestic and intimate life during William and Harry's conceptions, and we didn't know the extent of their disputes immediately prior to their divorce. But we like to pretend, don't we?
Popular culture and media combine their forces to create a narrative that reads well in the demand of the day. Like cosmetic surgery, media will cut and smooth over the wrinkles of a cover story in order to mask the deeper problem. Media has repaired the age-spots on the face of royalty by transforming a once-revered princess into a martyred feminist.
In other words, Lady Di progressed from "feminine icon" to "feminist icon." She's been referred to as Lady Di, Princess Diana, the People's Princess, Princess of Wales, and countless other titles. Prior to her revolutionary divorce from Charles, Diana was praised for her sparkling blue eyes, her winning royal smile and her body extraordinaire. She produced two blond-haired sons (bloody lucky for inheritance purposes) and was commended for her composure and doting as a new, young royal mother.
Diana had been sketched as the perfect angel, a mentor for all women who wanted to be attractive and wealthy. In essence, she was the feminine icon. But-whoops!-then she got divorced, began seeing a psychiatrist and admitted to a turbulent battle with bulimia; all this sort of complicates the idyllic representation of an untarnished, pure woman, eh?
Enter media for round two, this time with an undercut. In the ring is a beautiful, royal princess with an edge: she is a victim. First we pity and sympathize, then we ice her bruises and finally we place her back on her pedestal with a bouquet of roses.
For her part, however, Diana was a pretty amazing woman. She dedicated time and effort to social causes of global significance. She will always be remembered for her work with AIDS patients, Mother Theresa and land mines. And she finally brought long-awaited public attention to the trappings of body image. For all of these efforts and more, she should be commended and recognized.
And she will be, eventually. But for the media's purposes she is a princess first, an activist second. Diana is the ideal character for media's '90s heroine; she is at once a feminine and feminist icon. She is the People's Princess:;she's not just beautiful and she's not just democratic. She's liberal royalty, the perfect combination for lucrative media coverage and a popular success story.
But isn't "liberal royalty" an oxymoron? For this reason, although Diana may satisfy the requirements for both the feminine and feminist icons, she does not function as a viable feminist role model for most women. If all abused wives could depend upon the Kensington Palace and private chauffeurs for alimony, they too might leave their brutal husbands. Clad in factory shirts with embroidered name tags, however, their future doesn't look quite as bright or safe as Diana's.
Diana has been praised for making her children stand in line like "normal" people. While she might have been a radical mother for royalty, the rest of us have no choice but to make our children wait. To acknowledge Diana for her volunteer work in Africa and Asia is logical and necessary; in this sense she is, indeed, a role model. To consider Diana specifically a feminist role model because she was a beautiful woman who divorced a prince seems ludicrous.
Copyright © 1998, The Oberlin Review.
Volume 127, Number 9, November 13, 1998
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