King Charles III and Queen Charlotte: Bridgerton and The Blackest Coronation
Bridgerton was the aspiration; the coronation was a performative attempt at that aspiration.
When I was little, I nursed juvenile dreams of becoming a princess. Not just a Disney princess. Like, marrying into the British royal family. As a pre-teen, I looked up the ages of Diana’s boys. “William… 1982… too old… oh Harry is only four years older than me. I just might be in luck!”
But even in my young imaginings I knew that me marrying the third (at the time) in line to the British throne was naive at best and far-fetched at worst. Not only was I (a lower-middle-class girl born to janitors of Jamaican descent living in Scarborough, Ontario, Canada) not remotely involved in any circle connected to him, but there was a glaring issue, a distinct difference: I was Black (in fact, I still am).
Innately, I knew I wouldn’t “fit” into the Royal Family — “Innate” in the sense that I have historically had trouble fitting in anywhere on account of gender, size, personality… and yes race. Growing up and now working in the equity, diversity and inclusion space has made me realize that perhaps it’s less about burrowing my way into spaces in which I was never intended to fit and more about those spaces making a concerted…
