“No Kings” (Unless He’s This Adorable): America’s Most Ironic Week

It began, as most great American contradictions do, with a strongly-worded sign.

For months, the rallying cry of a spirited chunk of the American populace had been “NO KINGS.” It was on bumper stickers. It was on yard signs. It was on hand-painted posterboard held aloft by people in rain ponchos who were Very Serious About Democracy. The message was clear: America threw off the yoke of monarchy two hundred and fifty years ago, and we were not going back.

And then King Charles III stepped off a plane at Joint Base Andrews, adjusted his tie, and America absolutely lost its mind — in the best possible way.

Within twenty-four hours, the same nation that had been chanting “no kings” was glued to their television sets watching a literal king get a cannon salute on the South Lawn of the White House. People in Washington D.C. craned their necks for a glimpse of the royal motorcade. There were gasps. There were waves. Someone’s grandmother reportedly blew a kiss.

It only got worse from there.

When Charles stood before a joint session of Congress — only the second British monarch ever to do so — the place erupted in standing ovations. Multiple. The very legislators who represent the descendants of colonists who famously told the Crown exactly where to put its taxation policies were on their feet, clapping enthusiastically for a king. One senator was seen straightening his tie as if Charles might glance his way.

At the White House state dinner, Americans who had strong opinions about monarchy were apparently fine with the monarchy as long as the monarchy made a charming toast. Trump, never one to undersell a compliment, called Charles “the greatest king” — which, to be fair, does narrow the field considerably when you’re dealing with a field of one.

Then came New York.

The Empire State Building — the symbol of American ambition and can-do spirit — lit itself up in Union Jack colors. Red, white, and blue, yes, but the British red, white, and blue. New Yorkers, famously the most unimpressable people on earth, pressed against barriers for a wave from Queen Camilla. In Harlem, King Charles fed chickens at an urban farm and people spoke about it with the reverence usually reserved for moon landings.

At a glittering Christie’s reception, Lionel Richie, Anna Wintour, and Donatella Versace rubbed elbows with actual royalty — and not a single person in that room was thinking about the Declaration of Independence.

But the true masterpiece — the chef’s kiss of irony — came in Front Royal, Virginia, where Charles and Camilla attended a potluck block party to celebrate America’s 250th birthday. The 250th anniversary of independence from Britain. The King brought coronation quiche, Victoria sponge cake, and honey from the royal beehives. Americans brought pizza and chicken wings. They all ate together, and everyone agreed it was wonderful.

Somewhere, Benjamin Franklin spun gently in his grave, but even he might have admitted the quiche sounded pretty good.

Melania’s Fashion Notes: Key Designers & Outfits:

• State Dinner: A pale delphinium pink haute couture gown by Christian Dior, accessorized with matching gloves.
• Welcoming/Arrivals: A butter-yellow skirt suit by Adam Lippes.
• Other appearances: A white peplum skirt suit by Ralph Lauren with an Eric Javits hat and a black pantsuit by Dior for the farewell.

The choice of Dior, specifically for the state dinner, was noted for its French elegance and connection to luxury fashion, fitting for the white-tie event.

By the time Charles laid a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier — paying his respects with quiet dignity — even the most ardent “No Kings” sign-holder had to concede that this particular king was, at minimum, a very good sport about the whole independence thing.

He visited a national park. He swore in Junior Rangers. He was gracious, warm, funny, and relentlessly decent. He didn’t rub the revolution in anyone’s face, not even once.

In the end, America got exactly the king it said it didn’t want — and had the time of its life.

The “No Kings” signs remain in garages across the country, slightly damp from the rain, waiting patiently for next time.

The Victoria Sandwich was reportedly delicious.

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Wayne Creed

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