Lilibet recently celebrated her fifth birthday, and her proud parents, Harry and Meghan, shared a couple of delightful photos to commemorate the occasion. At first glance, it seems like a simple, joyful gesture.
In one image, Lilibet is seen barefoot on the lush grass of Montecito, clad in a breezy summer dress. Her vibrant red hair cascades freely as she reaches out to touch a delicate agapanthus flower in the garden. Another picture captures her playfully squirming in Harry’s arms, her hair partially covering her face, with Meghan lovingly leaning in. The scene exudes pure charm.
However, a significant portion of the online royal enthusiasts has been quick to voice their disapproval. One social media user questions, “Why can’t she comb her daughter’s hair or put shoes on her feet? The poor child always appears disheveled.” Another critic comments, “Her clothes look like they’ve been salvaged from a trash bin.” A third expresses concern over Lilibet’s bare feet, pondering potential exposure to athlete’s foot, fungi, and parasites, labeling it as neglect and poor parenting.
Let’s take a step back.
As someone who has often critiqued Harry and Meghan, and likely will again, I am not here to endorse every choice they’ve made—be it their books, Netflix projects, or their knack for airing grievances. However, none of that is Lilibet’s doing. At five years old, she’s simply enjoying the innocence of childhood, running barefoot and exploring nature. This is what being a child should be about, and personally, I find it heartwarming.
Meghan posted a photo of her daughter Lilibet to mark her fifth birthday. She is barefoot on the grass in Montecito, in a light summer dress, her glorious flame-red hair flying loose and unbrushed as she reaches out to touch a sprig of agapanthus in the garden
Ironically, many of those criticizing these photos might also complain about the pressures faced by today’s children. We express concern over the loss of childhood, worry about kids growing up too fast, and lament the unrealistic standards set by social media. Yet, when we witness a child—especially one in the public eye—reveling in unpolished joy, we fault her for not appearing picture-perfect.
If Lilibet’s parents had stayed as working members of the Royal Family, what would her fifth birthday photograph have looked like? I can tell you exactly. A formal portrait, taken in some well-appointed room at Kensington or Windsor. Lilibet in a smocked Liberty-print dress, probably pale blue, with a white Peter Pan collar.
Her feet encased in white ankle socks and round-toed leather shoes from the high-end children’s shop Trotters, almost certainly, as they have been for every royal child for the past four decades. Her red hair brushed to within an inch of its life, pulled back in neat plaits tied with ribbon to match the dress. Positioned by a royal photographer. Told to smile – and smiling, no matter what she was actually feeling.
There is nothing inherently wrong with any of this. It’s what happens when you are born into one of the most famous families in the world, and we all hoover up the adorable photographs of George, Charlotte and Louis – their side partings and shiny shoes and general air of being characters in a children’s book from another era brought to life. It’s tradition, and tradition matters.
But there is no getting away from the fact that it’s also a performance, carrying with it the full weight of royal expectation. Even poor Louis chafes at the bit sometimes. I’d wager he’d rather be barefoot in a garden than standing to attention on a palace balcony.
Lilibet, by contrast, looks as if she is having a rather more normal childhood – and, dare I say it, a happier one.
In another photo Lilibet is squirming in Harry’s arms, her hair obscuring her face, Meghan leaning in beside them both. It is entirely charming, writes Vanessa Tait
I brought up my own three children largely barefoot in our garden in the Cotswolds. When they had wellies on, they quickly ruined their clothes in puddles; I learned not to bother dressing them in anything adorable. Bonpoint descended very rapidly to Primark.
My middle one’s particular superpower was climbing trees – a skill I was told she could have parlayed into a career, had I been willing to put the hours in at the indoor climbing wall. She also cut her own red hair into a wonky fringe once, when I wasn’t looking, and got scouted for an ‘edgy’ photoshoot shortly afterwards. Perfection, it turns out, is not always what it’s made out to be.
Some of the most beloved photographs in any family album are the imperfect ones: the gap-toothed smiles, the windswept hair, the ice cream down a T-shirt, the look of complete absorption in whatever adventure happens to be unfolding. Those pictures are real and unscripted.
Lilibet’s hair is a mess because she’s been having a childhood. There are far worse things to be accused of.
And I say: Happy birthday to her.
