As a recovering heavy user of social media who has probably put far too much information about her shopping habits, opinions and life out there into the ether over the years, I’m always slightly thrilled when the algorithm gets it very, very wrong; when my Instagram, Facebook and Twitter feeds are broken up with adverts for products I would never consider buying.
Generally, the products targeted at me are scarily accurate. Whether from my search history, links I’ve absentmindedly clicked on, or because Skynet is, indeed, always listening to us, the algorithm has somehow worked out that I have wavy hair, the approximate ages of my children, that I have a wedding to attend soon, that I take collagen supplements, and that I buy too many books.
However, this morning’s first three advertising slideshows were totally off: the algorithm brought me coronation-themed fast fashion.
Union Jack pattern-splattered sundresses (£16, matching for mum and baby), King Charles commemorative T-shirts, and tasteful, navy summer shirts with red and white crowns for the gents.
Family sets of King Charles III pyjamas for us all to wear on Coronation Eve, when it’s traditional to leave out a plate with £250 million of your taxes, a pledge of serfdom and a wee bowl of Pedigree Chum for the corgi, just in case the old chap pops down your chimney.
I think my favourite was the totally baffling T-shirt featuring a picture of a giant crown being lowered over a Volkswagen campervan (number plate “CORON4TION”) with a rippling Union Jack in the background and the VW logo in the corner (£13). Just… why? Is it a reference to His Majesty’s Saxe-Coburg German heritage?
My C in Higher German qualifies me to translate “volkswagen” to “people’s car”, and I’m really hoping this is some sort of snide nod to that gold carriage. But, then, why would someone who disapproves of the excess of this celebration buy a CORON4TION T-shirt?
Coronation celebration feels hugely wasteful
It probably won’t surprise anyone who’s even taken a passing glance at one of my columns over the past couple of years that I am not the target market for coronation commemorative merch, and will not be hanging out the bunting this weekend. But, enough words will be spilled over the coming days about the abhorrent waste of money spent on celebrating a 74-year-old finally getting a job; the garishness and ill-advised pageantry looking particularly bad in the middle of a cost-of-living crisis.
My fellow columnist Scott Begbie has already flagged-up beautifully how offensive and inappropriate it is to invite the country to chant a pledge of allegiance to the new King at their television sets. You don’t need me adding that a far more appropriate move at this time would have been for Charles to announce his intention to quietly eschew the pomp and circumstance.
Investigating coronation merch. Can't stop laughing. pic.twitter.com/9SRv8l7j8Q
— Sophia Money-Coutts (@sophiamcoutts) April 24, 2023
As a gesture of solidarity with his financially-stretched nation, he and Camilla could have bought a couple of economy seats on the red-eye to Vegas out of their own pockets, and got an Elvis impersonator to pop the crown on him while Kate beamed it to the nation via an Instagram Live…
Seriously, though, what struck me about the (many) coronation-themed clothing lines I’ve now been advertised was how wasteful they are. Which is pretty fitting when we consider what they’re celebrating.
Instant purchases and shiny ceremonies are just a distraction
For both financial and environmental reasons, I generally try not to buy fast fashion first-hand. I generally find most items for me and the kids on second-hand online marketplace Vinted, and get a smug little glow every time my £3 purchase saves another T-shirt from landfill. But I don’t begrudge anyone buying the odd £16 supermarket sundress if it cheers them up.
However, these particular sundresses are truly single-use purchases. There’s no second life for the George at Asda coronation range of clothing; no other day they can be worn on – unless you’re truly thrifty and store your Union Jack frock and CORON4TION tee in mothballs ’til it’s William’s turn. In which case, I salute you.
In a few months’ time, dumps across Charles III’s kingdom will be clogged with ripped plastic bunting and dresses printed with his face, each of which took 3,000 litres of water to produce. Their former wearers will still be facing mounting energy bills, rising food prices and unfair working conditions, while the “eco-warrior” monarch occupies multiple palaces, and his golden königswagen sits in storage.
Flicking through the advertising slideshows of red, white and blue, it all seemed like almost too perfect an illustration of life under late capitalism (Carolean era). Where we can be temporarily distracted from the bad things – whether that’s the cost-of-living or climate crises – by the quick dopamine release of instant purchases or shiny ceremonies. And, sadly, we’ll probably continue to take it, buy more, feel numb. God save the King.
Kirstin Innes is the author of the novels Scabby Queen and Fishnet, and co-author of non-fiction book Brickwork: A Biography of the Arches
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