Khaki Kowtow to Cosplay Sovereignty - and the Monarchy’s Medal Parade

 

In the gleam of polished buttons and brass, the British Royal Family presents a tableau of martial legacy. There’s camouflage, salutes, honorary ranks—and a whole lot of medals. 

Yet beneath the surface of state banquets and submarine christenings lies a growing theatricality, one that flirts with illusion more than operation. The Royals may wear the trappings of duty, but too often, it's Walter Mitty-style roleplay: performance dressed as purpose.

The latest act stars Queen Camilla, newly elevated to Vice Admiral of the Royal Navy, a title announced with solemnity and awe by First Sea Lord Sir Gwyn Jenkins. As sponsor of HMS Astute, Camilla has long “supported” naval operations in a ceremonial capacity. The promotion is designed to “reflect the high regard” sailors hold for her. Admirable sentiment, yes—but one that reinforces a system where symbolic support earns actual rank.

Charles the Decorated

King Charles III often appears festooned with medals—more than 30 at last count—including campaign ribbons he never campaigned for and foreign decorations awarded out of courtesy, not consequence. 

His early service of 5 years in the Royal Navy and RAF was real enough, although some years shy of his supposed 10 year Long Service medal, but his medals now reflect decades of ceremonial participation, jubilee commemorations, and honorary military titles. When standing next to veterans who saw combat, the optics can feel strained: regalia worn like biography, rather than battlefield history.

This distinction between earned valour and institutional inheritance is subtle, but profound. Charles, as head of the armed forces, need not justify every ribbon—but the spectacle risks undermining the very values those medals represent: discipline, risk, and earned recognition.

William the Colonel of Ceremonies

Prince William, the heir apparent, holds titles like Colonel of the Irish Guards, Royal Honorary Air Commodore, and Colonel-in-Chief of the Corps of Royal Engineers. Yet his military career, while commendable—trained at Sandhurst, served as an RAF search and rescue pilot—has been largely bracketed by protocol. His appearances in uniform now lean toward public relations rather than operational leadership.

To critics, this becomes a form of institutional cosplay: uniforms donned for Trooping the Colour, salutes given on tarmacs, and commands issued without consequence. The monarchy says it’s about tradition. But the public increasingly sees theatre.

Edward: Royal Ribbon Rack

Prince Edward, the King’s youngest brother, famously dropped out of Royal Marines training after just four months in 1987. Yet today, his chest boasts an eight-medal array, including commemorative, rather nonsensical, decorations like the Queen’s Jubilee medals, Diamond Jubilee medals, and various Commonwealth awards. Though technically honorary, they create a portrait of service not matched by actual deployment.

Military veterans have occasionally balked—pointing to the quiet dignity of earned medals and suggesting Edward’s rack evokes Walter Mitty syndrome, named after the fictional daydreamer who imagined grand adventures from an unremarkable life.

The Ghost of Duty: Elizabeth II

In contrast, Queen Elizabeth II’s wartime service remains singular. Joining the Auxiliary Territorial Service as a Land Girl during WWII, she trained as a mechanic and driver, becoming the only living head of state to serve in the war. Her khaki wasn't cosplay—it was national solidarity. She wore her role humbly, with sleeves rolled up, not gold braid pinned on.

That legacy casts a long shadow. The current Royal generation grapples with performing service they no longer authentically enact. Titles are inherited, not earned. Uniforms are worn for occasion, not obligation.

The Spectacle of Sovereignty

The monarchy’s embrace of military pageantry speaks to its constitutional ambiguity. Royals don’t make policy or give operational orders—but they symbolize command, projecting continuity, stability, and valour. The problem arises when that symbolism becomes mimicry. The public, more informed and media-savvy than ever, sees through the stagecraft.

As ceremonial appointments continue—Camilla as Vice Admiral, Anne as Admiral, having never served in any military branch, Charles as Field Marshal(!)—the line between tradition and theatricality blurs further. At what point does representation dilute real service?

A 21st-Century Reckoning?

Today’s cultural currents favour authenticity over ceremony. A quirk of Royal Khaki Cosplay is that Prince Harry, who saw actual combat in Afghanistan, lost his honorary titles after stepping back from royal duty. And Prince Andrew, once a Falklands veteran, lost his titles after personal scandal. 

Meanwhile, the monarchy clings to medal pageants, even as younger generations question their relevance. It's time for the Royals to give up the dressing-up box of uniforms and worthless Jubilee medals and Khaki Kowtow of unearned, worthless ceremonial titles. Field Marshal indeed!

It’s time for the institution to evolve—to acknowledge symbolic roles without presenting them as operational command. Royals needn’t resign their ceremonial posts entirely—but they should strip back the more theatrical elements, letting real veterans take precedence in public recognition.

And a wider reorganisation of the Honours system of medals/titles in general - by Parliament. The last Royal discretionary badges of the Order of the Garter and Royal Victorian Order are ripe for change in a 21C UK and Commonwealth, along with Empire terminology in the Honours system.

After all, regalia without rigour is mere costume and pantomime. And when khaki becomes kowtow, the danger isn’t irreverence—it’s irrelevance.