In 1956, two psychologists labeled our obsession with celebrities “parasocial relationships.” They said through mass media like television and movies, we form one-way bonds with Hollywood actors, sports stars, and kings and queens and their broods. These royal fantasies inspired millions of Americans to wake up at sunrise on Saturday to watch the coronation of King Charles III, among a global audience of 400 million who tuned into the first ascension of a new British monarch in more than 70 years. And who does it hurt to fantasize about having one devoted attendant who daubs your toothbrush with a pearl of toothpaste from a crested silver dispenser every night, or another servant who wears your stiff new shoes to break them in for your royal feet? In a world out of control, there is a profound desire for a realm where genteel manners, storybook tradition, and taking care of your lessers are the highest values of the land. There is the dream of fairytale romance that, if never quite realized, is more than compensated by tawdry scandals. There are sumptuous gowns, legendary bling, shoe porn. There is timeless elegance, breathtaking estates, unimaginable luxury. I understand why millions of Americans enjoy all things royal, despite having revolted against the British monarchy in 1776.
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