The Hiltons, the Kardashian’s, the Royal Family… a cluster of drama and (some might say petty) intrigue, providing ample fodder for late night discussions. But such a far cry from previous royalty, they can’t compare to the standards of sophistication that were upheld by the ruling families of the past.
Right?
My little jaunt to the Nymphenburg Palace in Munich – literally the palace of the Nymphs (a name which makes the Playboy Mansion sound like a refutable childcare) revealed to me the royals party as hearty as they ever did.
In truth we have only made a semantic leap from oil paintings in the grand hall to scandalous selfies on Instagram profiles. But the end result is the same; late night discussions for the peasantry.
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The gallery of beauties
a display case of the fairest maidens in the land, each a known social influencer of their time, and possessing wicked selfie game that was unparalleled throughout the Kingdom.
Although the editing style shows quite clearly that the #nofilter had not been invented yet.
Wilhelmine – Daddy’s precious girl, goes apeshit over horsey crap. Probably killed a peasant once while sloshed on mead, she can’t remember.
Marrianne – The rough one. Arm wrestled a milk maid for a flagon of wine once and won. Tasted like cheap so she poured it on a horse and belched. Regrets nothing.
Jane – Attempts to set trends. Fails miserably. Once saw the Queen wear her hair in a similar fashion to hers and has literally never shut up about it.
Emily – Has a high class British accent despite being from Essex. Once said the f-word loudly when a maid royally fucked up her dress for the Debutante Ball but shrilly denies it to this day.
Regina – Pretty, but not the brightest candle in the choir. The King once told her she looked fine, so she allowed him a cheeky bit of anal. Very nice girl.
Amalie – Acts like a complete bitch but is actually only a little bit of a cow. Wonders why she can’t find a good husband while sneaking glances at female statues and feeling something stirring beneath her hundreds of under-drawers.
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Artist: “I’m just getting to the mouth section now, how about a dazzling smile?”
Max: “No, shan’t.”
Artist: “Don’t be a Moaning Lisa on me now ”
Max: “Tell your problems to someone who gives a shit and didn’t just lose a goddamn war.”
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When you invent Oktoberfest so you can get fooking smashed on your wedding anniversary but regret it because the next day is portrait day and you must sit still while hungover for thirteen godawful hours.
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Little known chat between Queen Marie of Prussia and Prince Ludwig the Living Disappointment
“Honey its good you have hobbies but I really think you should focus harder in your Science and Politics classes and not bloody go mountain climbing with your stoner friends every second day.”
“You need to chill Ma…this entire monarchy needs to chill.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to the Queen’s Oktober Fest when I was carrying you. What a hell of a kegger though.”
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From the Wikipedia:
The Amalienburg is an elaborate hunting lodge in the grounds of Nymphenburg Palace, Munich, in southern Germany. It was constructed in 1734–1739 by François de Cuvilliés, in Rococo style, for the later Holy Roman Emperor Charles VII and his wife, Maria Amalia of Austria.
…
From the looks of the men and woman in the royal household paintings, the only “hunting” going on in the Nymphenburg Palace was for the lost Turkish delight that had fallen under the couch.
It may be many years before we move away from being immersed in the court followings of those who are truly not so different from ourselves, except perhaps they have better outfits and more stylish ways of getting smashed on the weekend. But peel back the glamorous hairdos and stunning properties and you’ll find the same peasant yearning for entertainment from a classless upper class.
