Style is an Attitude - A Tongue-in-Cheek Assessment
She hasn't got much dress sense and isn't always well adviced, and nobody who has any sense for what is beautiful would surround herself with dogs like Corgies. If she had, she'd get a Weimaraner. I am sure Corgies are great company and wonderful working dogs, but there is no doubt that they are butt-ugly.
So why is she still stylish? She is stylish, because she must know all that but doesn't seem to give a damn.
She seems to be above (and hopefully she is) the bad press she usually gets because the schmock corps think that a simple old countrywoman, who doesn't meet the standard of glossy-magazine-scum (downward, that is) and who would rather breed horses weren't it for what she considers her duty - a non-politically correct misnomer anyway - shouldn't be queen. Let's have Paris Hilton or ............ [insert name of any other whorish bimbo here] instead.
But there is so much more!
I like her for the thin-lipped, minimalist tribute she forcedly delivered during that obscene pageant of emotions following the death of Princess Diana.
... and for her glasses, which look as if she'd acquired them with a National Health Service voucher (and probably HAS acquired with a National Health Service voucher) and that she wears them while in full stately regalia.
I like her for her sense of duty, instilled into her at an early age by her mother and father and that she, to some reports, doesn't hesitate to apply the mechanic's skills she acquired during the war to a broken lavatory flushing should the need among her guests arise.
I like her for the touching speech, broadcast to the children of the Commonwealth during WWII.
I like her for her wonderful mother, the woman with the sweet smile and the steely backbone, who Hitler had dubbed "the most dangerous woman in Europe".
I like her because everybody seems to have forgotten that she once had been an extraordinarily beautiful woman -- and that she doesn't seem to give a damn that they have.
I like her because she always met with inordinate dignity the embarrassments foisted on her by her children. Oh wait... I exclude from this the only man among them. She is called Anne.
I like her because she has only shed tears thrice in public, honest as always and at very apt occasions: On September 11, 2001, when having to say goodbye to the Britannia and on the death of her mother.
She is a ray of light in a society full of wrong standards and execrable role models, a paragon of dignity in a sea of phony emotions, and simplicity and honesty personified in a world of pretensions and pompousness.
And THAT is style!
(Original entry from January 9, 2008)