On Crowns, Composure, and Other Matters of Dignity

I should preface this by saying that I adore women.

Truly.

I am, as they say, a girl's girl through and through. Be outrageous. Be demanding. Be spoiled. Wear the ridiculous shoes. Order dessert. Take the photograph. Charge what you're worth. Call yourself Princess, Goddess, Queen, Empress, Supreme Ruler of All She Surveys if it makes your heart happy.

I will straighten your crown myself.

But, darling...

If you're going to wear one, you cannot allow some disappointing little man on the internet to make you fumble it.

Perhaps I am old-fashioned, but I have always thought a title came with certain expectations of its bearer.

A Queen does not become hysterical because a peasant failed to leave an offering. A Goddess does not require worship to know that she is divine. An Empress certainly does not chase a man through the village demanding to know why he hasn't emptied his pockets.

How terribly exhausting.

And beneath all the theatre, I find it a little sad.

Why have we given these men enough importance to disturb our composure?

My own throne room is hardly overflowing. There is no endless procession of admirers at my door bearing gifts. And yet you will not find me wandering into the street begging strangers to come inside.

An empty throne room does not make its sovereign any less a sovereign.

If someone disappoints you, dismiss him.

If he cannot afford your attention, let him admire you from afar.

If he promises generosity and fails to deliver, remember the information and conduct yourself accordingly.

But begging? Chasing? Allowing a stranger withholding a few dollars to dictate your mood?

Baby, no.

Not because I think less of you.

Because I think considerably more of you than that.

Be loud. Be wicked. Be demanding, shameless, vulgar, excessive, soft, severe, glamorous—whatever sort of woman delights you most.

Elegance has never required meekness.

It requires composure.

So pop off, darling. Get everything you came for. I sincerely hope you do.

Just remember:

If you must continuously remind the room that you are a Queen, I suspect the room has already reached another conclusion.

Wear the crown.

Don't let a peasant make you drop it.

— Lady Astoria