In the grand theatre of British monarchy—where tradition collides with tabloid drama like a carriage crash at Ascot—the Duke and Duchess of Sussex have long since stopped being charming renegades and devolved into something far more exhausting: professional royal irritants. Five years after their great escape to California (complete with Netflix cameras rolling and Oprah waiting in the wings), the time has arrived—nay, *begged*—for King Charles III (or, let’s be honest, Prince William sharpening the metaphorical guillotine) to do what any self-respecting institution would have done in 2020: strip Prince Harry and Meghan Markle of their Duke and Duchess of Sussex titles. Preferably with great ceremony, perhaps accompanied by the sound of trumpets playing a sad trombone rendition of “God Save the King.”
Let us count the ways this has become not just appropriate, but a moral imperative bordering on national hygiene.
First, the titles themselves are now little more than ironic fashion accessories worn by two people who have spent half a decade explaining—loudly, repeatedly, and profitably—why the institution that bestowed them is toxic, racist, outdated, emotionally stunted, and possibly responsible for global warming. The Duke and Duchess of Sussex brand has been leveraged for memoirs that read like therapy sessions gone viral, documentaries that could double as prosecution exhibits, and a podcast empire built on the ruins of family relationships. It’s the royal equivalent of inheriting the family silver and immediately melting it down to make limited-edition “I Survived the Firm” commemorative spoons.
Imagine if the Duke of Wellington, after Waterloo, had promptly retired to Montecito, written a tell-all titled *They Made Me Fight Napoleon: My Truth*, and then used his title to hawk wellness candles scented like “Betrayal by Brother.” The British public would have rioted. Yet here we are, politely applauding while Harry and Meghan continue to dine out on the very dukedom they claim ruined their lives.
The hypocrisy is so thick you could spread it on toast. Meghan Markle, in interviews that somehow always circle back to her Sussex title like a moth to a flame, insists she’s “authentic” and “living her truth”—yet clings to a 1,000-year-old feudal honor like it’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic. Harry, once the cheeky spare who charmed the nation with his ginger hair and army fatigues, now appears perpetually wounded, forever explaining how the family that gave him palaces, protection, and a wedding watched by two billion people failed to adequately hug him. The titles aren’t honors anymore; they’re shields, weapons, and very expensive branding tools.
And let’s talk optics. While the Prince of Wales quietly gets on with actual royal duties—hospital openings, climate conferences, looking stoic in the rain—the Sussexes issue near-daily reminders of their existence via carefully curated Instagram posts, Archewell announcements, and the occasional lawsuit. Every time Meghan launches a lifestyle brand or Harry sues another tabloid, the Sussex crest twinkles in the background like a mocking emoji. It’s as if they’ve turned “Duke and Duchess” into the royal version of “influencer verified checkmark”—a status symbol that says, “Yes, I left, but please don’t forget I’m still better than you.”
Public sentiment has spoken, and it’s deafening. Petitions circulate with the enthusiasm usually reserved for Eurovision voting. Polls (the few that aren’t conducted by bots in Montecito basements) show overwhelming support for title removal. Even royal commentators who once defended the couple now sigh and mutter, “It’s time.” A Conservative MP has reportedly mulled legislation. Megyn Kelly has predicted it. Social media is a bonfire of #StripTheTitles hashtags. The British public, ever polite, has reached the “we’ve had quite enough, thank you” stage—roughly equivalent to a stiff upper lip finally developing a twitch.
The precedent is clear: Prince Andrew lost his HRH and military affiliations faster than you can say “Epstein.” If proximity to scandal and public embarrassment is the criterion, Harry and Meghan have run laps around him. They haven’t merely embarrassed the family; they’ve turned the monarchy into a recurring punchline on American late-night television. At least Andrew mostly stayed quiet. The Sussexes have made silence impossible.
Removing the titles wouldn’t erase history. Harry remains sixth (or whatever) in line, the children keep their places (for now), and no one is suggesting exile to a remote Scottish island (though one might fantasize). It would simply acknowledge reality: these are no longer working royals, no longer representatives of the Crown, and—most crucially—no longer entitled to borrow the institution’s prestige while simultaneously torching it for content.
Picture the scene: a crisp January morning in 2026. A brief, dignified Palace statement appears on the royal website: “Following careful consideration, The King has directed that the Dukedom of Sussex shall revert to the Crown, and Their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess shall henceforth be known as Prince Harry and Meghan, Duchess of Nothing in Particular.” Cue collective national exhale. The tabloids explode in delight. Twitter (or whatever it’s called now) erupts in memes. And somewhere in Montecito, two people suddenly discover what it’s like to market jam and podcasts without the borrowed gravitas of a 2018 wedding gift.
The monarchy has survived worse—divorces, abdications, wars. It will survive this. But it cannot indefinitely tolerate having its own silverware used to stab it in the back while the stabbers insist they’re the real victims.
Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, whoever holds the red pen: the moment is now. The patience is gone. The titles are tarnished beyond polish.
Remove them. Do it swiftly, do it cleanly, and do it before the next Netflix special drops.
The crown deserves better. The country deserves peace. And frankly, the Sussexes deserve the freedom to finally live without the albatross of ancient courtesy around their necks.
Let them be plain Mr. and Mrs. Mountbatten-Windsor—or whatever hyphenated rebrand they choose next. The rest of us will manage just fine.
