As it turns out, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle do not desire to be private citizens; they insist on being public figures

The Sussexes enjoying the public. Photo: Getty Images

Nothing beats the quiet dignity of a permanent exhibition. Back in the UK, the Sussexes discovered that muted restraint in the verdant expanse of the Cotswolds region of the English countryside. But no sooner had they found their footing than the palace issued a brisk reminder that the Sussexes are strictly “private citizens” and shall, like hedges, remain entirely ornamental to proceedings—they shall not take up royal duties and shall not be addressed as HRH. Fair enough. We already knew that. However, news reports are now emerging that they do not like that relegation, not one bit. According to the British media, they prefer to be referred to as “public figures”. Sure, they should be allowed the supreme luxury of choosing their own fishbowl.

Of course, people do demand a bespoke cage and grumble about the glass. The Sussexes’ choice of status is fascinating and modernly shallow. They want the exposure of ‘public’ but the nothingness of ‘figures’. It’s how people use “American fashion” with such glee. But the oxymoron is a marvellous reflection of the paradoxical life of the Sussexes. ‘Public’ is substantive, you see. It implies exposure, circulation, spectacle; it is the realm of institutions, media, and collective gaze. ‘Figure’, however, points to an abstraction, a silhouette, a shape without depth; it’s a stand‑in, even a projection. Together, “public figure” allows both to be hyper‑visible and strangely empty. The Sussexes exploit this anomaly by selling themselves as symbols (royal exiles, victims, activists) rather than as substantive individuals. Visible vagueness is valuable.

Together, “public figure” allows both to be hyper‑visible and strangely empty

That Prince Harry and Meghan Markle (if we remember correctly, she wanted to be known as Meghan Sussex) are allergic to “private citizen” is more telling than surprising. ‘Private’, you see, is pathetic: it suggests withdrawal, invisibility, the right to be left alone. ‘Citizen’ is worse! You can’t spin it. A citizen is a subject. In the monarchic logic of the UK, it is precisely that. A citizen is bound to law, polity, and ordinariness. Ms Markle is, of course, not ordinary. Not even her jams. Citizenry implies equality before the law. No titles, no exemptions, no aura. A citizen belongs to a civic body, not a symbolic dynasty. Your identity is political, not theatrical. To Ms Markle, especially, nothing is more gauche than that. She did not marry a prince to be a citizen. While the Crown insists that they are “private citizens”, they believe they are not as they are ex-royals, tethered to titles.They are not two individuals among millions, defined by civic identity rather than symbolic inheritance. They are the exact reason statistics classes require a margin of error for human disappointment.

The Telegraph recently shared a short on YouTube, asking: “Should we cut Harry and Meghan some slack?” It went on to explain why, dragging out past royals who have disappointed their parents, including George III’s sons and Queen Victoria’s child Edward VII, the Sussexes do not need to be so severely criticised, conveniently dropping the more modern example, Edward VIII who abdicated his throne for a married American woman. The familiarity must not be mentioned so that we can unclench a little? That odd Telegraph question presumes the Sussexes are exceptional, deserving of a different evaluative frame than other public figures, such as the blissfully private citizen, Sarah Ferguson. The public discourse surrounding Prince Harry and Meghan Markle has long operated under a peculiar set of moving goalposts, particularly when it comes to the thorny intersection of personal autonomy and public expectation. The anomaly is also in ‘home’ and ‘away’. At home, the Sussexes are symbols. And symbols today are never allowed to rest. Definitely not quietly.