It used to be so easy. A flashy tiara, a dress the size of a van, a tub of white lead powder and a casually-slung ermine were enough to denote power and inspire loyalty. But in this godforsaken age of topless sunbathing and Las Vegas pool parties, crinolines and crowns are no longer the default setting for princesses.
Perhaps that's down to the fact that the monarchy today has virtually no power, its only merit - in Britain, at least - being that it attracts American tourists and ensures the steady sale of thimbles in spite of the fact that nobody sews anymore. The public appeal of a desperately anachronistic spectacle, however, cannot be understated. And if good causes are to be supported, it needs to be harnessed. Now more than ever, royal-watching is a popular, full-time occupation. Why? Because if there's one thing that fascinates us about princesses more than the slow attrition of their soft power, it's their wardrobes - and the messages they undoubtedly transmit with their clothes.
Pity the modern princess, caught between wearing something pricey and designer, which guarantees ensuing allegations that she is out of touch, and something bargainous from Zara, which will lead to cries that she is neglecting homegrown designers and cheapening her office.
An air of studied normality is jarring - you're a duchess, for goodness' sake, so ditch the Topshop - while anything too sexy is also verboten if a tabloid frenzy is to be avoided.
So what's the formula for princess-dressing in 2014, when modern royals are supposed to live as modestly as school teachers while inhabiting palaces? We read the runes of the royals and took some tips.
