There is something particularly humbling about watching a small, formidably organised nation parade its sporting excellence while you fumble with your Union Jack bunting. This weekend, the Dutch royal family, led by King Willem-Alexander and Queen Máxima, were photographed beaming on the balcony of Noordeinde Palace, celebrating not one but two World Cup victories: the Netherlands women’s football team and the men’s hockey side. The images, all orange and ecstasy, felt like a pointed reminder to the British monarchy, whose own sporting triumphs have been thin on the ground.
As a culture observer, I cannot help but see this as more than a simple sporting moment. It is a social referendum. The Dutch royals have mastered the art of appearing both regal and relatable, donning bright orange scarves and joining the crowd’s chant. Meanwhile, our own royal family’s relationship with sport has been increasingly fraught: Prince William’s public support for England’s Lionesses at the Euros felt genuine, but the palace’s overall engagement remains hemmed in by protocol and the lingering memory of Diana’s maverick ways.
Class dynamics are central here. In the Netherlands, success on the pitch is a national unifier, a rare moment when king and commoner celebrate as equals. Over here, football remains deeply class-bound, a working-class game that the Windsors have cautiously embraced only in recent years. The sight of King Charles presenting trophies still carries a whiff of noblesse oblige, a lord patting the tenantry on the head. The Dutch do it better because they do not seem to be performing.
Then there is the human cost. For British fans, each Dutch triumph is a bitter tonic. We are a nation desperate to return to that summer of 1966, to the Lady Diana era of easy victories. But our sporting infrastructure is creaking, our grassroots underfunded, and our sense of entitlement meets global reality with a thud. The British monarchy, too, is in a state of transition: Charles’s reign has been measured, but the magic is elusive. The Dutch are winning because they have invested in their teams and their image. Their monarchy is secure because it is, frankly, more fun.
On the street, the conversation is shifting. In London pubs, I heard groans as the Netherlands women lifted their trophy. “They’ve got a king who looks like he actually enjoys football,” one fan said. “Ours looks like he’s at a tax seminar.” It is a devastatingly simple observation, but it captures the mood. The cultural shift is away from reverence and toward authenticity. The Dutch royals are authentic in their fandom, and that earns them respect our House of Windsor can only dream of.
So where does that leave us? The British monarchy will not collapse because of a football match. But these images from The Hague serve as a mirror, reflecting a deeper unease about our national identity and our royal family’s place in it. As the Dutch queen throws her hands up in victory, we are forced to ask: when did our monarchy become so earnest, so careful, so utterly unreachable? The answer lies not in palace briefings, but in the faces of the fans, who know the difference between duty and delight.