How It All Began

I first encountered the Royal Warrant on a pair of violet Hunter rain boots I bought last summer. It was the first time I’d worn them to work on a rainy Chicago morning. I couldn’t believe how much I loved them. They kept my feet and legs perfectly dry even though I’d hopped over puddles and gotten splashed a little bit by a passing CTA bus on the twelve-block walk from the train to my office. I’d also gotten envious stares from every other woman I’d passed on the street because the boots just looked so good. I felt as glamorous as Kate Middleton, and it had only cost me a couple hundred dollars.   

When I sat down in my desk chair to take off the boots, I noticed a funny black symbol and some incredibly tiny writing on the inside of each shoe. It read: By Appointment to Her Majesty the Queen, Suppliers of Waterproof Footwear. The Royal Warrant.

A Google search explained to me what the Royal Warrant is—essentially a seal of approval that Queen Elizabeth II, her husband Prince Philip, and their son Prince Charles can give to any goods or services of their choosing. The website for the Royal Warrant Holders Association makes it perfectly clear that the warrants are not given to “the best” goods or services; they’re given to the royal family’s preferred goods and services. More than 800 businesses currently have a Royal Warrant, and the range is surprising. From fishing tackle to breakfast tea, from bathroom cleaner to vacuums and computer software, if you’re in the market for it, the royal family is happy to give you advice about what it likes.

That’s weird. This idea of selecting and marking goods that have received the approval of members of a monarchy is a peculiar one for most Americans, myself included. Our national leaders have power for, at most, eight years, and the vast majority of us couldn’t care less what kind of rain boots they wear, what kind of breakfast cereal they like to eat. The nearest example I can think of involves First Ladies and fashion. Americans couldn’t get enough of Jackie Kennedy’s clothes and hair, and today they’re still talking about Michelle Obama’s H&M dresses. These fads change with each new presidential administration, though; the current Queen has been keeping a list of things she’s fond of for 60 years.  

I started to think there was really something to this list. The Queen had been right about the rain boots after all. Maybe it wasn’t such a stretch to think she also knew a thing or two about the best bath soap to use (Yardley of London), the best cars to drive (Land Rover, Jaguar, or Bentley), and the best chocolates (Prestat, Cadbury, or Charbonnel et Walker). The members of the royal family are infinitely wealthy and have access to anything they could ever want. If they’ve chosen Cadbury over Godiva and Hoover over Dyson, maybe they’re onto something?

And maybe my little family of four in Chicago could be onto something too? If we took the royal family’s advice about which products and services to buy, could we make our own lives a little bit more elegant? God knows my husband Adam and I have limited everyday access to anything refined. The crevices of the $800 dining room table we bought a few years ago are permanently caked with peanut butter and macaroni and cheese courtesy of our toddler, Nathan. Our $50 bedspread from Target has smelled funny, despite several washings, ever since our three month-old Nicholas spit up on it a few weeks ago.

Maybe that’s why there’s something special about pulling on those Hunter boots on a rainy morning, about enjoying one of the chocolate biscuits from Fortnum & Mason we brought back from a trip to London last August. If we could include just a little bit of such luxuries in our daily lives, maybe life could seem that much more regal? That’s what we hope to find out.

Our project is simple: try as many brands associated with the Royal Warrant as we can. We already know we can’t try everything the Royal Warrant is affixed to given the confines of our budget and our inability to move from Chicago to London anytime soon. It would be nearly impossible for us to hire the same optometrist or dry cleaners or vehicle repair service the royal family uses. Still, we want to see how possible it is for average Anglophile Americans to enjoy what the royals do. We also want to make up our own minds—are these brands regal? Or rubbish?