I’ll admit it — I find royal fashion stories quietly addictive. There’s a rhythm to them: outfit appears, cameras click, whispers begin, then everyone draws conclusions. Sometimes those conclusions feel a little eager. Other times they land. The tale of Rose Hanbury — the Marchioness of Cholmondeley — is one of those stories that keeps looping back: a friendship once talked about, rumors that wouldn’t die, and now another outfit that prompts the tabloids to exclaim, “copycat!” Maybe they’re right. Or maybe people are just looking for pattern where there isn’t much.
Let’s walk through what happened, why people notice, and why all of it matters more as a social story than a scandalous exposé.
The backstory: friendship, rumor, and a quiet fallout
A few years back, gossip columns lit up with one of those royal rumor storms: whispers that Prince William had been unfaithful to Kate Middleton with Rose Hanbury, a woman who used to be part of the same social set. The accusations were loud for a while — loud enough that tabloids and online forums kept repeating them — and then, oddly, they faded. No grand trial-by-media continued; the story sort of evaporated. Coincidence? Possibly. Convenient? Maybe.
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Those close to the situation reportedly said Kate’s view of the friendship shifted. “She thinks about William flirting with Rose, and she’s jealous and suspicious,” one source told Radar Online back in 2019. That quote sticks because it’s evocative and simple; it’s the kind of thing that tells you more about human emotion than hard facts. Jealousy, suspicion — they’re familiar feelings and easy to understand. But they are also states of mind, not evidence. So while those claims helped feed the rumor mill, they didn’t prove anything. They did, however, seem to mark a change: Rose, who once seemed part of the inner circle, was reportedly treated differently after that episode.
Something about that sort of social exile feels very modern: an alleged breach of trust, an abrupt chill, and then a reshuffling of who’s welcome where. People notice who sits next to whom, who texts whom, who gets invited to what. It is small-society surveillance, and we’re all complicit.
The outfit that restarted the conversation
Fast-forward to May 2024. Rose attended the Order of the British Empire dedication at St. Paul’s Cathedral wearing — and this is where the tabloids sharpen their knives — a black lipped drop-brim hat from Lock & Co. Hatters in London. People immediately remembered that Kate had worn a similar hat on at least two earlier occasions. So the headline writers had fun: “Rose copies Kate,” “copycat strikes again,” and similar riffs.
I can picture both reactions. On one side, someone noticing that two socially visible women chose nearly identical headwear at different times and thinking, “That’s bold.” On the other side, someone shrugging and saying, “Hats are hats.” The truth, as usual, is somewhere in between. High-profile women often move in similar fashion circles. They shop at the same stores, they wear pieces from British ateliers that are almost canonical for royal-adjacent events. Lock & Co. isn’t exactly an underground brand; it’s a go-to for formal hats. So it’s not shockingly scandalous that two women connected to the same social milieu would pick similar pieces.
But I’ll be honest — I do see why people react. If a woman already labeled by gossip as “the other” starts turning up in very similar clothes, it feeds a neat narrative. And humans like neat narratives. We also like comparisons. Even when the comparison is flimsy, it’s satisfying.
Shoes, style echoes, and the Meghan factor
It wasn’t just the hat. Back in May 2023, Rose showed up at a coronation-related event wearing a black-and-white vintage Ozzie Clark dress and towering black Aquazzura bow-tie pumps. Sound familiar? That same weekend, Kate had been photographed in a fitted black-and-white dress and — yes — the same pair of Aquazzura 105 pumps. Online comments popped up almost instantly: a user joked that William had bought his “mistress and wife the same shoes.” The joke is biting and a little cruel. I found myself feeling a bit bad for everyone involved — the shoes included.
An interesting twist: those exact Aquazzura pumps were also worn by Meghan Markle in years past. Meghan had them as early as 2018 and again in 2019. So, rather than being a singular act of duplication between Kate and Rose, the shoes are part of a longer chain of fashion recycling among public figures. It’s possible to argue, without too much imagination, that all three women simply liked the same elegant, wearable heel. Or, if you prefer a more conspiratorial read, you could say it’s a game of royal-fashion musical chairs.
What I take from this is less about fidelity or betrayal and more about how we interpret repeated choices. Is it imitation? Homage? Pure coincidence? Or is it evidence of a social tug-of-war we aren’t privy to? My sense is: it’s messy. Possibly all of the above. People borrow from each other all the time; it’s how trends spread. Royals and those close to them are not immune.
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Why these stories stick — and why we should be a little skeptical
There’s a psychology to this. Human brains are pattern-makers. We notice repetitions, and once a pattern is perceived, every new occurrence seems to confirm it. That’s how gossip lives on. Add in our fascination with royals — the mythic status, the ritual, the sense that everything they do is symbolic — and you have a perfect recipe for a story that won’t die.
But patterns can be misleading. Two women buying the same hat is not proof of malice or mimicry. Wearing the same shoe is not proof of an interior life or motive. Context matters — and context is the thing gossip often lacks.
Still, the stories persist because they’re satisfying. They let us imagine simpler plots: betrayal, rivalry, imitation. Those narratives feel tidy. Real life rarely is.
To be frank, I don’t really know Rose Hanbury’s intentions. Neither do you. Neither does anyone who reports based on photos and hearsay. What’s clear, though, is that fashion becomes shorthand for something bigger in public life. A hat is suddenly a symbol; a shoe becomes a headline. Maybe that’s unfair to the people involved. Maybe it’s inevitable when you live in a glass house.
All this said, I can’t help but be a little intrigued. There’s a human story here about how we read other people’s choices and how quickly those readings harden into judgment. It makes me want to slow down the snap conclusions. Or at least remember that sometimes, a hat is just a hat.
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