Princesses Beatrice And Eugenie Will Keep Their Honours Intact

So, picture this: It’s a rainy Tuesday afternoon, and I’m scrolling through my feed, half-watching a documentary about royal tiaras (don’t judge, we all have our guilty pleasures). Suddenly, a headline pops up: “Beatrice and Eugenie to Keep Their Honours.” I nearly choked on my tea. I mean, after the whole Prince Andrew drama, I honestly thought the Palace would quietly sweep those HRH styles under a very expensive rug.

But no. The Queen’s final wish was crystal clear: her granddaughters—not working royals—get to keep their titles and their “Honours” list rewards. And honestly? That little detail says more about family than about protocol. It’s a soft, stubborn middle finger to the idea that you must “earn” your place in a family by being a full-time working royal.

The “Honours” Bit—What Even Are They?

If you’re like me, you probably think “Honours” sounds like a fancy way of saying “medals your gran gave you for being cute at Christmas.” Close enough. In the UK, Honours are official awards—like MBEs or knighthoods—given by the monarch, usually for public service. For royals, they’re basically a birthright accessory.

Beatrice and Eugenie have a few, but the big one is the Royal Victorian Order, which is a personal gift from the sovereign. Key point: it’s not a reward for a job well done as a Royal. It’s a family bauble. So keeping them feels like the Queen winking from beyond and saying, “These are mine to give, not yours to take away.”

And let’s be real—removing them would have been a PR nightmare. Can you imagine the tabloid headlines? “Andrew’s Daughters Stripped of Gongs.” That’s a mess the Palace doesn’t need, especially when the girls already stepped back from public life.

The Real Reason It Stings for Critics

Here’s where it gets juicy. Critics argue that keeping Honours undermines the monarchy’s modernisation. “They did nothing to earn them!” they cry. And they’re not wrong—but neither is the Palace. The Queen gave those Honours when she was alive and lucid. Taking them back posthumously would be like erasing her handwriting from a birthday card.

It’s also a clever power play. By not stripping them, King Charles signals that he respects his mother’s decisions, even if they muddy his own “slimmed-down monarchy” vision. You know the irony? Beatrice and Eugenie now have more formal recognition than Prince Harry, who was stripped of his military titles. Ouch.

But here’s the thing I actually love: these two women have built lives outside the Firm. Beatrice works in tech. Eugenie runs a gallery and does anti-slavery work. They pay taxes. They don’t do royal tours. They’re basically us, but with better posture and a wealthier gran.

So, What’s the Takeaway for Us?

I think this is a story about preserving a little bit of weird, old-fashioned loyalty in a world that wants everything to make “strategic sense.” The Honours are sentimental, slightly indulgent, and absolutely unnecessary. And yet, they stay. Because family, even a dysfunctional, billion-dollar one, sometimes just says, “Keep the tiara. I meant it when I gave it to you.”

For Beatrice and Eugenie, keeping their Honours isn’t about status. It’s about continuity. They’re not trying to be Princess Diana. They’re just two women who happen to be granddaughters of a queen, and that queen wanted them to keep her sparkly little thank-you notes. Is that fair? Nope. But is it human? Very.

And honestly, in a world where the monarchy is constantly trying to justify its existence, isn’t it refreshing to see them do something purely sentimental? No efficiency report. No PR strategy. Just a quiet document saying, “These girls keep their stuff.” It’s almost… sweet?

The Ironic Little Twist

Funny thing, though. By keeping the Honours, Beatrice and Eugenie actually strengthen the monarchy’s long-term survival. How? Because they show the Crown can be consistent—even when consistency is inconvenient. If you start revoking gifts every time someone’s dad messes up, where does it end? (Side note: can you imagine if my family revoked my birthday presents because I burnt the roast potatoes? Chaos.)

So here’s my final thought: let them keep the Honours. Let them wear the dusty old medals at the occasional state dinner. Because in ten years, when no one remembers the scandal, those silver trinkets will just be a quiet reminder that some bonds aren’t broken by headlines. And that, my friend, is a lot more royal than any crown.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to demand my gran return my childhood honours, aka the plastic tiara she gave me in 1995. It’s time we all stood up for our glitter.