In ‘The Royals’ fashion, gaudy trumps grandeur

A tiny disclaimer: I am all for devouring a juicy, star-spangled drama any evening of the week. And The Royals, directed by Priyanka Ghose and Nupur Asthana, was on top of my watchlist. Costumed by Aastha Sharma and with the potential to whisk me away to an imaginary princely state with plenty of scandalous drama, I was all eyes, especially for the fashion.

When it comes to the costumes of streaming shows, we’re a generation that revels in excess—whether it is the pseudo-fictional regency-era ballgowns supplied by Bridgerton or the conspicuous outfit sandwiches served by Emily in Paris—often so bad, it’s good. Subliminally, but surely, we’re an audience eating fashion for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And with The Royals, expectations were high. Sadly, most of them were doused under the weight of all the sequins, shine, and costumed chaos that took centre stage.

The Royals is set in the fictional kingdom of Morpur. Ishaan Khatter is Aviraj Singh—heir apparent, broke. When he isn’t bare-chested, the rebellious prince plays drunken polo and broods wistfully in linen mandarin-collared shirts, sharp pleated trousers and the occasional LV backpack—very Pacho-coded.

The same can’t be said for the rest of his family, who lounge on the ornate verandahs while bedecked in heavy finery. All in all, it’s a rather unrealistic picture of how present-day royals dress, their necks entombed in innumerable pearl necklaces. There are hits and misses with Princess Jinnie, played by Kavya Trehan. The idea of a quirky, bohemian high-born falls flat as she’s often dressed in clothes that wear her—heavily embroidered Anamika Khanna jackets, graphic saris by Huemn, and poppy Péro jackets, all of which stand out but are over-accessorised enough to erase all traces of personal style. The only saviours are a Shivan & Narresh halter resort dress and a sunny Ka-Sha hybrid sari ensemble.

Her brother, ‘Diggy’ Digvijay Singh (Vihaan Samat), is an aspiring chef. His preppy, softboi character owns a seemingly endless wardrobe of antiquated velvet suits and lumpy argyles embellished with an array of brooches to signal his ‘royalty’. And for some mysterious reason he dresses like this even while he’s at the stove. This seems like a missed opportunity to have spotlighted the handful of promising knitwear designers such as Margn and Taarini Anand, or perhaps even some thrifted finds.

This costume-esque approach to dressing is recurrent. In one scene, Nora Fatehi, a supposed Parsi princess, wears a gold foil bikini that exudes peak 2000s music video. Dino Morea needs urgent rescuing from those cowl-neck contraptions. And Zeenat Aman—an icon of laidback style—seems lost behind all the rhinestones and mirrorwork. Everyone is off-puttingly dressed up, even if they’re bedrotting, just like in the Balaji soap operas of yore. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once.

Then there’s Bhumi Pednekar’s character, the quintessential girl boss Sophia Shekhar. She’s a professional who wears an Audemars Piguet watch but leads Zoom meetings in an H&M sports bra. A visible effort is made to craft a more minimal uniform for her—there are some svelte draped dresses, lungi-esque skirts, and a hint of a power blazer. But just in case you forgot that she’s a girl boss, the array of waistcoats in a variety of colours are there to, very literally, remind you. Again and again. A delightful alternative would have been seeing her in the tailoring of Arjun Saluja or Rajesh Pratap Singh—subtle yet impactful.

The Indian wear in episode six offers a welcome relief from the bling. The men don well-tailored achkans—there’s even a suggestion of an asymmetrical kurta—while the women wear bandhej saris, Amrapali fine jewellery, and traditional Rajputi poshak. However, the show ends with a flashy fashion show sequence where the characters, dressed entirely in achingly heavy, burnished Abu Jani Sandeep Khosla creations, stagger down the runway looking almost caricaturish.

The dressing habits of Indian royalty have been a constant source of study and reference, their style carefully shaped by personality and taste—whether it was Maharani Sita Devi of Baroda, whose elegance inspired Elsa Schiaparelli’s 1935 collection of evening gowns based on saris, or Maharaja Yeshwant Rao Holkar II of Indore, a quintessential dandy known for his sharp suits and beloved Cartier tank watch. What these IRL royals showcased was a seasoned style. They wore pieces that had backstories and made for future heirlooms. The show offered the opportunity to closely moodboard these iconic looks (case in point: The Crown) or delve into the treasure troves of designers to mirror the old-money aesthetic of modern nobility. Instead, we see clothes crafted for the internet—where costumery overpowers character building.