What does one wear to meet a Duke and Duchess?
That was the thought running through my mind last October, about 45 minutes before I was due to meet Prince Harry and Meghan.
To be perfectly frank, I was not really in the mood for a royal function (is one ever? ?).
It had been a long week.
I’d been travelling for work, Mum and Hakavai in tow. And the day before, I’d driven home to the South Coast for a friend’s wedding, leaving Mum and Hakavai back in the city.
I’d got home at 2am, slept for two hours and then got back in the car to drive the three hours back to Sydney.
And in case I didn’t feel quite guilty enough for leaving my baby, I got stuck in traffic on the way to the hotel, and was running late. So, instead of playing with my son (and giving my wonderful Mum a short break) when I got back, I was racing around, trying to get ready for a royal function instead.
I felt like a can of coke that’s been open all day. Flat, tired, and definitely not keen to make small talk.
And that’s when this dilemma presented itself: just what do I wear?
I was torn between my polka dot pants and emerald top (V. me and v. fun and v. similar to what a jockey would wear) and the more conservative knee length red dress. Deferring to decorum, I chose the red.
A small heel (sensible) and my black blazer (I had to spot wash all of Hakavai’s food stains out of it, cheers boy!) completed the ensemble.
I did my own makeup and hair (I’m not terrible at this but I’m not exactly a pro either) and voila. I was out the door.
As the cab pulled up to the venue, I realised I’d made a grave mistake. I’d left my invite behind.
And, all of a sudden, I started to panic.
I had visions of myself, invite-less, being turned around at the door.
To my left, I could see a crowd of people leaning up against the barrier, phones outstretched, all trying to get a glimpse of Harry and Megs.
I realised that they’d see me walk up the stairs, be told I can not go in without my invite and watch as I slowly made my way back down the carpet towards the taxi rank, security guards flanking me.
Mortifying.
A throng of guests walked past me, invites in hand, and I recognised politicians, top athletes and world-renowned surgeons amongst them.
I felt like the world’s biggest imposter.
I felt so out of place, had no idea why I’d been invited, and seriously contemplated just slipping away in a taxi before anyone noticed.
But here’s the thing.
There are going to be times in your life when you don’t feel prepared for an important event.
Maybe you won’t feel up to that big work presentation because your new puppy cried all night and you spilt coffee on your freshly dry cleaned white shirt, and the bus was late and you’re just so damn tired.
Maybe you’ll turn up to a conference or an engagement party or a date feeling like you don’t belong.
But you can either let your inner critic talk you out of walking up to the front door or you can say “F*ck it”, pull your shoulders back, walk in, try your best, and know that if all else fails, you can sit in the corner and get a little tipsy on the complimentary mimosas.
In my case, I walked up the stairs.
They let me in.
I met Harry and Megs.
I talked kids, work and the juggle with Chloe Shorten. I met Curt McGrath, an ex-soldier and now 2 x gold winning Paralympian, and Charlie Teo – a neurosurgeon who operates on ‘inoperable’ brain tumours. When I asked him about his work, he told me “If the patient is ballsy enough to go through with a risky operation, I’ve got to be ballsy enough to step up”. I love that.
And yes, I got a little tipsy on the complimentary mimosas too.
Because why not?
Turia xx
