when Christmas is not so happy

In the vast geography of public gestures, Christmas greetings are small, but eloquent, mirrors of those who send them. In the British monarchy, where every movement is analyzed with a magnifying glass, choosing a Christmas card is never a minor matter. This year, the King Charles III and Queen Camilla They have opted for an image that, in its desire to convey closeness, ends up being disturbingly bland, an austerity that feels almost like an omission of the soul.

The photograph in question, taken in April by Millie Pilkington, shows them embracing in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. The flowers shine in the background, but its protagonists seem to have been captured in a kind of emotional limbo. Carlos, in a gray suit of surgical sobriety, and Camila, in a blue dress that pretends to be optimistic, smile with an almost bureaucratic restraint. The message that accompanies the image does not dare to deviate from the most protocol formula: “We wish you a very Merry Christmas and New Year.” It is a chrisma that neither goes out of tune nor enchants, but rather slips into neutrality, like a Christmas carol recited without emotion.

It’s not that the image lacks technical merit. Pilkington, a photographer known for her ability to capture the humanity of her subjects, has done her job masterfully. But herein lies the problem: The attempt to project humanity feels calculated, a disturbing paradox for a royal couple seeking, ostensibly, to reach out to their people. In contrast to last year’s ostentation, when the coronation portrait served as a Christmas greeting, this choice is intended to signal a return to simplicity. However, is it really a choice or an obligation? This has been a difficult year for the Windsors, marked by the cancer diagnoses of both Charles himself and the Princess of Wales, Kate Middleton. Sobriety seems less an aesthetic decision and more a consequence of the accumulated weight of the months.

Between tradition and distance

Comparisons are inevitable. The Christmas cards of the Princes of Wales usually breathe vitality even in complicated times like the ones they have lived through. Guillermo and Kate appear surrounded by their children, walking together or projecting a warmth that, although studied, is convincing. Faced with that, the image of Carlos and Camila feels distant, as if they belonged to a protocol album rather than a family. The contrast with other European royals is also revealing. King Felipe and Queen Letizia of Spain, for example, have opted for more familiar images in recent years, while Scandinavian monarchs often choose illustrations or photographs that celebrate their connection to their country and culture. Carlos, 76, and Camila, 77, on the other hand, seem to have taken refuge in a garden that, although splendid, feels like an empty stage.

What does the absence of joy reveal?

The symbolism of Christmas, with its emphasis on hope and renewal, clashes here with a message that fails to inspire. It is impossible to ignore that this is Charles’s first Christmas as monarch, a moment that could have been used to offer a more expansive, bolder vision. Instead, the postcard seems locked in a melancholy that does not dare to say its name. Perhaps, in this sobriety, the kings are sending a deeper message. Perhaps the photograph is an involuntary reflection of a royal family navigating between the expectations of modernity and the burden of their own mortality. Perhaps King Charles, aware of his age and the limits of his time, is offering a portrait not of hope, but of acceptance: a reminder that Christmas cannot always be joyful. The postcard will be sent to more than 2,700 recipients, from world leaders to charities, and will serve as the official image of the monarchs this season. His choice, then, takes on a public dimension that transcends the private. Was this really the best representation for the moment? In a world that craves meaningful gestures, Carlos and Camila’s sobriety could have been powerful if it had been accompanied by a more personal or moving message. Instead, what remains is a sense of missed opportunity, a silence that is too loud.

It’s hard not to wonder if this chrisma sHe would be remembered as a true reflection of Charles’s reign: competent, yes, but lacking that brilliance that transforms the mundane into memorable. Meanwhile, Christmas continues, indifferent to the gardens of Buckingham and the choices of its inhabitants. In the end, the flowers will continue to bloom, but the postcard will be archived in history, as a gesture that promised more than it delivered.