The world has witnessed massive destruction and upheaval over the past few months, but still more apparently captivating to the public imagination is the upcoming wedding of England’s Prince William to his princess-to-be, Kate Middleton.  

Not only fascinating to British folk who worship the royal family, The Toronto Star reported that “Royal Wedding” was one of the most googled terms in Canada. If you google the term—which I admittedly did—you will find countless Royal Wedding websites devoted to outlining the wedding details, offering Royal Wedding trivia, and even more distastefully, selling William-and-Kate-related merchandise and memorabilia. One of the items includes a replica of Kate’s stunning engagement ring, previously worn by William’s mother Princess Diana. Even Vanity Fair has a portion of their website devoted to counting down the days and events leading up to the April 29 nuptials. Recently, Prime Minister Stephen Harper announced that he and his wife Laureen are proud to be representing Canada at the affair. In the digital age, the publicity relating to the event has already eclipsed that of Charles and Diana’s wedding in 1981—well known for being a media circus.  

Some have taken the fervour even further. Clapham Common, one of London’s most famous parks, will be saturated with tents and union flags as it is transformed into “Camp Royale.” Paying campers (at a whopping £75 per person) will be able to watch the events on a giant screen while sipping on Yorkshire tea. There will even be prizes awarded to the guests with the most creatively designed tents.  

To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with a little indulgence in an event and a story that, to be perfectly honest, are quite enthralling. The fact that England still has a royal family is in itself pretty interesting—and yes, a little bizarre, antiquated, and slightly reminiscent of the 400 or so years when it was a global empire.  

But beyond that, in what other form do people get to witness a modern-day fairytale? In this story, a prince meets a beautiful commoner (at university instead of at the ball), falls in love, and eventually proposes to her (with an 18-carat blue sapphire ring instead of a glass slipper). The thought of a girl from humble beginnings casually dating one of the most sought-after men in the world rightfully has many, including myself, racing with questions: How did the courtship compare to that of normal people? Would she like him if he weren’t the prince? What was it like meeting grandma?  

But, while the wedding details are admittedly more interesting than those of the average couple, the media circus that has already surrounded the event—and that will exponentially increase as the date nears—still raises questions about the role of the media, and the extent to which we should give a shit. The president of CTV announced that the event will be treated “like an Olympics,” and USA Today, NBC, ABC, and CBC have all reported that they are going to be substantially increasing their expenditures for live broadcasting of the wedding. The costs of sending anchors, cameramen, and entire network crews to England is no small allowance, and it will come at the expense of financing coverage of more serious issues.  

Yes, life goes on in the face of world crises. Yes, as many have argued, life should go on especially in the face of world crises. Yes, I would love to hear Elton John write a new song, as I venture to guess that he will. But even though everybody knows the monarchy has little effect on England’s political affairs at home and abroad, it seems strange that the amount of money, hype, and publicity that is going into an event in honour of the faces of the nation, has not been regarded as in any way problematic.

I’m not suggesting that, in solidarity to the catastrophes that have been taking place, the couple trade Westminster Abbey for their backyard (though that would be nice, too), Alexander McQueen for a no-name brand, and the A-list brigade of guests for a small gathering of their closest friends. I do wonder, however, when we cross the line from interested voyeurs to frivolous and apathetic citizens of the world.