Netflix’s beloved period drama, Bridgerton, depicts Queen Charlotte’s character as so much more than just a monarch: she’s a spectacle in all its grandiose glory. Played with decadent finesse by Golda Rosheuvel, she prances through the ton with hair big enough to be mistaken for an architectural marvel. These over-the-top hairdos aren’t just a product of vanity, they’re practical armor for a woman so desperately clinging to relevance.
Tucked behind tailored silk gowns and jewels lie insecurities that push her to project authority over social order like a Broadway director with the tiniest of egos. More than anything, her power is simply performative, as her obsession with appearances overpowers any scope of real governance. While she may look like an art piece at times, her fragile ego often proves more flimsy than her wig pins.
Queen Charlotte’s hair in Bridgerton got progressively grander and absurd
Queen Charlotte’s (Golda Rosheuvel) wigs in Bridgerton scream, “Excess is more”! Some shaped like birdcages, some mimicking an ecosystem, some in tune with the season’s themes; her wigs were designed to build her royal aura (via Tudum).
The 55-year-old British actor even noted that Charlotte’s hair often mirrored that of her court members, cleverly establishing her dominance over them.
Besides, more than faashion, Charlotte’s progressively absurd hairdos become her armor. Every wig is an attempt at a distraction from her diminishing political influence. For Queen Charlotte, the aesthetics of her hair aren’t an expression of power: they are power. And when the wigs get bigger, just know, so due to her insecurities.
So, while the queen may appear royal, if you get a closer look, you’ll find her crumbling beneath the weight of her obnoxious wigs.
Bridgerton’s monarch had a fragile ego
For all her pomp and show, Queen Charlotte is just a monarch built on very wobbly emotional ground. Her obsession with Lady Whistledown and the obscure gossip column is a depiction of just weak how her sense of control really is. Instead of tossing anonymous remarks away, she spiraled every time she read the society papers, opening up full-blown investigations, threatening her staff, and beckoning people to the palace.
Her reactions were an indication of her fragile ego in crisis. Whistledown doesn’t simply challenge the queen’s authority; she upstages it, and that does not sit right with the monarch.
Even her influence on society feels more fickle with each season. While the makers of Bridgerton might have aimed to make her selection of every season’s “diamond” look like a power move, all it conveyed was how little power she really wields. Her approval stems from sitting around and judging the ton, never merit.
As the series progresses, one thing becomes clear: political rebellion doesn’t scare Queen Charlotte, irrelevance does (which, by the way, seems to be an underlying arc for every female character over 35 in Bridgerton). So while the monarchy might remain unharmed, her brittle ego is constantly under attack by a world that refuses to cease evolving around her.
Behind her weird, extravagant wigs and royal persona lies a character full of insecurities, grasping at straws to retain influence. What makes her arc truly tragic is the fact that she’s the sole reason for her own ruin. And, the way Golda Rosheuvel has channeled the character’s persona so well, even with a script so vain, only points to her brilliance as an actor.
