I Don't Want Princess Treatment, I Want Queen Treatment

Delving into the crux of why the viral "Princess Treatment" video is more dangerous than it looks

You’ve probably seen it by now—the viral “Princess Treatment” video in which the creator, Courtney Palmer, proudly proclaims, “If I am at a restaurant with my husband, I do not talk to the hostess, I do not open any doors and I do not order my own food.” In this dystopian fever dream masquerading as relationship advice, Palmer goes on to explain that she opts out of interacting with wait staff not because she’s incapable—is she?—or because she thinks she’s better than anyone—she does—but because she’s simply “letting her husband lead” and “be masculine.” Apparently, responding to such a pedestrian question as “what would you like to eat” exemplifies women’s tendency to “over-talk and fill space.”

At this point, you may be thinking, “What in the Handmaid’s Tale is this shit?” Or, at least, I was. But it gets worse.

Palmer goes on to explain how allowing her husband to fill her silence makes her feel special and “over-the-top taken care of.” She encourages women to be “feminine, soft and quiet” and to avoid “overspeaking” because laughing loudly, speaking loudly, and commanding the attention of the room doesn’t fit Palmer’s definition of an elegant woman.

The vast majority of women (and men) who viewed and responded to this video denounced Palmer’s rhetoric as not only reductive but also regressive, dehumanizing, and even disturbing. Many identified the “special” tasks her husband does for her to make her feel like a princess—pulling out her chair, holding the door, buying her flowers, etc.—as the “bare minimum” and characterized his apparent need for control as oppressive. Others took a lighter (yet equally scathing) approach, mocking her sentiments with parody videos imagining the confusion of restaurant staff when confronted with her silent routine. Some went so far as to suggest this was simply rage-bait content engineered to incite debate and attract followers.

But if no one is buying this bag of bullshit, then why did it strike such a nerve? Why were Palmer’s words so unsettling that they’ve garnered reactions not just on TikTok but also from legacy outlets, such as The New York Times?

Perhaps it’s because there is a subset of women—and, likely, an even larger subset of men—with whom this antiquated view of femininity resonates. Or perhaps it’s because, given the current sociopolitical landscape, we fear that a resurgence of these ideals is not just plausible but imminent.

To admit this possibility is reductive in itself, right? It assumes that women—especially young women—are easily manipulated and regressive, susceptible to anti-feminist messaging espoused by certain subsets of the mainstream media and parroted by short-form content creators. It also assumes that women are unable to discern the line between allowing a man to be chivalrous and leaning into their feminine energy and being duped into surrendering their autonomy. And while I’m not saying that either assumption is entirely veritable, I am saying that history has repeatedly revealed that even the most intelligent members of marginalized populations are not immune to ploys of this sort. Time and time again, we have seen those in power repackage submission as “virtue” and oppression as “order,” invoking a “return to tradition” in order to reinforce a pre-existing hegemony.

In our modern world, where women are CEOs, hold political office, and even have stay-at-home husbands, it’s easy to forget how quickly society slips into familiar habits—habits that silence traditionally subjugated groups through the offering false promises cloaked in the language of empowerment and minor concessions disguised as grand gestures. It’s also easy to interpret the robust backlash to Palmer’s video as evidence of its harmlessness.

But content of this sort isn’t harmless. Far from it. This content rekindles and lends credence to a well-worn ideology that not only equates femininity with silence but also reduces the female body to a passive vessel of performance and reward—stripping it of voice and agency while reinforcing a vision of the body politic that treats women as ornamental rather than autonomous.

The risk with rhetoric like Palmer’s isn’t that everyone will suddenly and all at once adopt her worldview or something akin to it. It’s that it will awaken and embolden the silent cohort of men and women seeking to validate their misogyny by mistaking virality for truth and regress for righteousness. The risk is that it will, slowly but surely, be used to legitimize the subjugation of women, rebranding oppression as evidence of men 'stepping up' to carry the load women have borne for centuries.

If, at this point, you’re thinking “that will never happen,” then I urge you to take a closer look at the world around you. Pendulums have a tendency to swing back from whence they came. Look at the rise of “tradwife” content creators like Ballerina Farm and Nara Smith who romanticize domestic labor and embody an idyllic, yet unattainable vision of motherhood and femininity. These creators have not amassed millions of followers because their viewers believe the life they are showcasing is somehow wrong or regressive. Rather, lurking amongst the critics of these platforms, there appears to be a much more generalized craving for a return to domesticity that has long laid dormant.

And I get it. In recent years, I have felt an immense desire to lean more heavily into traditional gender roles, opting to leave my corporate job in favor of spending more time with my children, concocting gourmet, organic meals for my husband instead of drafting motions to dismiss. I’ve also spent thousands of dollars in therapy attempting to channel my feminine energy as opposed to sitting squarely in my domineering, masculine tendencies that served me well in the corporate world. And, frankly, I don’t see anything wrong with either of these choices.

But there is a distinction—and a meaningful one at that—between choosing to be a stay-at-home mom as part of an equitable partnership grounded in mutual respect and shared responsibility and romanticizing submission, silence, and obedience as aspirational, feminine ideals for public consumption.

I’m not going to tell you what sort of dynamic you should desire in your own romantic partnership. I’m also not going to kink-shame because, let’s be real, dramatized misogyny and infantilization of the feminine body is a kink (an unoriginal one at that). But please—don’t tell me or millions of other women that this is what we should want from our own heterosexual relationships. Don’t sell us subservience dressed up as self-care. And don’t call it love.

Because if this is “Princess Treatment,” I don’t want it.

I want “Queen Treatment.”

I want a man who amplifies my voice, celebrates my agency, and encourages my independent thought. I want a man who empowers me to make my own choices and stands proudly beside me in them—a man who sees my strength as a reflection of his own.

I want a man—and a society—that draws confidence from parity, not suppression and silent relegation.

I want a world where an elegant woman is defined not by her silence, but by her clarity. By how she takes up space with purpose and uses her voice to advocate for herself and for the greater good. A woman who is a thought leader and a visionary, praised for speaking out in the face of injustice instead of passively accepting inequity as status quo. A woman who commands attention not despite her femininity—but because of it.

And, while I may not live in a society that holds these views in the same regard as I do, I’m so damn glad my man does.