The death of deference and why the media’s royal reset matters

There was a time when royal coverage was negotiated, not investigated. Anyone who has watched an episode of ‘The Crown’ can tell you that much. 

Historically, an unspoken agreement governed the relationship between the royal household and the press. Often described as an “invisible contract”, it granted the media privileged access and information, while the Crown benefited from largely positive coverage - a quiet quid pro quo, if I may be so bold. 

This symbiotic relationship played an important part in how stories were reported. Language was measured, and institutions were treated with respectable caution. Even when controversy emerged, tone mattered. Allegations were framed delicately, because access to the Crown was considered invaluable. Tabloids would test the limits, but legacy media would largely exercise restraint.

Fast forward to today, and that era of reporting has unmistakably come to an end.

The recent fallout surrounding Prince Andrew and his association with the disgraced Jeffrey Epstein has marked a visible rupture in that relationship. It wasn’t so much that the story was reported on, but rather how the tone has shifted. Deference has given way to scrutiny, and the institutional shield that once protected the monarchy is fractured. 

Importantly, this shift has not been confined to the UK. In my home country of Norway, which has long been regarded as one of Europe’s most stable and publicly trusted monarchies, the media has sharpened its scrutiny. The Crown Princess, Mette Marit, has faced relentless critical reporting over her relations with Epstein, prompting public apologies and direct media examination of royal conduct. Recent polls show that half of Norwegians now oppose her becoming queen. 

This is more than royal gossip. It’s a case study in collapsing reputation immunity. 

In an increasingly digital age of investigative podcasts and social media exposés, audiences demand answers, and more importantly, accountability. This shift has also flattened the hierarchy of access: if one media outlet hesitates, another will inevitably publish, and the public now has global access to information to draw comparisons. 

This comes alongside an erosion of public trust in institutions, including legacy media. As a result, restraint towards power is often seen as complicity, shifting the reputational risk onto the press itself. 

For communicators, the implications are huge. 

Inherited status of power no longer ensures insulation. If the monarchy, one of the most symbolically protected institutions, can face intense scrutiny, it offers an important lesson for everyone else. 

It also highlights the extent of reputational risk, as it is no longer confined to principal figures. Children, partners, old associations, and extended networks are now being pulled in as entry points for examination. Proximity to power is seen as participation in power.

Silence is deafening, and withholding comment is now seen as intensifying suspicion rather than containing it. 

Most importantly, narrative control is becoming a thing of the past. Once a story enters the media landscape, whether that’s through traditional or social media, there is little ability to control the pace or frame it. 

Recent scrutiny of royal figures’ involvement with Epstein has made this unmistakably clear. Even the most powerful, and once seemingly untouchable figureheads, are not immune. 

What we are witnessing is a broader cultural shift that spans across institutions, media and society itself, from deference towards disclosure and accountability. The question is not whether scrutiny will come, but whether those in its path are prepared to face the music when it does.