Various theories have been put forward for the surprise return of the Sussexes to the UK. They include the King’s cancer, the lack of Ludgrove-style schools and missing old pals and the country house shooting season. But my gut feeling, as somebody who also headed home after living in California in the 1990s, is that the real reason is a combo of British Expat Burnout Syndrome and what Tom Wolfe described as “Going Broke on a Million Dollars a Year.”
As with so many of us who flocked to California, Harry’s expat dream has fizzled out
First, the expat thing. As with so many of us who flocked to California in search of sun, freedom and escapism, Harry’s expat dream has fizzled out. The Duke of Sussex – whom one can imagine growing up with all the cliché preconceptions of California that come from Beverly Hills Cop and Baywatch – may have longed to escape the shackles of his royal background and reinvent himself as a progressive Mid-Atlantic Prince. But life in his gated Montecito mansion has been a gilded prison. Faced with his share of the £34.4 million ($47 million) legal costs after his failed court case against Associated News, I wouldn’t be surprised if he put their Provence-style Montecito house on the market. The couple bought the 7.38-acre estate in June 2020 for $14.6 million. If they do sell, the Sussexes would walk away with enough profit to pay Harry’s share of the bills.
But having seen dozens of expat friends suddenly disappear off the social radar, my own theory is that “trouble in paradise” usually lies behind the actual reasons for packing up. I stayed in California around five years longer than I should have. Not unlike Harry, I wasted years in my 30s pretending that life was going swimmingly when, in fact, part of me was dying inside as every non-Christmas (“Happy Holidays”) passed under the Kodak blue sky. Two factors combusted to force my return to the UK: love and money. Or, rather, the “pursuit of love” and running out of money.
The same combo may well be behind Harry’s move back. I lived with a beautiful young British actress who hoped to find work. We kept moving ever closer to the Valley, ending up in a one-bed shack of a house on stilts in the Studio City hills – very much a social downgrade from the rustic villa with its own vineyard that I had first rented off Mulholland Drive, next door to David Hockney.
After nine years, I cracked and came home in 1999. I knew it was time to go when my girlfriend began shopping herself out as a “personal chef”, going to A-listers’ homes and offices to cook for them while I lingered as a serving butler and did the dishes. We were engaged – for around 24 hours – and then split up. I was around 33. This was not the California Dream that I had fantasized about. Ditto with Harry and Meghan, who found themselves on the fringes of LA celebrity-land.
In the fun early years, I covered the West Coast for The Times, and was part of the louche expat “Viles” set (named after the set in Vile Bodies). It was like living in Kenya in the 1930s, a Happy Valley world of bounders and social exiles. There were around 400,000 Brits in LA, many of them toffs playing at being producers or public-school wannabes just wanting freedom. It was cheap living there in the 1990s when the pound was strong. Los Angeles and Santa Barbara (with polo) were a playground straight out of White Mischief.
But not so anymore. My guess is that, legal bills aside, the Sussexes are on the financial rack every month. Their annual property taxes are $152,000. The monthly payments on their $9.52 million mortgage have been estimated at between $40,000 and $43,000. Add in pool maintenance and security, and they could be on the hook for as much as $650,000 a year. That’s Going Broke on Ten Million Dollars a Year. No wonder they were seen house-hunting in the Cotswolds, where council tax is under £5,000. The California expat dream often turns out to be an expensive jail sentence.
For once, Harry has been wise, returning home before he squanders any more and falls – like so many have – between the cracks of the California Dream. The smartest Brits I knew didn’t stay long before quitting. Five years should be the maximum expat stretch before you get entrapped in the style of Hotel California: “You can check out, but you can never leave”.
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