Besides the obvious – she’s an ex-accessories buyer, I buy accessories – it seems teeth-sinker slash princess-to-be Kate Middleton and I have a lot in common. Though she spent the last weekend waterskiing in the peasant-free island of Mustique, and I spent it locked in my peasant a-plenty village apartment, bitching about bitches who water ski, I nonetheless think an iron-mask-man switcheroo is in order (come back, Leonardo DiCaprio!). Here, a call to Wills to reconsider.

Firstly, the physicals. We both have brown hair: her’s long and luscious, mine chopped and dyed red. Next, we have the thin-lipped smirk of a Cheshire cat and the sly hazel eyes of a crazy woman, though hers peer from beneath a Philip Treacy hat. We’re both a statuesque 5’10, when I’m wearing three-inch pumps. Kate’s starved right down to an American size 2, and I was pretty skinny for a while in high school.

At the insistence of our invasive mothers, Kate and I both attended reputable universities (although I hear St. Andrews doesn’t suck quite as hard as U of T). We have arts degrees of similar meaninglessness: mine in English and hers in Art History. We took minors in Man-Landing, although in Canada it’s called “Women’s Studies.” Left academically disadvantaged, we’re both criticized by the media for our lack of career (though in my case, replace “media” with “invasive mother”).

So Kate and I instead do what we’re good at: her attending high-profile royal events, me profiling such events, often royally high. Last seen at 3:45am last night at the club Ruffles – where a jeroboam (look it up, serf) of champers puts the British taxpayers back a hefty £12,000 – Kate shows an appropriate amount of tanned thigh as she gracefully exits, not unlike me tripping down the stairs at the Dance Cave at a quarter after 11.

Both class acts, my limey doppelganger and I walk parallel uncertain paths to undeserved celebrity: Kate leverages her fame for Burberry bags; I steal fashion magazines from Indigo. She goes deerstalking at Balmoral; I go manstalking at Queen and Spadina. Telegraph newspaper called Ms. Middleton “Most Promising Newcomer”; Shedoesthecity editrix Jen McNeely called me a “cupcake fairy”.

So go ahead and get your knickers in a knot, Kate, cause this cupcake fairy’s got one squinty eye on your redcoat. And though you may be tall, thin, nouveau riche and ramming the king, I’m, uh, real? Bollocks!