Trump to make historic second state visit to the UK this September

While France recalibrates under post-election fracture and Germany fends off economic stalling, the United Kingdom is leaning into its enduring diplomatic ritual playbook. This September, former—and likely returning—US President Donald Trump will make a second state visit to the UK. The palace’s formal language of hospitality masks what’s really at stake: the UK is anchoring its relevance through spectacle, and Trump is anchoring his power through symbolic restoration.

No US president has ever been offered a second state visit. The gesture is unorthodox, but not accidental. With Prime Minister Keir Starmer newly installed and King Charles still asserting monarchical continuity post-Elizabeth, this is a convergence of optics and strategic familiarity. Trump, by design or instinct, returns not as an outsider courting legitimacy, but as a returning figurehead of Anglo-American alignment.

This isn’t about tea at Windsor. This is a loyalty calibration, and both sides are using it differently.

It’s easy to overlook the placement of this visit. Trump’s return to Europe comes just as UK politics resets under Labour and US foreign policy is being contested from within. Biden’s stance on NATO, Ukraine, and multilateral alliances has been firm, but the undercurrent—especially from the GOP—is moving in a different direction.

For the UK, offering a state visit before the US election is a strategic hedge. If Trump wins, the groundwork has been re-laid early. If he loses, the UK has framed itself as politically neutral, extending courtesy to both ends of the US spectrum. Either way, the royal family positions itself above politics while quietly shaping it.

For Trump, the royal staging is ideal. It reinforces his narrative of international respect and legacy affirmation at a time when domestic opposition paints him as destabilizing. The UK gives him what no domestic stage can offer: global grandeur, uncontested ritual, and a foil to the bureaucratic gridlock of Washington.

Much has been said about the royal family’s constitutional neutrality, but state visits are curated with precision. The choice of Windsor over Sandringham, and Charles over William, tells us this is a page from the legacy book, not the reformist manual. Trump’s 2019 visit under Queen Elizabeth carried historical symmetry; this one carries dynastic continuity.

For Charles, who has not enjoyed the unifying popularity of his mother, this visit is reputational management. Hosting a known royal enthusiast like Trump gives the monarchy breathing room—internally, it signals steadiness; externally, it cements the family’s soft power despite modern scrutiny. The Windsor setting subtly reinforces this. It is private, sovereign, and photogenic—distinct from the public-facing pomp of Buckingham Palace. The subtext? This isn’t for the crowd. This is about stagecraft for history.

The visit is not expected to produce new treaties or military alignments. That’s not its function. What it does do is recalibrate symbolic alignment between two post-empire powers navigating identity fragility. Britain, post-Brexit, remains in search of a global narrative that feels neither isolated nor subordinate. Trump offers a brand of US engagement that bypasses multilateralism and favors bilateral symbolism. In that frame, Britain plays well—no longer a European stakeholder, but a historical partner with unique access.

Trump, meanwhile, gets to underscore his disdain for EU bureaucracy by embracing Britain as the “right” kind of ally—traditional, ceremonial, loyal. The pageantry isn’t just nostalgic—it’s anti-Brussels. For both, the visit becomes a message platform. It says: America’s global allies are not necessarily defined by defense spending or institutional treaties. They are defined by shared history, theatrical trust, and the mutual use of pageantry to signal power.

The contrast with continental Europe is important. France remains politically splintered after its shock election result. Germany is economically wobbly and diplomatically slow-footed. Italy remains unpredictable, and the EU as a whole lacks narrative clarity in an election season marked by surging nationalism. Against that, the UK looks like the stable older sibling—polished, rehearsed, and ready to perform the part of the enduring ally. This is theatre diplomacy, but it’s effective because it still works on the global stage. For a post-Brexit Britain and a pre-election Trump, it’s mutually useful.

The choice of the visit’s optics is also a subtle rebuke to the Biden-era emphasis on collective governance. Trump prefers bilateralism and hierarchy; the UK, still culturally tethered to the idea of “special relationship,” is more than happy to oblige.

This visit isn’t about policy. It’s about posture. And that posture has implications for how firms, investors, and multinationals interpret US-UK alignment heading into 2025.

For UK-based multinationals, the visit reassures them that Anglo-American business channels—particularly defense, energy, and fintech—remain symbolically protected, even amid tariff noise and transatlantic disagreements. For European observers, it reinforces a pivot: the UK is doubling down on its historical alliances rather than seeking reintegration with the continent.

And for US-based firms watching for regulatory or geopolitical shifts, the visit affirms Trump’s continuing appetite for global visibility—but only on his terms. Multilaterals will not be his instrument of choice. Bilateral relationships, especially those steeped in spectacle, will.

This isn’t just monarchy-meets-mogul. It’s strategic theatre designed to set the tone for a potential second Trump presidency and a newly recalibrated Britain. The optics are royal, but the intent is reputational currency. The message to business operators is simple: don’t confuse the softness of the optics with the sharpness of the message. The next era of UK-US relations may look elegant—but it will be ruthlessly bilateral.