As the countdown to the Royal Wedding draws to an end, the picturesque English town of Windsor undergoes a drastic transformation. Amid a proliferation of souvenir trinkets with ancient crests and royal faces, armed police are massing, helicopters circle ominously, and the homeless are being removed. As we write, thousands of people across the world are grabbing union jack flags — some of them customized for the royal couple — and boarding trains and planes bound for Windsor.

The impending royal wedding is an illustration of something that has been happening for a couple of decades now. Britain’s history or “heritage” has been repackaged and marketed as a kind of brand to be consumed at home and abroad. From the quintessential — yet very much obsolete — red phone booths, to the tourist-friendly marriage of princes, we find ourselves caught up in the cultlike adoration of these quaint landmarks of British national identity.

With its empire in ashes, its industrial landscape gutted, and its place in the world thrown into uncertainty by Brexit, Britain is in the midst of a slow-burning existential crisis. Its millions of citizens have been conjured from the earth by distant and long expired historical forces and now wander around urban landscapes that no longer make sense. It is unclear where Britain will go from here. Having long lost its status as the workshop of the world, all that remains is for Britain to capitalize on its history: to become a history factory.