I understand why Brooklyn Beckham felt compelled to speak out. His statement was raw, emotional and clearly the result of years of simmering resentment. But that doesn't mean it was wise. In fact, I think going public in such an explosive way may have done more harm than good - both to his case and to his future relationship with the public. Brooklyn didn't just address rumours. He detonated an explosive bombshell on his parents perfectly curated image. In a lengthy Instagram statement, he declared: "I do not want to reconcile with my family," before accusing his parents, David Beckham and Victoria Beckham, of controlling narratives, placing "countless lies in the media" and prioritising "brand Beckham" above all else.

He insisted: "I'm not being controlled, I'm standing up for myself for the first time in my life," and claimed: "For my entire life, my parents have controlled narratives in the press about our family." Those are nuclear accusations - and once you make them publicly, there's no walking them back. Brooklyn went further, alleging his parents "have been trying endlessly to ruin my relationship" with Nicola Peltz, claiming Victoria cancelled making Nicola's wedding dress "in the eleventh hour."

He then accused his parents of "repeatedly pressuring and attempting to bribe" him into signing away rights to his name.

Most shocking was his account of his first wedding dance, which he described as "deeply hurtful," writing his mum, Victoria, "danced very inappropriately on me in front of everybody. I've never felt more uncomfortable or humiliated in my entire life".

I don't doubt Brooklyn believes every word, or even if it's true. There's three sides to every story, right? But belief isn't the same as persuasion - and that's where the mistake lies.

Brooklyn isn't just speaking out against his parents; he's speaking out against two of the most publicly recognised and (arguably) adored figures in Britain. The Beckhams don't just have fans - they have decades of goodwill, nostalgia and loyalty behind them.

Which brings me to Prince Harry. Harry did exactly what Brooklyn has just done. He aired deeply personal grievances in interviews - including with Oprah Winfrey - and later in his memoir Spare.

He told his truth loudly, emotionally and repeatedly. And it didn't work.

Despite everything Harry revealed, the Royal Family's popularity endured. The public didn't abandon them en masse. Instead, opinion hardened. Sympathy curdled. Fatigue set in.

And Harry became trapped in a cycle of explaining, clarifying and defending - never quite able to win the narrative he was fighting. Brooklyn now risks the same fate.

He says: "My wife and I do not want a life shaped by image, press, or manipulation." Yet he and his wife, Nicola, have fronted major fashion campaigns for brands including Express and Moncler, placing themselves firmly at the centre of the celebrity marketing machine.

This very public statement has guaranteed more scrutiny, more headlines and more division - not less. Sometimes silence isn't weakness. It's strategy.

By lashing out so publicly, Brooklyn hasn't just burned bridges - he's handed the court of public opinion a case it was never likely to rule in his favour.

And history suggests that when you take on a celebrity dynasty with decades of goodwill behind it and millions of loyal followers, telling your truth doesn't always mean being believed.