Prince George is 2 years old and third in line of succession to the British throne. I am 23 years old and live in a three-person apartment with two windows in Brooklyn.

Suffice it to say, even with my 21-year head start, George's life is objectively better than mine. So, when Mashable gave me the opportunity to live a week in Prince George's shoes — to dissect what it was like to be a royal and, more specifically, a royal baby — I jumped at the chance.

Anyone who's paying attention can see that there's just something about Prince George that draws people to him. Sure, maybe it's the royalty thing. Maybe it's his accent, which I've never heard but is probably pretty cool. I'd like to think there's something else, though; something more. An undefined George Factor, if you will. And I was determined to figure out what it was.

So, I set out to figure out what made George George. It would be the greatest piece of journalism I had ever undertaken; perhaps the greatest in the industry's storied history.

First, I would obtain a wardrobe befitting a toddler prince.

One of Britain's best-dressed men being held by his dad. Image: Rob Griffith/Associated Press

I have never once been complimented on my style. Patterned shirts, canvas shoes, crew neck sweaters with pizza on them; I've tried every trendy clothing item in the young-white-man-with-a-liberal-arts-degree section of Macy's, but all of my efforts were met with silence from friends and family. Disappointment, even.

Prince George, the 2-year-old royal baby, was named the 49th best dressed man in Britain by GQ.

More than that, George's outfits are dissected and adored to the point of exhaustion. He makes sweater vests sell out, his shoe choices cause a surge in Croc sales — whatever he wears, people buy.

Getting his look correct would be a trial, particularly for someone like me who is not a royal or a baby. The first challenge would be finding the clothes in a men's large. The second challenge would be not being arrested.

With the items in mind I headed out to, basically, the regular places I shop (Macy's, Gap, the Internet) and picked up the closest items I could find to George's clothes. Being that many of George's direct outfits would be unobtainable in a men's large, I had to make some customizations. So, the weekend before my project began in earnest was spent hunched over, sewing sailboats and royal guards onto adult clothes.

"So this is pretty important to you; dressing like a baby?," my girlfriend asked, traces of doubt lining the question. Of course it was. I sewed harder. My first day was only a few hours away.

I chose to start with the blue sweater George wore during the birth of his sister, Princess Charlotte. What better outfit to symbolize the "birth" of my week as a royal baby? I would tell several people about this symbolism throughout my first day.

A coworker described my look as "an elf who loves golf."

Standing on the subway platform in my blue sweater, blue shorts, blue socks and crocs, a man approached me casually.

"You must be hot in that," the man said, motioning to my George outfit. It was 91 degrees.

"Yeah," I replied. He walked away.

My first interaction as a royal baby in the hole, I felt like a king.

When I got into work, the outfit didn't draw much more attention, perhaps because my sweating made people uncomfortable. Or perhaps because they knew they were in the presence of something greater than themselves, a member of a family dating back hundreds of years — me.

"You look like most people in Massachusetts," said one coworker. Another said I reminded him of a "4-year-old tennis prodigy."

Whatever the case, the outfit was certainly not "George" enough and, going home, I resolved to do better.

Day two would be a set of overalls, customized with a sailboat patch.

"You look like a toy chef," said a coworker. My coworkers were not supportive in this process.

With a member of Mashable's video team in tow, I headed out to Greenwich Village to get some tea — the most royal thing I could think of. Unfortunately, the wait time at most Greenwich Village tea spots at noon on a Tuesday is about six hours, so I got some at Starbucks instead.

While I got plenty of puzzled looks on my journey, New Yorkers seemed generally pretty uninterested in my project. Sure, nobody wants to approach a man wearing overalls with a sailboat on them on the N train. But more than that, I think I was acting too much like a forward-thinking digital journalist and too little like a baby who will be one day be king.

While the official website of the British Monarchy states that, "There are no obligatory codes of behaviour when meeting The Queen or a member of the Royal Family," I took it upon myself to behave with a bit more grace going forward.

Anyway, on day three I wore shorteralls.

Image: Mashable Composite; AP, John Stillwell/ Mashable, Lili Sams

We set off to Central Park, intending to take a royal carriage ride around the park. Unfortunately, carriage ride prices are outrageous and I am not backed by taxpayers, so we stuck to walking.

The walk was pleasant enough, given the light, breathable shorteralls I was wearing. But I couldn't help feeling like a commoner, walking at such a popular destination. I needed to see something bigger. I needed a castle.

On day four, I wore a classic royal family outfit. The white-shirt-tucked-into-red-shorts look was not only worn by Prince George, but also by his father, Prince William. I had customized it to perfection with some yarn I had and felt like a prince.

"You look like a cowboy in a Wes Anderson movie," said a coworker.

We headed out to The Cloisters, a museum that at least looks medieval, situated in Washington Heights. Feeling rejuvenated by my historical outfit and the actual castle-looking thing in my presence, I felt like a true royal. Also a baby, because I was dressed like an idiot.

Clearly, museum-visitors felt that I belonged as I was asked to help with directions on four separate occasions. I considered my help a form of volunteer work, much like that frequently undertaken by the royal family.

Coming off of Thursday's high, I wasn't so sure I was ready to give up my metaphorical crown.

I received no criticism for this outfit because it looked fantastic.

I decided to spend my last day as Prince George mostly in the office. Wearing George's classic Christmas sweater, expertly sewed by my own hands the night before. I wanted to make sure that my coworkers could see how far I'd come.

I had started this project as just another journalist in a growing media company. Five days later, I was "that guy who is always dressed like a baby."

My week as a royal baby taught me many things. New Yorkers do not care what you wear. It's surprisingly easy to dress like a baby by shopping at Macy's. You should not let your coworkers' words hurt you. Crocs aren't so bad. Most importantly, though: stunt journalism like this is vitally important.

In the end, it's clear to me that while George's look can be applied to anyone, his class and grace are what defines him.

Personally, I think we should all try our best to be more like royal babies.