When I heard the news about Meghan Markle potentially getting tens of millions for her memoir, I nearly choked on my Earl Grey! Pass me the smelling salts because I think I’m about to faint from the sheer absurdity of it all.
Publishers are supposedly in a bidding war for Meghan’s memoir, which they hope will be *Spare 2.0*. Well, if they’re hoping for that, they’re in for a world of disappointment. Why? Because *Spare 1.0* was about as substantial as a bowl of cold porridge.
Let’s take a little trip down memory lane. Remember when Harry's book, *Spare*, hit the shelves? There was so much anticipation, so much drama, and promises of earth-shattering revelations. What did we get? A whole lot of nothing wrapped up in 400 pages of whining. Don’t get me wrong—there were a few juicy tidbits. Harry claimed William pushed him and broke a dog bowl over it. Except, oops, it turns out the dog bowl was metal and didn’t break. So either Harry's lying, or he’s got some superhuman strength we don’t know about. My money’s on the former!
Then we had Harry admitting he wanted to blow up his father with a drone. Charming, right? Nothing says “I’m a mature, well-adjusted adult” like fantasizing about patricide. But hey, at least he’s honest, right? And who could forget his heartwarming tale of rubbing cream on his nether regions while thinking about his late mother? I don’t know about you, but that’s the kind of family anecdote that really warms the cockles of your heart—sarcasm aside, of course!
*Spare* was nothing more than a 400-page tantrum, a literary temper tantrum from a man who seems to have forgotten that being a prince isn’t just about the perks; it’s about duty, service, and putting the needs of others before your own. So when these publishers say they’re hoping for *Spare 2.0* from Meghan, I have to laugh. They’re absolutely right—they’re going to get another overhyped, overpriced book full of sound and fury signifying nothing.
At least Harry was actually a member of the royal family for his entire life. He had some insider knowledge to share, even if he chose to share the most inane and embarrassing bits. Meghan? She was a working royal for all of five minutes. What’s she going to write about—the time she couldn’t figure out how to curtsy? The shocking revelation that sometimes you have to shake hands with people you don’t like? Stop the presses!
Meghan’s time in the royal family was shorter than some people’s vacations. She swept in like a tornado, caused chaos, and swept right back out again. What possible insights could she have that would be worth tens of millions of dollars?
But oh, I can hear the Meghan apologists now. They’ll cry, “Meghan’s going to tell her side of the story! She’s going to expose the racism and mistreatment!” To which I say, hasn’t she already done that? Wasn’t that what the Oprah interview was for? Wasn’t that what all those sources close to the couple have been leaking to the press for years? The truth is, Meghan’s story has more holes in it than Swiss cheese. She’s contradicted herself so many times, it’s hard to keep track. Remember when she claimed she and Harry got married in secret before the big royal wedding? Yeah, that turned out to be a big fat lie. Or how about when she said she’d never Google Harry before they met? Please! I’d sell you some oceanfront property in Arizona if you believe that one.
So what’s she going to do in this memoir? Contradict herself some more? Make up new grievances? Throw more of her in-laws under the bus? Because let me tell you, folks, that well has run dry. The public's not buying it anymore.
This whole memoir business isn’t about telling the truth or setting the record straight. It’s not about giving a voice to the voiceless or whatever noble cause Meghan will undoubtedly claim she’s championing. No, this is about one thing and one thing only: cold hard cash.
You see, Meghan and Harry have a problem—they’ve got champagne tastes on a beer budget. They’re living in a $14 million mansion, hobnobbing with Hollywood elite, trying to maintain a lifestyle that would make royals blush. But here’s the rub—they’re not royals anymore! They gave up those cushy, taxpayer-funded lives for freedom and privacy. The only problem is, freedom and privacy don’t pay the bills.
So what’s a fame-hungry ex-royal to do? Cash in on the royal connections, of course! Never mind that they’ve spent the last few years trashing the very institution that gave them their platform. Never mind that they’ve burned more bridges than a pyromaniac general. No, they’re going to milk that royal cow for all it’s worth, even if the poor thing’s gone dry.
And you know what? I’d almost respect them if they were just honest about it. If Meghan came on and said, “Look, we need the money. We’ve got a lifestyle to maintain, and Netflix isn’t cutting it anymore,” I’d at least appreciate the honesty. But no! Instead, we’re going to get some sanctimonious drivel about speaking her truth and empowering women or whatever buzzphrase is trending on Twitter that day.
But here’s the real tragedy in all of this: poor, misguided Harry. The boy who once charmed the world with his cheeky grin and his mother’s compassionate heart has been reduced to nothing more than a puppet in Meghan’s grand theater of delusion. Remember when Harry was the fun-loving prince, the soldier who served his country with pride? The man who started the Invictus Games, bringing hope and purpose to wounded veterans? That Harry seems like a distant memory now, replaced by a shell of a man who parrots his wife’s grievances and seems perpetually caught in the headlights of his own life choices.
And you know what’s really sad? I think deep down, Harry knows he’s made a terrible mistake. You can see it in his eyes during those rare public appearances. The spark is gone, replaced by a kind of desperate, haunted look. It’s the look of a man who’s realized he’s traded his birthright for a mess of California pottage but is too proud or too scared to admit it.
But back to Meghan and her supposed memoir. You have to wonder: what’s the endgame here? Does she really think people are going to shell out hard-earned cash for another 400 pages of victim narratives and vague accusations? Does she not realize that with every book deal, every Netflix special, every Spotify podcast, she’s further eroding whatever credibility she might have had left?
Or maybe—and this is a scary thought—maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe, for Meghan, any attention is good attention. Maybe she’s so desperate to stay relevant, so terrified of fading into obscurity, that she’ll say anything and do anything to keep the spotlight on herself.
It’s a sad state of affairs, really, because here’s the thing: Meghan had such potential. She could have been a force for good in the royal family. She could have used her platform to make real, meaningful change in the world. Instead, she chose to play the victim, to tear down the very institution that gave her a global stage, and drag her husband down with her.
Now she’s reduced to hawking her story to the highest bidder, spinning fantasies about a perfect family life that anyone with half a brain can see through. It’s pathetic, it’s transparent, and it’s a far cry from the life of purpose and service she claims she wanted to lead.
While Meghan’s over there in Montecito, playing make-believe with book publishers, the real royals are getting on with the business of being royal. William and Kate are out there every day, working their socks off for charity, representing the nation, and raising their children to understand the importance of duty and service. They’re not complaining; they’re not giving tell-all interviews. They’re just getting on with it, like proper royals should.
King Charles is settling into his role with dignity and purpose, Princess Anne, the unsung workhorse of the family, is still carrying out hundreds of engagements a year without a whisper of complaint. Even the younger royals, like Beatrice and Eugenie, are finding ways to contribute without constantly drawing attention to themselves.
The real royals understand that it’s not about them; it’s about the institution they represent, the history they embody, and the nation they serve. They understand that being royal is a privilege, not a right, and that with that privilege comes responsibility. Meghan never got that.
And that’s why, when her memoir finally hits the shelves, I can’t help but feel a bit of pity. Because while she’s out there trying to cash in on her time in the royal family, the rest of us will be busy moving on, enjoying the next chapter in royal history, and leaving Meghan and Harry behind in their self-made mess.
