So, With Love, Meghan—even the title makes me roll my eyes so hard I can see my own brain—is just days away from its March 4th premiere. This show represents everything we’ve come to expect from the former Z-list actress turned royal turned… what exactly? Martha Stewart? Gwyneth Paltrow? The delusion is simply staggering. But don’t just take my word for it. Celebrity chef Jameson Starks, a man who has actually cooked for real royalty, including King Charles himself, has absolutely eviscerated this vanity project before it’s even aired.
Jameson is the real deal, my friends. He’s trained under Marco Pierre White, run Michelin-starred restaurants, and has been a Prince’s Trust ambassador for over a decade. Now that’s what I call authentic royal connections—not the kind you marry into and then monetize at every turn. Jameson didn’t mince his words when speaking about Meghan’s latest desperate grasp for relevance. He predicted, “She will appear on every possible show in the USA to promote it.”
Can you picture it? Meghan making the rounds on every morning show, talk show, and podcast, pretending she’s been a culinary genius all along when we all know she’s just trying to salvage that $100 million Netflix deal that’s surely hanging by a thread at this point.
What qualifies Meghan to host a cooking show, you ask? Well, according to her, she loves to cook and once had a lifestyle blog called The Tig that she conveniently abandoned the moment Prince Harry put a ring on her finger. How fascinating that her passion for cooking only seems to resurface when there are Netflix checks to be cashed. You simply cannot make this stuff up.
Jameson didn’t stop there, my friends. He delivered the most delicious burn when he said, “I don’t think it will get renewed purely because I don’t think it’ll be entertaining enough.” Ouch. But where’s the lie? He continued, “There are a lot of great home cooks out there, and I don’t think she’s going to show too much in regard to inspiration. I think it will come across quite boring.” Double ouch. But again, where is the lie?
Let’s be honest about what’s really happening here. This isn’t about Meghan’s deep-seated passion for cuisine or her desire to share her culinary wisdom with the masses. This is about a failing Netflix deal that needs to produce content—any content—to justify the obscene amount of money thrown at two people whose only real talent is complaining about the very institution that gave them global relevance.
Remember their first Netflix offering? That three-part documentary that was essentially Woe Is Us: The Extended Cut, where they rehashed the same grievances they’d already shared with Oprah? That series that somehow managed to make living in a multi-million-dollar mansion in Montecito seem like a hardship? That visual snoozefest that had viewers reaching for the fast-forward button halfway through the first episode?
Now, they’re pivoting to lifestyle content because, let’s face it, they’ve exhausted the royal victim narrative. There are only so many times you can throw your family under the bus before people start questioning your own role in the drama. So, what’s left? Cooking shows, gardening tips, hosting advice—as if Meghan Markle is suddenly the authority on entertaining when she couldn’t even navigate the basic social expectations of royal life.
Jameson Starks hit the nail on the head when he expressed his frustration: “When individuals without formal training or experience in culinary arts suddenly land their own shows and publish cookbooks, it truly is a disservice to those who have dedicated themselves to rigorous training in demanding kitchens.”
But that’s Meghan’s entire brand, isn’t it? Swooping into spaces she hasn’t earned through hard work and dedication, leveraging her marriage to gain opportunities that others have spent decades working toward.
Meanwhile, across the pond, what are the real royals doing? Catherine, the Princess of Wales, continues her groundbreaking work on early childhood development, understanding that real change requires patience, dedication, and a willingness to work quietly behind the scenes without constant accolades. Prince William is advancing his environmental causes through Earthshot, creating tangible solutions rather than just talking about problems. King Charles is settling into his reign with the dignity and sense of duty we would expect from someone who spent a lifetime preparing for the role.
The contrast couldn’t be more stark. While the working royals focus on making a difference, the Sussexes focus on making headlines. While Catherine and William raise their children with a sense of normalcy despite their extraordinary circumstances, Harry and Meghan use their children as props when it suits their narrative and shields when it doesn’t. While King Charles and Queen Camilla represent the steadfast continuity of the monarchy, Harry and Meghan represent the fleeting nature of celebrity—here today, forgotten tomorrow.
Let’s talk about the timing of this cooking show, shall we? Meghan is also launching her lifestyle brand, As Ever, another Netflix partnership. How convenient that these two ventures are emerging simultaneously. It’s almost as if Meghan realizes her star is fading and she needs to throw everything at the wall to see what sticks.
After the spectacular failure of her Spotify podcast, Archetypes—remember that disaster?—she’s desperately trying to reinvent herself as some kind of lifestyle guru. But here’s the problem: authenticity cannot be manufactured. You can hire the best PR team, the most skilled editors, the most flattering lighting crew, but viewers can smell inauthenticity from a mile away.
Martha Stewart built her empire from nothing, faced setbacks with dignity, and earned her place as America’s homemaking queen. Gwyneth Paltrow, love her or hate her, has been consistent in her brand and beliefs for decades. What is Meghan’s brand beyond “former royal with grievances”?
Every move the Sussexes make screams desperation at this point. They’re watching their relevance dwindle with each passing month, and it must be terrifying for a couple who abandoned everything for fame and fortune to realize that fame is fleeting and fortune requires more than just complaints about your in-laws.
Jameson Starks hit the nail on the head when he said, “Netflix has supported them from the start, so they will likely rally behind her new show as they need it to be a success. However, if it doesn’t perform well, I’m uncertain about the direction Netflix can take with her.” Translation: This is Meghan’s last chance to prove she’s worth that $100 million, and even Netflix—a company known for throwing money at questionable content—is running out of patience.
Can you imagine the conversations happening in Netflix headquarters right now? “We gave them $100 million, and all we got was a documentary where they whined about royal life and now a cooking show? Is this really what we signed up for?” The executives must be pulling their hair out. They thought they were getting access to royal insights and instead got a masterclass in burning bridges and squandering goodwill.
Let’s talk about the show format for a moment. According to the press release, Meghan will invite friends and A-list guests to a stunning California estate, where she shares cooking, gardening, and hosting tips. First of all, which A-list guests, exactly? Hollywood has largely moved on from the Sussex novelty. The truly A-list celebrities have realized that associating with a couple known primarily for trashing their family isn’t great for their own brand.
Secondly, cooking, gardening, and hosting tips from someone who lived in the royal household for less than two years and reportedly clashed with staff throughout that brief tenure? The same person who allegedly made Kate Middleton cry over flower girl dresses? That’s who’s going to teach us about hosting etiquette? The mind truly boggles.
And let’s not forget, this is the same Meghan Markle who claimed she was silenced during her time as a royal, only to embark on a never-ending speaking tour the moment she left. The same woman who claims to value privacy while inviting Netflix cameras into her home. The same duchess who spoke about the challenges of royal life while millions were losing their jobs during a global pandemic. Her lack of self-awareness is truly staggering.
Jameson Starks’ assessment that Meghan has “likely received training and consulted with experts on the show to enhance her skills” is probably spot on. Can you imagine the behind-the-scenes scramble to make her appear competent in the kitchen? The frantic coaching sessions, the carefully edited footage to hide any culinary disasters?
Because let’s be honest, if Meghan were truly passionate and skilled in cooking, we’d have heard about it long before now. It would have been part of her brand all along—not a convenient new interest that aligns with a desperate need for content.
What’s particularly cringeworthy about this whole situation is the way Harry has been reduced to a mere footnote in the “Meghan Show.” Prince Harry, once the cheeky, charming royal who created the Invictus Games, who served his country in Afghanistan, who was beloved by the British public, is now just “Meghan’s husband” in these press releases. Where is he in all this? Probably trailing two steps behind her, carrying her cookbooks, and looking increasingly uncomfortable as he realizes the life he’s chosen.
I genuinely feel a twinge of sadness for Harry sometimes. He had everything: the respect of a nation, a close bond with his brother, a meaningful role in an institution that has stood for centuries. And he traded it all for what? A supporting role in his wife’s vanity projects? A life of fighting with paparazzi in California instead of being protected by royal security in Britain? A relationship with his children that’s completely disconnected from their royal heritage and extended family?
The tragedy of Prince Harry will someday be studied by royal historians as a cautionary tale of what happens when duty is abandoned for celebrity. Because celebrity is fleeting, my friends. It requires constant feeding, constant reinvention, constant attention—the very things Harry claimed to despise about royal life have become the defining features of his existence in California.
Meanwhile, William and Catherine continue to grow in stature and public affection, despite Meghan and Harry’s attempts to paint them as cold, unwelcoming, and even racist. The Prince and Princess of Wales have risen above the drama and focused on what matters: their children, their causes, and their future role as king and queen. They understand what Harry never did: that true royal power comes not from headlines or Netflix deals, but from quiet, consistent service to something greater than yourself.
King Charles, despite being portrayed as a neglectful father in Harry’s book Spare, has shown remarkable restraint and dignity. He continues to extend olive branches to his wayward son while never compromising the integrity of the institution he now leads. What strength that must take. What personal pain he must set aside daily in service to his role. That’s the difference between royalty and celebrity right there: the ability to put duty above personal feelings.
And Queen Camilla, who has endured decades of public scrutiny and criticism, who was specifically targeted in Harry’s book, continues to support her husband and fulfill her royal duties with grace and increasing public approval. The transformation of public opinion toward Camilla is a masterclass in letting actions speak louder than words—a lesson the Sussexes would do well to learn.
So, as we approach the premiere of With Love, Meghan, I encourage all of you, my loyal viewers, to see this for what it truly is: not a passion project, not a genuine sharing of culinary expertise, but a desperate attempt to remain relevant in a world that has largely moved on. Netflix will push it, PR teams will promote it, friendly media outlets will praise it—but the public isn’t fooled anymore.
The sad irony in all this is that if Harry and Meghan had stayed within the royal fold, worked through their challenges, accepted their supporting roles to William and Catherine, they could have had meaningful, impactful lives without this constant scramble for attention. They could have represented the monarchy globally, championed causes they cared about, and built a legacy of service rather than a legacy of grievance.
Instead, we’re watching the slow-motion car crash of two people who thought they were bigger than the institution that gave them a platform, who believed their personal star power would outshine centuries of tradition and protocol, who gambled everything on the belief that American celebrity would prove more fulfilling than British royalty.
As Jameson Starks so aptly predicted, this cooking show will likely be boring. But the real story behind it—the desperation it represents, the fall from grace it signifies—is anything but. It’s a Shakespearean tragedy playing out on Netflix, and we’re all witnesses to the sad final acts.
So, set your reminders for March 4th if you must, my Royal Watchers, but don’t expect culinary brilliance or authentic insights. Expect carefully curated scenes, heavily edited interactions, and the desperate smile of a woman who’s realized that without the royal connection, she’s just another lifestyle influencer in a sea of more qualified, more authentic voices.
Until next time, keep supporting our true working royals, who understand that duty isn’t a dirty word but a sacred calling. Keep your standards high and your expectations of the Sussexes appropriately low. And remember: no amount of Netflix production value can manufacture the dignity, grace, and genuine service that comes naturally to Catherine, William, King Charles, and Queen Camilla.
