Meghan Markle’s Netflix cooking show, With Love, Meghan, and I’m still trying to process what in the dystopian trad-wife, narcissistic wet dream I just witnessed. Gone are the days of the feminist warrior princess who wrote to Procter & Gamble about their sexist dish soap commercial. Now, we have the elitist, rich-board housewife giving us a fly-on-the-wall peek into her overprivileged life behind the gates of Montecito.
Yes, the Baroness of Beige and Bare Minimum herself lets us “discover the real Meghan” as she prances around in her overpriced designer outfits in a rented multi-million-dollar mansion, gathering fake praise from her paid minions while throwing fake edible flowers on everything.
The show was undeniably aesthetically pleasing. It was beautifully shot—kudos to the director, cinematographer, and lighting team. The mansion where they filmed was stunning. If you’re going to film an aesthetic cooking or DIY show, this was definitely the location.
Meghan herself looked flawless throughout the series. Her hair, makeup, and wardrobe were on point. They clearly spent millions on production, and it showed. Every guest was overly made up, wearing designer outfits, and Meghan looked like a Hollywood Barbie in Barbie’s Dreamhouse—except the house wasn’t hers. It was all so fake and cringey, but I can see how some fans might find it an escape into a glamorous, albeit artificial, reality.
Here’s the issue: if you’re tuning into a cooking show hosted by someone who claims to be a foodie (remember The Tig?), you’d expect to learn something. You’d think Meghan would share tips on entertaining, hosting, or even just a solid recipe. But no. With Love, Meghan wasn’t designed for the audience—it was designed for her.
There were no recipes, no ingredient lists, no step-by-step instructions. The show wasn’t about participation or education. It was about ooh-ing and ahh-ing over Meghan as she paraded around her rented kitchen in designer outfits, giving us “brilliant” ideas like how to boil water or tie a bow. It was a narcissistic vanity project where the only takeaway was how fabulous Meghan thinks she is.
Every episode followed a theme where guests were armed with platitudes and praise. The compliments felt scripted, over-the-top, and painfully fake. In one particularly awkward moment, Mindy Kaling flubbed her lines, gushing, “I love your look!” Meghan, in her fakest bewilderment, responded, “Tell me something I don’t know.” Not even a “thank you”—just pure, unadulterated ego.
Then there was the peanut butter and jelly sandwich scene. Meghan cut the sandwiches into stars and hearts, and Mindy acted like it was the most revolutionary thing she’d ever seen. “Oh my God, Megan, I can’t believe you cut that into a star!” And of course, Meghan elevated the PB&J with a sprinkle of fake edible flowers—her signature move.
Every episode followed the same formula: Meghan starts by talking to a crew member about a guest coming over, then “prepares” something like crepes, donuts, or a fruit platter. She’d throw in a DIY project, like balloon arches or bath salts, but never actually showed us how to make them. It was all surface-level fluff with no substance.
One of the most cringey moments was when Meghan and her makeup artist friend decorated a pre-baked cake. They talked about the “beauty on the inside,” with Meghan saying, “Sometimes you have to dig deep to find the beauty.” Was she referring to herself? Because after seven years in the public eye, we’re still waiting to see the “real” Meghan.
In the end, With Love, Meghan was a complete flop. It was a nothing-burger wrapped in cotton candy and fake edible flowers. I can’t believe Netflix shelled out millions for this show. It didn’t need eight episodes—it could’ve been a single YouTube video.
Meghan’s cooking show was less about cooking and more about merching her lifestyle brand. It was a walking billboard with price tags hanging off it, filled with rich friends and paid minions delivering fake praise. There was nothing new, nothing original, and nothing worth taking away.
