Harry has every right to feel traumatized by his mother’s death. Losing a parent at any age is devastating, and losing a mother at just 12 years old in such a public and tragic way would leave scars on anyone. No one questions that. What we do question is the constant need to parade that trauma in front of cameras for Netflix subscriptions and dollar signs.
If Harry genuinely wanted to process his grief and trauma, would he need to do it on a global streaming platform? Would he need millions of strangers watching as he pours his heart out to a therapist? Of course not! That’s what private therapy is for. And with his vast resources, he could afford the best help available—without turning his pain into entertainment.
What makes this particularly distasteful is the stark difference in how Harry and Prince William have chosen to honor their mother’s memory. Both lost the same beloved parent. Both walked behind her coffin. Both experienced the same public grief. Yet William has managed to uphold his mother’s legacy with dignity and restraint—carrying on her charitable work, naming his daughter after her, and speaking of her influence in a respectful and meaningful way.
Meanwhile, Harry seems to have developed an almost pathological need to bear his soul to anyone with a Netflix subscription. It’s uncomfortable to watch and, frankly, embarrassing. William understands that some things are sacred, that grief should be private, and that duty must come before self-indulgence. The contrast between the two brothers couldn’t be more glaring.
And let’s take a moment to talk about Princess Catherine. Here is a woman who has shown nothing but grace under extraordinary pressure. She’s fighting her own health battles yet still manages to fulfill her royal duties whenever possible, all while maintaining privacy and dignity. She doesn’t exploit her struggles for sympathy or attention—she simply gets on with things in that classic British way. The difference in character between Catherine and the Sussexes is almost blinding.
Alex Dyke tried to defend Harry by saying, “People are different.” Of course they are! But there’s a difference between processing trauma differently and monetizing it. There’s a difference between seeking help and seeking the spotlight. Harry isn’t just dealing with his grief—he’s packaging it for public consumption and profit.
I keep wondering how Diana herself would feel about all this. She had a complicated relationship with fame, but she understood discretion. She knew that some things should remain private, even in public life. Do we really believe she would want her death and memory to be used as content for a streaming service? Would she approve of one son using their shared loss to drive an even bigger wedge between himself and his brother?
And let’s talk about the timing. 2027 will mark 30 years since Diana’s passing—a solemn anniversary that should be about reflection, not ratings. By planning this documentary years in advance, Harry isn’t responding to grief as it comes; he’s scheduling it like a business opportunity. That’s not healing—that’s marketing.
Now, they’re scrambling to justify another payday. And it seems Diana’s memory is the next asset they’re ready to cash in on.
Remember when they left the UK? It was all about privacy, right? They couldn’t bear the media scrutiny, the lack of space to live their own lives. And yet, here they are—inviting cameras into their most intimate moments, sharing details no one asked for, and creating content out of trauma. The hypocrisy is staggering. They didn’t want privacy—they wanted control of the narrative (and the profits that come with it).
I have to wonder what King Charles makes of all this. This is his son—the boy he raised, the young man he supported through thick and thin. How must it feel to watch that son repeatedly throw his family under the bus for commercial gain? Charles has remained dignified and silent throughout Harry’s many provocations, which speaks volumes about his character. Even as he battles his own health challenges, he continues to put duty first. That’s what true royalty is about—service and sacrifice, not Netflix deals and public therapy sessions.
And what about Meghan? Let’s not pretend she doesn’t play a significant role in Harry’s decisions. Since she entered the picture, we’ve seen a complete transformation in his behavior, priorities, and relationships. The Harry who once charmed the world with his military service and charity work now seems obsessed with settling scores and securing deals.
Interestingly, this Diana documentary is a solo project for Harry. Is Meghan finally realizing that her royal connections aren’t enough to sustain public interest? Or is this a calculated division of their “brand assets”—she takes the lifestyle content, he monetizes royal trauma? Either way, it’s a cynical move.
I’ve followed the royal family for decades, and I’ve never seen anything quite like this. Even royals who stepped back—like Edward VIII or Princess Margaret—had the sense to maintain some discretion afterward. They understood that the institution was bigger than their personal desires. But Harry seems determined to commodify every aspect of his royal past while simultaneously complaining about the very institution that makes him marketable.
And here’s the real tragedy: Harry does have valuable things to offer the world. His work with Invictus was groundbreaking. He has natural charm and empathy that could be used for meaningful change. But instead, he’s chosen the easy route—mining his past for content, rehashing old grievances, and using his mother’s memory as a bargaining chip.
Stephen Dixon hit the nail on the head when he said Harry should shut up. At some point, publicly processing the same trauma becomes unhealthy—not just for Harry, but for everyone involved. William can’t respond without seeming callous. The King can’t intervene without creating more drama. The institution can’t defend itself without seeming cruel. And yet, Harry keeps orchestrating this no-win situation.
As this story develops, I’ll be watching closely—just as I know you all will be. But for now, I have to agree with Dixon: Harry needs to stop talking and start reflecting. Not for Netflix, not for the cameras—but for himself and the family he claims to love. Some healing can only happen in silence and privacy—something his mother, despite her fame, understood all too well.
