Meghan Markle’s latest attempt at conquering the culinary world played out like an episode of Real Housewives: Sussex Edition, complete with forced smiles, awkward interactions, and an exasperated Prince Harry who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The spectacle began with his entrance—or rather, his reluctant shuffle onto the set. At first, he was all warmth, handing out hugs and greetings with the enthusiasm of a seasoned host. But when he reached Meghan, the energy shifted. His embrace felt as half-hearted as a man obligated to hug his tax auditor after a grueling financial review. Meghan, ever conscious of the cameras, smiled through clenched teeth, knowing that their carefully curated public image was the main course of the day.
Adding to the strained atmosphere was Meghan’s mother, Doria, who seemed to drift through the gathering like an overlooked extra in a film she was supposed to star in. While others received animated welcomes, she was met with little more than a passing glance, her presence acknowledged just enough to avoid questions but not enough to suggest real inclusion. The tension in the air was thick—almost spreadable, like the artisanal jam Meghan had likely selected for the occasion.
But the true highlight of the event came with the toast. Glasses were raised in Meghan’s honor as the self-proclaimed centerpiece of the universe. Harry, however, hesitated. He scanned the room, as if calculating the cost of non-participation. After a long, telling pause, he finally lifted his glass with the enthusiasm of a man realizing he’d left the stove on back at Buckingham Palace. His expression said it all—How did I get here?
Just when it seemed the awkwardness had peaked, the staged kiss arrived. Meghan leaned in, and Harry played his part, only to instinctively step back the moment the cameras stopped rolling. The distance he put between them was almost comical—like a man who had just escaped an overly clingy handshake. Meanwhile, Meghan carried on seamlessly, as if auditioning for an Oscar-worthy role in The Woman Who Has It All Together.
The underlying theme of this spectacle was hard to ignore—Harry’s growing realization that he had traded grand royal banquets for a brunch that felt more like a performance than a celebration. The prince who once stood with dignity beside his grandmother at state dinners now found himself nursing a mimosa in a setting so artificial it could have been scripted. And for what? So his wife could bask in yet another moment of self-adulation.
At its core, the event exposed something deeper—Meghan’s apparent detachment from anything beyond her meticulously controlled public persona. There were no heartfelt family traditions, no nostalgic dishes from childhood, just a production carefully staged to appear intimate. The so-called friends in attendance felt more like background actors in a scene meant to sell an illusion rather than showcase real connections.
What should have been a simple brunch turned into an overproduced infomercial wrapped in an ego boost. The cracks in the performance were visible, and no amount of avocado toast could cover them up. Harry looked like a man trapped in a script he never agreed to, while Meghan continued her relentless audition for a role the world wasn’t buying.
