Netflix has officially renewed Meghan Markle's cooking show for a second season, and now a historian is praising her for turning online criticism into profit. Is this really what counts as success today? Let’s be clear—using the term "Mean Meghan" should be done sparingly, but this show is exactly what we’ve come to expect from her carefully curated public image.
It consists of eight episodes featuring Meghan playing the perfect hostess, entertaining celebrity friends, and attempting to portray herself as just an ordinary California girl who loves to entertain. In reality, it’s nothing more than a monetized spectacle. She has positioned herself as the ultimate host, embracing a “domestic goddess” persona, yet her supposed support for Britain is nonexistent—because if it’s not profitable, she’s not interested.
A historian recently called it “deliciously ironic” that Meghan has managed to turn her haters into a source of revenue. But there’s nothing ironic about it—it’s simply calculated. Meghan understands better than most that in today’s media landscape, engagement is currency, whether positive or negative. Unfortunately, this is the same strategy she has used from the very beginning. Consider this: while Catherine has been privately battling health struggles with dignity and grace, asking for privacy during an unimaginably difficult time, Meghan has been launching products, producing films, and constantly remaining in the spotlight. The contrast couldn’t be starker—one is a true princess, while the other sees royalty as just another stepping stone.
Harry, too, has undergone a dramatic transformation under Meghan’s influence. The once-brave prince, who proudly served his country and had a close bond with William, has been replaced by a corporate mouthpiece. And then there’s the audacity of featuring Abigail Spencer, who claims that this show reflects the "true Meghan." Over the years, it has become increasingly clear what Meghan is all about—herself. The show exists to highlight her, and she controls the narrative to ensure that only positive reactions are amplified, creating an echo chamber that shields her from any form of accountability.
The fact that Netflix is giving her a second season is infuriating. One can already picture the PR spin, celebrating the show’s placement in Netflix’s global top 10 rankings. But people are watching it the same way they slow down to observe a car crash—out of morbid curiosity rather than genuine admiration. Meanwhile, across the pond, William remains steadfast in supporting Catherine through her treatment, continuing his royal duties without complaint. King Charles, despite his own health battles, remains committed to the Crown, proving to be the backbone of the family during these trying times. This is what true royalty looks like—the stark contrast between duty and dignity versus a lifestyle built on monetization and self-promotion.
One side prioritizes service and discretion, maintaining a sense of honor in their personal lives, while the other exploits every aspect of their private affairs for financial gain. The idea of turning controversy into profit shouldn’t be something to celebrate. Have we really reached a point where being so divisive is considered a mark of success? From where I stand, it looks more like desperation. True success isn’t a cooking show featuring famous friends—it’s Catherine’s photography initiatives that shine a light on social issues, or Charles’s decades-long work on sustainability that genuinely benefits the world.
One has to wonder whether Harry ever wakes up in the middle of the night and reflects on all that he has sacrificed—his family, his country, his sense of purpose—all for a Netflix contract. Does he regret not being there to support his father through his battle with cancer, or has he convinced himself that he was entirely in the right? If there’s one thing this situation proves, it’s that controversy sells—and Meghan knows exactly how to capitalize on it.
