Meghan Markle, the former Duchess turned self-proclaimed lifestyle expert, has taken a new entrepreneurial path—launching an online store. The woman who once held a coveted position within the British royal family has now discovered what she believes to be her true calling: selling overpriced, neutral-toned clothing through commission-based links.
Announcing her new e-store with a cheery message, she wrote, "Many of you have asked, so here you go—a little shopping to start the week." The implication, of course, is that there was an overwhelming demand for her to provide access to her wardrobe, as though people had been desperately waiting to buy a single shoe, a recycled gown from Windsor, or a £600 pair of Saint Laurent sandals.
The store, hosted on ShopMai, presents itself as a carefully curated selection of luxury pieces, personally chosen by Meghan. How exciting. Now, for a small fortune, anyone can emulate her signature aesthetic—an uninspired palette of muted tones that embodies a certain air of fashionable melancholy. Featuring brands like Heidi Merrick, Reformation, and J.Crew, the shop is the latest iteration of her personal brand. The truth is, this is exactly where she always intended to land. After all, the long game has finally paid off—securing a royal title, leveraging that platform for global recognition, painting herself as a victim of an institution she willingly joined, escaping to America in pursuit of "freedom," striking multimillion-dollar deals for projects that never materialized, sitting down with Oprah to play the world's smallest violin, and ultimately, launching what is essentially a glorified "Shop My Closet" page.
While Meghan embarks on her new mission as an Instagram affiliate queen, the Princess of Wales continues her work on meaningful charitable initiatives, purposefully keeping her fashion choices in the background to shift attention toward the causes she supports. In contrast, Meghan seems to have once again misunderstood the assignment, offering £200 earrings as if they were part of some revolutionary movement. She likely envisions this endeavor as a sophisticated, Goop-adjacent empire, yet in reality, it’s indistinguishable from what reality TV stars and mid-tier influencers do daily.
Adding to the irony, Meghan has disabled comments on her posts, which raises an interesting question—if so many people were truly begging for her outfit details, how exactly were they communicating their desperate pleas? Carrier pigeons? Smoke signals? Or perhaps the persistent inner monologue that assures her she is a misunderstood style icon? If anyone genuinely believes there was a public outcry demanding access to her fashion links, they might also be interested in an email from a Nigerian prince.
The paradox is almost suffocating. After years of claiming the royal family stifled her ability to express herself, here she stands, finally free—only to sell the very same beige wardrobe she once accused the palace of forcing upon her. It turns out, no one was preventing her from wearing color; she’s simply committed to an aesthetic as unremarkable as her fashion choices. Imagine relinquishing a position in one of the world's most historic and prestigious institutions, trading security, influence, and tradition, only to reinvent oneself as a discount version of Gwyneth Paltrow—minus the cult following or credibility.
Even more amusingly, speculation has long circulated that Meghan was quietly profiting from fashion blogs dedicated to her wardrobe, such as "What Meghan Wore" and "Meghan's Closet." Once dismissed as wild conspiracy theories, those whispers now seem far more plausible. With this new venture, she has simply eliminated the middlemen, ensuring she collects the full commission for herself.
And so, we arrive at the final act: the Duchess of Discount, the Sovereign of Sponsored Links, the Empress of Beige. Once, the world was at her feet. Now, she’s marketing overpriced dresses to an audience that, in reality, isn’t buying it—either literally or figuratively.
