Just when it seemed like As Ever might become the comeback brand of the century—complete with artisan jams, 20-pound jars of honey, and whimsical sprinkles—it revealed itself to be more spectacle than substance.
With all the emotional fanfare of a sweeping, feel-good biopic, Meghan Markle launched the brand only to immediately morph into Kris Jenner 2.0, showcasing a level of orchestrated influence that felt less like a genuine debut and more like a PR maneuver set to autopilot. What many suspected all along became painfully clear: As Ever didn’t sell out because of overwhelming demand—it sold out faster than a teenager’s self-respect at Coachella because, quite simply, there was never much to sell in the first place.
The announcement had all the pomp and polish typically reserved for royal milestones or big-budget Netflix deals. Meghan posted a grand declaration: “We live. Come shop the As Ever collection I’ve poured so much love into.” Translation? She oversaw the packing of half a dozen jars of jam into carefully curated cardboard boxes, priced them at an eyebrow-raising £10.82, tossed in a whisper of “limited quantities,” and sent her message into the Instagram ether. Moments later, it was “sold out”—or so they said. Eager shoppers flooded the site, visions of raspberry preserves and delicate crepe mixes dancing in their heads, only to be met with barren product pages. While the algorithm consoled them with errors and out-of-stock notifications, Kris Jenner was over on Instagram unveiling her As Ever PR package like it was some exclusive new vodka flavor.
Box after immaculately styled box filled Jenner’s fridge: shortbread cookie mix, honey, tea, even tiny decorative flower sprinkles—all untouched by the masses, perfectly prepped for her elite circle. Zoe Saldana received hers too. The truth began to unravel. As Ever didn’t “sell out” in any traditional sense—it was handed out, gifted to celebrities, influencers, and anyone with a verified checkmark and an infrared sauna. For the rest of us, the checkout button may as well have been a mirage. In PR terms, this is called the “illusion of success.” For everyone else, it’s just good old-fashioned faking it.
The real kicker wasn’t just the scarcity or the marketing fluff—it was the sheer nerve of it all. Meghan, long painted as the underdog, doing all this from inside her $14 million estate, barely made a gesture toward the everyday buyer. Regular fans were left empty-handed while the ultra-wealthy got bespoke pantry boxes for free. As Ever claims to be about “conscious living” and seasonal drops, which, decoded, means: “I made a dozen jars of jam in a pastel kitchen, called it a wellness movement, and texted my celeb friends to hype it up.”
And so, while Meghan plays at being the next Martha Stewart—let’s say, Martha Markle—we’re expected to believe this is all part of a meaningful entrepreneurial journey. But what’s a brand with no inventory, no customer access, and no real product? Not a business. Not really. The only thing Kris Jenner truly accomplished by posting her unboxing was pulling back the curtain. What As Ever represents isn’t a commitment to quality or conscious consumerism—it’s about the aesthetic, the curated illusion, the polished idea of a lifestyle brand meant only for those who can afford to live in the fantasy or promote it for likes.
In the end, this isn’t about jam, honey, or artisanal anything. It’s about selling a dream—a lifestyle that only the famous, the wealthy, or the influential can access. For everyone else, As Ever is just another glossy mirage: all smoke, all mirrors, and not a single spoonful of jam in sight.
