Meghan Markle, ever the duchess of self-promotion, made a headline-grabbing appearance at Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter tour at SoFi Stadium. She didn’t just show up—she arrived dripping in nearly $20,000 worth of diamond necklaces.
Because, naturally, there’s no better way to enjoy a concert from the nosebleed seats than by flashing luxury jewels that scream anything but subtlety. She later shared a polished Instagram carousel, featuring perfectly matched cowboy-inspired outfits, with Prince Harry swaying beside her. She wore a Carolina Herrera denim dress—a piece that might’ve turned heads five seasons ago but now feels like a glorified Poshmark listing. And while the caption gave a nod to Beyoncé, the spotlight was clearly intended for Meghan herself. It wasn’t about Queen Bey; it was all about Queen Me.
The twist came just hours later, when the exact outfit and accessories popped up on her “Shop My” affiliate page—choker included at $11,000, paired with a $10,995 cross pendant. That very cross seemed eerily reminiscent of one Princess Diana once wore. It might’ve been an homage, but the execution felt more opportunistic than classy. Even more telling? The jewelry brand behind the pieces, Logan Hollowell, stayed completely silent. No reposts, no “thank you,” no public acknowledgement. Radio silence. Why? Because getting “Marled” has become a thing—when a celebrity uses a brand to boost their own profile without any formal partnership, only to ghost the brand afterward. It reeks of desperation, not influence.
Authentic royals wear designer pieces with an air of intrigue. Their style choices inspire fans to uncover the details themselves, creating organic engagement and timeless allure. Meghan, on the other hand, drops affiliate links like it’s a clearance sale. There’s no mystery, no subtlety—just pure hustle. And let’s be honest, who is even buying these exorbitantly priced items from her page? Certainly not the Sussex Squad, many of whom likely can’t afford such extravagance. The whole operation feels like a misguided attempt to sell ultra-luxury goods to a fanbase that’s more invested in loyalty than luxury.
Meanwhile, Catherine—the Princess of Wales and future queen—has evolved into a $1 billion fashion icon. Meghan? She’s still pushing last-season Carolina Herrera as if it just hit the runway, when in reality, it’s already marked down on eBay. It’s fashion delusion at its finest. And if that cross necklace really holds sacred value, it’s baffling that Meghan would wear it so casually to a concert. There’s a difference between flexing and making fashion choices that border on absurdity.
If Meghan were playing the long game, she’d pivot to accessible, relatable style that builds genuine trust and engagement. But instead, she’s too busy dipping into Harry’s wallet and strategizing her next monetizable appearance. What should be a legacy rooted in grace and purpose is turning into a high-end garage sale. And brands are noticing. Nobody wants to be the next to get "Marled." That sparkle stunt? It’s a textbook example of how not to build lasting influence.
