Meghan Markle, self-styled CEO of her lifestyle venture "Scam Jam," wants the world to know just how tirelessly she works.
According to her, her schedule is so overflowing that it's a miracle she has time to blink. Judging by her recent appearance on the Jamie Kern Lima show, though, she might be blinking 300 times a minute just to maintain the illusion. The commentary kicked off with Carol Malone’s scathing critique on GB News. Malone, clearly unimpressed, compared Meghan’s portrayal of herself as a one-woman powerhouse to a bizarre fantasy. "If Meghan's a one-woman band," Malone snapped, "then I'm a Grammy-winning octopus playing eight instruments at once."
In truth, Meghan isn’t huddled over a desk writing scripts or sketching branding ideas — she has an entire team to handle that. But in Meghan’s glittering reality, something as trivial as restocking decorative flower sprinkles morphs into an entrepreneurial Everest. She spins a narrative where she’s personally navigating warehouse chaos, battling imaginary Amazon bunnies to fulfill orders. In reality, Amazon Prime can deliver dried flower feed for pets faster, cheaper, and without any delusions of grandeur.
Then there was the launch of her "as ever" brand — which fizzled out faster than a soap bubble in a wind tunnel. The grand debut featured a few overpriced jars of flower flakes, some heavily marketed spreads, and a logo that looked like it was generated in Canva during a lunch break. It likely sold out after about 50 units, yet somehow she was anointed the Oprah of artisanal botanicals. No verified reviews, just a cloud of curated vibes and vague promises to restock once Mercury is out of retrograde or when her PR team recovers from their latest spin cycle.
Meanwhile, Prince Harry — somewhere in Montecito — might be lighting candles and whispering affirmations to the universe, praying for the flower sprinkles to ship or for their ghostwritten podcast episodes to trend. Meghan claims she reads only 1% of the criticism written about her, which is funny given how closely her responses seem to track every meme, Reddit thread, and Twitter post. She blinks like she's sending Morse code signals for help but insists she’s living her truth — a truth surrounded by an entourage of 80 staff members handling everything from Netflix deals to podcast production, possibly even childcare.
She speaks of her love for her team, yet takes credit for every team accomplishment like she’s a modern-day Steve Jobs — if Jobs had an obsession with gift baskets and scented stationery. Her podcast, meant to be revolutionary, mostly revolved around statements like "I'm a mom, a friend, and I sell $30 dried lavender," as if that alone were a feminist triumph. But she’s not selling jam; she’s selling the fantasy of being the kind of woman who sells jam. Her brand is more Etsy-meets-hamster-food-aisle than innovative empire.
The saddest part is that customers are left with “IUs” — imaginary units — empty jars and unfulfilled promises, while Meghan arranges charcuterie boards with Gwyneth Paltrow and parades as the face of ethical hustle. But the only thing she's truly cultivating is an illusion — seeds of hype that bloom not into products but press releases.
So here’s to Meghan Markle: the ever-enigmatic empress of empty glassware, the duchess of minimal effort, and the symbolic leader of the Bunny Chow Movement. May her flower sprinkles find eternal rest — preferably far away from the checkout page.
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