After a year of anticipation that dragged on longer than a royal wedding toast, Meghan Markle has finally released her lifestyle product line, American Riviera Orchard.
And according to early reviews, the buzz isn't about elegance or innovation—it's about how surprisingly unpleasant the products are. This time, the tea is bad not just in the metaphorical sense but in a very literal, palate-offending way. Think minty horror that evokes the taste of mouthwash more than any soothing herbal blend. It’s the kind of experience where you pause mid-sip and wonder if someone swapped your cup for Listerine.
Following months of soft-focus Instagram posts and vague, polished hints, Meghan debuted her curated collection featuring baking mixes, jam-like dessert sauces, and three types of herbal teas, each priced at $12. And people paid that—twelve dollars for twelve tiny sachets—driven by curiosity or a taste for self-inflicted suffering. First up: the hibiscus tea. Testers from the Daily Mail followed the brewing instructions to the letter—Meghan’s own, inspired by her son’s steeping preferences—minus the luxurious California backdrop. Seven minutes later, they were questioning their life choices. The tea turned a vivid, almost alarming red, and reportedly tasted like expired perfume. One reviewer said it reminded them of lip balm. Another couldn’t keep it down and spit it right back into the cup. It was described as a mix of dirty dishwater and a cloying Yankee Candle scent, and no royal pedigree could salvage that flavor.
Then came the peppermint tea, which one reviewer referred to as the evil twin of toothpaste. Several tasters said it was like chugging a melted breath strip, minus the refreshing aftermath. One unfortunate soul likened the sensation to being attacked by peppermint, not in a relaxing spa way but in a harsh, medicinal ambush. Brittany from Royal News Network even gagged on camera—a moment of journalism bravery, perhaps. She also pointed out that the tea tags were completely blank. No branding, no charm, no effort—just a teabag and a dream. For $12, what you really get is trauma wrapped in minimalist packaging.
The lemon and ginger blend fared marginally better, but that’s not exactly a glowing endorsement. Think of it as the least objectionable cousin at a chaotic family reunion. It had a touch more balance but still left an artificial, almost chemical aftertaste. Several reviewers questioned whether it had been brewed in a facility that doubles as a warehouse, possibly one stocked with lemon-scented floor cleaner. The packaging didn’t help: crooked labels, bubbling adhesive, and cheap stickers that looked like they’d been slapped on during a royal-themed arts and crafts hour.
Spending $12 on a tea that tastes like bad decisions feels like an insult to your wallet and your taste buds. That’s a dollar per sachet, not including shipping, for a product that left many reviewers wondering where their dignity went. Especially when you consider that Highgrove, a comparable brand with royal ties, offers better tea at a lower price—with actual branding, mind you. Meghan’s version? Blank tags, bland taste, and all the personality of a hotel mint.
At the end of the day, American Riviera Orchard’s tea line may aspire to elegance, but the only thing truly regal about it is the level of delusion required to pay so much for so little. If you’re tempted to try it, let this be your cautionary tale. Some teas spill secrets. Meghan’s just spills hot water—and a whole lot of disappointment.
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