A TikToker by the name of Voy Media decided to take one for the team and offered a painfully honest review of Meghan Markle's new fruit spread.
While it's officially marketed as jam, a more accurate description might be something along the lines of "suspiciously runny disappointment." From the start, Voy Media recognized it as a royal family knockoff—complete with packaging that seemed oddly familiar, labeling that raised eyebrows, and a consistency that could generously be described as questionable. The product came in a jar barely half full, contained no preservatives, and gave off strong "abandoned back-of-the-pantry during a blackout" vibes.
Things only got weirder when the label revealed the spread was made by something called "As Enterprises," which sounds less like a reputable food brand and more like something brainstormed at 3 a.m. during a failed Shark Tank pitch. No one knows where it was made; the jar offers nothing but mystery and aesthetic posturing. And that packaging? Less "organic homemade jam" and more "$800 anti-aging serum you regret buying." It's like unboxing what you think is Dior perfume, only to be greeted by raspberry-colored regret slowly leaking out. It screams luxury, but not in a good way—more like a husband trying to pick a fight by gifting you artisanal goo in couture drag.
According to Voy Media, it’s a total miss, and there’s no sugarcoating that—well, except the overwhelming sugar in the actual product. Even free samples from Estée Lauder have more polish: gold seals, monogrammed tissue paper, and thank-you notes that whisper elegance. Meanwhile, Meghan’s jar is more "Amazon marketplace oops" than high-end culinary offering. It’s wasteful, impractical, and destined for the trash, because that artsy little container can’t be reused for anything meaningful. One reviewer even compared it to Guerlain’s Rose Barbare perfume presentation—except instead of floral luxury, you get a sticky, overly sweet lemon mess that melts your toast and your dreams in under a minute.
And forget about kitchen display points. Unless your vibe is "chaotic royal-core disaster," this jar is staying in the back of the cupboard. It's runny like regret, absurdly sweet to the point that actual candy tastes bitter in comparison, and about as toast-friendly as a slip-n-slide. When the Daily Mail tried it, even they were thrown off—it doesn't behave like jam in the slightest. A single spoonful delivers a sugar jolt that feels like it came straight out of a childhood birthday party gone wrong, followed by a lemon kick that hits like a sour ambush. On toast, it performs a full meltdown, leaving the bread looking like it survived a fruit-based natural disaster.
Meghan claims it's "more fruit-forward" because real jam requires equal parts sugar and fruit, and she’s simply not about that regulated life. That’s fine—go off, artisanal rebel—but maybe ensure your premium purée doesn’t show up looking like a sci-fi skincare capsule from Goop. Buyers are already muttering the dreaded word: refund. And can you blame them? Fourteen dollars plus shipping for something that belongs in a discount bin rather than a luxury hamper is a hard sell. One TikToker even joked her husband tried to surprise her with a posh gift and ended up handing her diarrhea disguised as jam.
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