Meghan Markle’s foray into her so-called businesswoman era has quickly become a case study in how not to manage a brand narrative, product rollout, or PR strategy. What began with the promise of entrepreneurial reinvention has instead been marked by a muddled identity, questionable execution, and a glaring disconnect between message and reality.
Meghan Markle’s foray into her so-called businesswoman era has quickly become a case study in how not to manage a brand narrative, product rollout, or PR strategy. What began with the promise of entrepreneurial reinvention has instead been marked by a muddled identity, questionable execution, and a glaring disconnect between message and reality.
The most telling moment came in her much-publicized Bloomberg interview, optimistically titled Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex on life and business beyond the royal spotlight, which could have been an opportunity to signal business acumen and establish credibility. Instead, it devolved into recycled anecdotes about childhood dish soap campaigns, awkward tangents about pantyhose, and evasive answers to basic business questions. What was framed as a showcase of leadership and vision became a hollow performance devoid of metrics, strategy, or meaningful reflection.
This lack of substance became even more glaring when tied to her product launch: a spread that many described as watery tomato paste masquerading as jam, priced at $9 for a jar no one asked for and few could find in stores. Rather than celebrating innovation, the narrative reeked of delusion, compounded by the decision to release the jam, her new show, and the Bloomberg interview on the same day. Instead of building anticipation and staggered media momentum, the simultaneous drops created an overstuffed PR pileup that suggested desperation rather than confidence, with critics speculating the tactic was meant to drown out negative reviews of her show.
The gamble failed—the show tanked, reviews were brutal, and her attempts to spin the story as proof of audience love came across as denial rather than resilience. What’s most damaging is the pattern this reflects: Markle’s tendency to dismiss criticism as media caricature or public misunderstanding, rather than confronting inconsistencies in her own actions. She claims people dislike not her but a false version constructed by tabloids, yet that argument collapses when contrasted with her own track record of contradictions.
She leans heavily on her duchess title for gravitas while insisting it doesn’t affect relatability, insists she is a real person while living a lifestyle worlds apart from her audience, and builds a brand on platforms she once publicly condemned for harming society. These contradictions create an impression not of authenticity, but of convenience-driven opportunism. Her reluctance to acknowledge failures, take accountability, or show humility leaves her audience exhausted by the performance, not threatened by her ambition.
The jam debacle, the PR overkill, the evasive interviews—all of it might have been forgiven, even reframed as part of an evolving journey, had she been willing to own missteps and communicate with transparency. Instead, her refrain of I’m a real person lands hollow, a weak defense in an era where consumers and audiences value vulnerability and accountability as much as success.
Content creators, marketers, and communication professionals can take from this a powerful lesson: audiences are not repelled by imperfection but by inauthenticity. Storytelling that dodges, deflects, or denies creates fatigue, whereas honest acknowledgment of failure creates relatability, trust, and even admiration. Markle’s story is not merely about jam or shows that flop—it is about the cost of misaligned narratives and the danger of trying to control perception while avoiding responsibility.
In the business of influence, whether through products, platforms, or personal branding, the truth always surfaces. The leaders and creators who thrive are those who don’t just tell their truth but are willing to own their mistakes, adapt with humility, and build a narrative that resonates because it is grounded in both aspiration and reality.
The most telling moment came in her much-publicized Bloomberg interview, optimistically titled Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex on life and business beyond the royal spotlight, which could have been an opportunity to signal business acumen and establish credibility. Instead, it devolved into recycled anecdotes about childhood dish soap campaigns, awkward tangents about pantyhose, and evasive answers to basic business questions. What was framed as a showcase of leadership and vision became a hollow performance devoid of metrics, strategy, or meaningful reflection.
This lack of substance became even more glaring when tied to her product launch: a spread that many described as watery tomato paste masquerading as jam, priced at $9 for a jar no one asked for and few could find in stores. Rather than celebrating innovation, the narrative reeked of delusion, compounded by the decision to release the jam, her new show, and the Bloomberg interview on the same day. Instead of building anticipation and staggered media momentum, the simultaneous drops created an overstuffed PR pileup that suggested desperation rather than confidence, with critics speculating the tactic was meant to drown out negative reviews of her show.
The gamble failed—the show tanked, reviews were brutal, and her attempts to spin the story as proof of audience love came across as denial rather than resilience. What’s most damaging is the pattern this reflects: Markle’s tendency to dismiss criticism as media caricature or public misunderstanding, rather than confronting inconsistencies in her own actions. She claims people dislike not her but a false version constructed by tabloids, yet that argument collapses when contrasted with her own track record of contradictions.
She leans heavily on her duchess title for gravitas while insisting it doesn’t affect relatability, insists she is a real person while living a lifestyle worlds apart from her audience, and builds a brand on platforms she once publicly condemned for harming society. These contradictions create an impression not of authenticity, but of convenience-driven opportunism. Her reluctance to acknowledge failures, take accountability, or show humility leaves her audience exhausted by the performance, not threatened by her ambition.
The jam debacle, the PR overkill, the evasive interviews—all of it might have been forgiven, even reframed as part of an evolving journey, had she been willing to own missteps and communicate with transparency. Instead, her refrain of I’m a real person lands hollow, a weak defense in an era where consumers and audiences value vulnerability and accountability as much as success.
Content creators, marketers, and communication professionals can take from this a powerful lesson: audiences are not repelled by imperfection but by inauthenticity. Storytelling that dodges, deflects, or denies creates fatigue, whereas honest acknowledgment of failure creates relatability, trust, and even admiration. Markle’s story is not merely about jam or shows that flop—it is about the cost of misaligned narratives and the danger of trying to control perception while avoiding responsibility.
In the business of influence, whether through products, platforms, or personal branding, the truth always surfaces. The leaders and creators who thrive are those who don’t just tell their truth but are willing to own their mistakes, adapt with humility, and build a narrative that resonates because it is grounded in both aspiration and reality.
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