Meghan Markle is reportedly gearing up to publish her first solo cookbook in early 2026, a natural next step in the carefully curated lifestyle empire she has been building since leaving royal duties. The book is said to lean on her Netflix series and the As Ever brand, promising approachable recipes like “single-skillet spaghetti” alongside hosting tips that sound suspiciously more like branding than bona fide culinary instruction.
Her Netflix series With Love, Meghan and the rollout of As Ever have done more to market Meghan as a lifestyle guru than to prove any genuine expertise in the kitchen, yet the press cycle dutifully treats each product drop as if it were a noble public service. Streaming appearances and celebrity endorsements keep the machine humming, and a glossy Netflix placement gives the whole enterprise an undeserved sheen of authority.
Predictably, the announcement has prompted a wave of online ridicule rather than reverent book preorders, as critics and ordinary people alike point to viral clips of Markle handling raw poultry in ways food-safety experts called careless. The nickname “Salmonella Sussex” trended for a reason: when the public sees someone hawking homemaking expertise while flouting basic hygiene, they aren’t buying the product — they’re buying the punchline.
Even broadcasting professionals who normally keep a poker face couldn’t help but mock the idea; on Megyn Kelly’s show, Kelly and commentator Link Lauren compared learning from Markle’s lessons to “taking driver’s ed from Ray Charles,” a brutal but apt metaphor for being taught by someone who clearly lacks the necessary qualifications. That line landed because it captures a broader frustration: celebrity packaging does not equal competence, and Americans are tired of being sold aspiration dressed up as expertise.
This isn’t just about snark. It’s about the hollowing out of trust in ordinary institutions — cookbooks, TV shows, and small businesses — when celebrity influencers monetize every intimate corner of life without the humility or craft to back it up. For hardworking families who actually cook weeknights on a budget and care about safety and technique, Meghan’s glossy, curated meals feel like a rich person’s hobby being peddled as public instruction.
Americans deserve real utility, not lifestyle theater. If Meghan wants to help people, she can donate proceeds, partner with certified chefs, or fund real culinary education — otherwise this cookbook will be another celebrity vanity project that tells us more about branding than about how to feed a family. The choice is hers, but the public has already voted with ridicule and skepticism; that should tell publishers and platforms everything they need to know.
