The earth-shattering, genre defining TV masterpiece you’ve all been waiting for

*Googles: synonyms for 'contrived'*

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Yesterday, I watched two episodes of a show so compelling it should be studied in universities. Preserved in a time capsule. Required viewing for all world leaders. Move over Citizen Kane, step aside Breaking Bad, because Meghan Markle’s latest Netflix series has single-handedly redefined the art of storytelling, authenticity, and most importantly: self-promotion. Whatever the opposite of ‘miscalculated, contrived, nonsensical, plotless and poorly timed given the dystopian reality we’re living in’ is – THAT is what With Love, Meghan brought to our collective table.

I’ll admit: I have always kind of liked Meghan Markle. I mean, Meghan Sussex – as she so politely scratches into the recesses of Mindy Kaling’s brain in episode two (“well, now I know” – Mindy, terrified). I like her In the same way one likes the circus: You know it’s probably got its underlying problems, and it’s not quite kosher, but you can’t look away because of all the sparkles and the death-defying acrobatics being performed.

I’ve always thought she got absolutely – and unfairly – dragged by the royals, and that they just couldn’t hack the fact that a strong, black woman with a very unproblematic past (by any standard but theirs, clearly) was marrying into their f*cked up family.

And I am an avid royal watcher, based purely on my fascination with their grotesque and ostentatious lives and honestly, the way the lines of succession work have me in a chokehold. I also quite enjoy the weird rules about who walks behind whom, how to properly curtsy… all that stuff. The fact that their country colonised mine and ripped our native language from us and caused a famine, well. I have compartmentalised so I can lean into the charade of it all.

So when the show landed with much carefully calculated social media aplomb onto Netflix this week, I almost broke my neck rushing to watch what I was certain would be a masterclass in modern storytelling. Meghan Sussex, Meghan Shakespeare – potato, poh-tah-to.

The narrative genius is the first thing to hit. TELL US Meghan, about these bees you’ve never seen before. Tell us how harvesting their honey is something you love to do on a quiet Sunday morning in the garden. Someone else’s garden, though, lest the viewer think they’d be so bold as to have a film crew inside their own home. No, no. This is all in a high-end AirBnB sort of affair, replete with a perfectly stacked fridge in a kitchen Meghan is clearly only just getting to grips with how to use.

I couldn’t but marvel at the bold artistic choice of endless slow-motion shots and dramatic pauses, air left hanging for us to, no doubt, fill with our own gasps. The sunshine! The soft florals! The realness of the set homely kitchen. The “high low” outfits (“Zara and Loro Piana” says Meghan, without realising that low = Penneys and high = Zara for the rest of us). The gasps we must gusp, etc.

Rarely does a work of such profound depth, nuance, and subtlety grace our screens. In an era starved for authenticity, Meghan has bravely stepped forward with a show that is, above all else, authentically about Meghan Markle – F*CK, Sussex. And really, isn’t that what the world was missing?

I was ready for my earth to be shattered further with appearances from her husband, her children, or anything remotely related to the way she lives her life. Alas, that would’ve been too OBVIOUS. Too overtly referential to the, eh, the trailer they released. Oh well, it didn’t transpire, but we move on. It got so much better – what I thought I wanted from this endeavour matters not.

The story (?) continues when she welcomes her first guest – her close friend and makeup artist, Daniel Martin. There’s almost immediate drama when Martin cuts his finger while chopping “veggies” – an aesthetically pleasing plaster being saving the day AND in keeping with the interior design. Meghan teaches us how to cook a pleasing-to-the-eye spaghetti dish next, which surely is a revelation for the 98.3% of the viewing audience who’ve yet to experience the effects of boiling water on dried pasta. It looked insipid, borderline bland, but we’re assured by her literal best friend that it is delicious. Phew.

She ‘harvests’ wax from her bees – David Attenborough could never – and alongside Martin, who is full of compliments at every turn (deserved), she proceeds to turn the wax into candles. For, you see: Meghan is a sustainability queen. She will not see good wax go to waste. She reminds us, then, that if you don’t have your own hive (who among us, etc) you can “buy wax online”. And should we be assured that our cheap internet wax will also cleanse the air in our homes? Who’s to say.

At many, many points throughout, I wondered just how much the production crew would have spent on tat from Amazon to facilitate Meghan’s kids’ party bag segment, her balloon arch tutorial and her candle making undertaking – but then I realised the answer was zero. Because absolutely everything was bought FROM SCRATCH from Williams Sonoma and/or the boutique stores of Montecito which are inaccessible to anyone not from Montecito. So, in other words: We can all do these things, you guys. You just have to, you know, be a multi-millionaire living in California. Which I know *I* am. Aren’t you?

You could be fooled into thinking the crew were paid members of staff on this gig – because all of them were in unison with their oohs and ahhs, nodding appreciatively when Meghan threw them a scrap of her leftovers. But I’ve been told by a source that they’re unpaid volunteers who just wanted to experience the halo effect of a former working royal. Believable and likely.

Meanwhile Mindy Kaling’s motivation was less clear: Did she just need genuine domestic goddess aspirational inspiration? Did she just need to be in Chef Meghan’s ether, to feel the energy of someone who toes the line between being a woman of the people and also a woman who has ‘people’? It’s unclear. But what is abundantly clear is that Netflix probably didn’t even have to pay Kaling seven figures to appear. Ahem.

By the way Meghan was talking about Mindy “coming over” to her set on a Hollywood lot home, you’d be forgiven for thinking they weren’t real friends… They are, of course, solid as a rock long time pals (who’ve met just once before). Which is why there’s such enthusiastic, powerful chemistry between them and there were no awkward moments to report. None. Nada. Zilcho.

One scene from the show, however, will haunt my dreams forever. Simply Meghan, whispering “I just wanted to be free…” while sitting in a tastefully minimalist $14 million Montecito mansion. It’s a level of raw suffering unseen since The Hunger Games, except in this version, the main character volunteered as tribute and got a €100 million quid from Netflix out of it. And then didn’t die, but made jam instead. Samesies, right?

My lasting impression of the show was this: What it maybe lacked in substance, it made up for in sheer salt of the earth relatability. It didn’t NEED a storyline – it has character. Oodles of endearing moments, filled with piles of cash (off camera) and literal crown jewels, which no doubt fill your kitchens too. It didn’t need to drive home any sort of plot or reasoning, it didn’t need to be a cookery show or a candle making show or a masterclass in unparalleled humility. It didn’t need to be anything. It just… is.

Some will say this documentary is self-indulgent. Some will say it lacks self-awareness. Some might even call it a high-budget therapy session filmed for mass consumption. To those people, I say: How dare you?

It was more than just TV. It was a true cultural reset, a spiritual awakening, a new world order. It’s a moment in time that we will all look back on and say, Where were you when Meghan Markle – SUSSEX, Jesus – changed the world? Sure, we’re living in unprecedented, end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it times, but does that mean television all of a sudden has to reflect real life, does it? OF COURSE not. Don’t be a silly goose.

My rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐**

Now. If you thought for one moment that I was being facetious – nay – sarcastic above and read something unintentional between the lines, and you don’t, indeed, want to watch the greatest piece of art since the Sistine Chapel, I’ve included a handy list below of what you could do with your four precious hours of life. Four hours which I would gladly hand over again and again for the pleasure of watching how the other half pretend to live.

Things you could watch instead of With Love, Meghan (although why would you want to)

• Ariana and Cynthia opening the Oscars with Defying Gravity approximately 37 times

• Kat’s iconic poem for Patrick in 10 Things I Hate About You approximately 192 times

• The beach football scene from Top Gun Maverick approximately 96 times (scrub to 0.43-0.46 seconds for my very favourite part)

• Katie Ryan’s Vine compilation approximately 40 times

It would be remiss of me not to sign off here…

With love,

**(out of 1,000)