Lifestyle
5 Takeaways From Meghan Markle’s Netflix Show ‘With Love, Meghan’
Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex, has returned to the small screen with a new cooking and lifestyle show that was released on Netflix on Tuesday.
Filmed at a property near her home in sunny Montecito, Calif., the eight-episode series positions Meghan, 43, as a modern domestic goddess embracing the do-it-yourself delights of cooking, crafting and entertaining.
“Love is in the details, gang,” she says on an episode of the show, while preparing her own lavender towels.
The series, which Netflix has pitched as “inspiring,” saying it “reimagines the genre of lifestyle programming,” is directed by Michael Steed, who worked on “Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown.” It is executive produced by Meghan and is loosely organized around a series of creative projects — teaching a friend to make bread, throwing a game night for friends and planning a brunch — and offering tips along the way.
“We’re not in the pursuit of perfection,” Meghan explains in the show as she makes crepes. “We’re in the pursuit of joy.”
It has been about five years since Meghan, and her husband, Prince Harry, officially stepped back from their royal duties in Britain. The family is now firmly planted in Southern California. Prince Archie is 5 and Princess Lilibet is 3.
And now, in the empire-building tradition of lifestyle gurus like Martha Stewart and Ina Garten, Meghan is about to drop a lot of Meghan, with some help from guests like the actress Mindy Kaling and the chef Roy Choi, along with some of Meghan’s close friends.
This spring, she is expected to release products, such as fruit preserves, from her new lifestyle brand As Ever, as well as a new podcast with Lemonada Media.
Here are details on the harvests, recipes, crafts and theories on the good life that she shares in the new series, which feels a lot like a billboard for her next chapter.
What does she cook?
Mostly, light, simple, recipes with local ingredients — a one-pot tomato pasta, quiche with eggs from the family’s chickens, and a salt-baked fish stuffed with herbs.
The series moves away from the stand-and-stir format of cooking shows and opts for a more conversational approach — think “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” … if they were making pickles.
“I love feeding people,” Meghan says. “It is probably my love language.”
She chats with Ms. Kaling about eating fast food as a child while she demonstrates how to cut sandwiches into shapes for a kid-friendly tea party in the garden. Mr. Choi talks about going to Meghan’s school for dances, as they get ready to make Korean-style fried chicken and drink champagne.
While preparing focaccia with Delfina Blaquier, the wife of the polo player Nacho Figueras — whom Harry knows through polo — Meghan reflects on her time living in Argentina.
What does she make by hand?
Seemingly as much as she can, while also happily embracing a shortcut.
“I love to be able to take something that’s pretty ordinary and elevate it,” she says.
She uses the leftover wax from a beehive to make candles, scented with essential oils. She turns leftover bacon into dog biscuits for a friend’s pet. She even does something thoughtful for the family’s chickens, many which were rescued from a factory farm, giving them a block of ice filled with fruits and vegetables.
For a brunch, prepped with the guidance of the chef Alice Waters, Meghan, a calligraphy expert, writes her own menus, in careful penmanship.
“You set your guests up so they have an amazing experience,” she says, “and everyone can relax and enjoy.”
What does she harvest?
So many things!
The series opens with a shot of bees, and cuts to Meghan at the beehive, where she helps to collect the honey. A fan of personalized gifts, she also demonstrates to viewers how to build a harvest basket with lemons, cucumbers and cabbage, and create a welcome tray for house guests.
“The joy of hostessing for me is surprising people with moments that let them know I was really thinking of their whole experience,” she says.
Meghan picks fresh berries for her jams and citrus fruits that she uses to make dehydrated garnishes for cocktails, which she serves to friends during a game of mahjong.
What does she wear?
Ms. Kaling asks the same question.
“I like high and low,” Meghan says, explaining that she is wearing white Zara pants, a cream short-sleeved Loro Piana top and a cream-and-white striped Jenni Kayne sweater.
Throughout the series, she wears lots of casually elegant neutrals, in creams, tans and blues as well as the occasional floral dress (and one white Northwestern University sweatshirt).
Do we see much of Prince Harry or the rest of her family?
Not really.
Unlike “Harry & Meghan,” the 2022 Netflix documentary series that focused on the couple’s relationship and their decision to step back from the British royal family, this is Meghan’s show.
Her family, though, is infused throughout. Meghan drops a few anecdotes about her children and Prince Harry into conversation. There are also many shots of her dogs.
Harry makes an appearance onscreen in a final scene at a brunch held to celebrate her business, dressed crisply in a light blue button-down and sunglasses, as Meghan toasts people who have helped her along the way.
“This feels like a new chapter that I’m so excited that I get to share,” she says. “And here we go, there’s a business. All of that is part of that creativity that I’ve missed so much.”
At the start of “Mile End Kicks,” a film set in the Montreal indie music scene of 2011, a music critic in her early 20s, played by Barbie Ferreira, has arrived at her Craigslist apartment share fresh from Toronto. She’s promptly invited to a loft party by her Quebecois D.J. roommate. “Dress hot,” she’s told.
The camera scans the critic, Grace Pine, as she walks into the night. Brown lace-up brogues. Black socks over sheer black tights. A short burgundy corduroy skirt. A navy sweater with a white collar peeking out. A denim boyfriend jacket to finish the look. Hot? Depends on whom you ask.
“It’s a punchline to a joke in the script,” Courtney Mitchell, the film’s costume designer, said in an interview. “But there’s a genuine understanding to some audience members where that is what we felt sexy in, in a kind of nerdcore way.”
Montreal as an indie sleaze epicenter
“Mile End Kicks,” written and directed by Chandler Levack, is the semi-autobiographical story of a music writer who moves to the Mile End neighborhood of Montreal in the summer of 2011, a time when rents were cheap enough that artists could afford to live blocks from the venues where they played.
Ostensibly, she’s there to write a book about Alanis Morissette’s album “Jagged Little Pill.” But other items on her to-do list, such as “have actual sex,” take precedence, leading her to loft parties, poetry readings and a love triangle with members of the fictional band Bone Patrol.
The era, called “indie sleaze” in retrospect (but referred to as “hipster” by those who were there), with its messy, gritty-glam looks, is captured extensively in the film. “I never felt as free a dresser as I did when I lived in Montreal,” Levack said in an interview.
Head-to-toe in American Apparel
The clothing brand most closely associated with indie sleaze is American Apparel. Think deep V-neck tees, ’70s-inspired separates and ads featuring young women splayed in suggestive poses. “I was always digging something lamé out of my butt crack,” Levack said, not without a twinge of nostalgia.
To recreate the vibe, Mitchell collected more than 200 garments and accessories from the brand, including high-waisted jean shorts, shiny disco shorts, hoodies, bodysuits, rompers, bandeaus, oversized tees, jelly shoes and belts. She was adamant that the items date from 2011 or earlier to reflect that they had been in the wardrobe rotation for some years. She found them on a mix of resale sites including Facebook Marketplace, Poshmark and Craigslist, as well as at one Montreal dry cleaner that happened to have a trove of American Apparel dead stock.
And there was a personal history, too: Mitchell had worked at American Apparel stores while in high school and in college, and Ferreira modeled for the brand in 2012, when she was 16. They shared a deep familiarity with the clothes. “That really brings out an emotion, when you return to a beloved silhouette,” Mitchell said.
Homage to the ironic graphic tee
An ironic T-shirt coupled with a cardigan became a totem of indie style, thanks to icons like Kurt Cobain, who served as inspiration for Bone Patrol’s lead singer, Chevy (Stanley Simons). At his day job selling shoes at Mile End Kicks (a real store), he wears a plaid mohair cardigan over a pocket T-shirt emblazoned with “Time to Be Happy” in off-kilter print. “The slogan was Chevy’s tongue-in-cheek nod to his retail job,” Mitchell wrote in an email. “As if he is wearing a salesman costume while dying inside because he is ‘a real artist.’”
Two of the shirts worn by Grace belonged to Levack: a Spin magazine shirt she got as a summer intern at the publication, and a Sonic Youth baseball tee from a 2007 show at McCarren Pool, then an abandoned public swimming hole in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn. But the runaway star is merch from a vacuum store, La Maison de l’Aspirateur, in Mile End — a black shirt with a hoovering elephant logo worn by Archie (Devon Bostick), the lead guitarist. “It’s become an iconic shirt for the film,” Levack said. “I’m going to screenings and people in the audience are wearing the shirts.”
Hidden gems found in vintage piles
In the Mile End of 2011, vintage clothing was a fact of life for reasons of style and necessity, and it became core to the hipster aesthetic. “These aren’t characters that are buying clothes; they’re, like, finding them in the street and rummaging through the giant clothing pile at Eva B,” Levack said, referring to a Montreal vintage institution.
One of Chevy’s most lurid onstage looks is a shimmering shot silk women’s trench — worn over a pair of American Apparel briefs, of course — courtesy of Renaissance, a chain of thrift stores in Quebec. “Everyone at those shows, whether or not you were onstage or not, you felt like you were onstage,” Levack said. “People would dress up to be noticed and to outdo each other. But it was so creative because nobody had any money.”
Pete Yorn moved to Los Angeles almost exactly 30 years ago.
“I remember it was May 16, 1996 — maybe three weeks after I graduated from Syracuse,” says the singer and songwriter known for his smart, tender folk-rock stylings. “Which means I’ve lived here longer than anywhere else. But when people ask where I’m from, I still say I’m from New Jersey.” He laughs. “I guess I identify very strongly with my upbringing.”
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
Jersey pride notwithstanding, Yorn’s 2001 debut album, “Musicforthemorningafter,” is suffused with his experiences as a young transplant moving and shaking in a busy L.A. social scene he compares now to Doug Liman’s classic “Swingers” movie — “at least if you take away the swing dancing,” he says. “But the driving around and the going to parties — it was all the same stuff.” (Yorn’s older brothers, Kevin and Rick, are both prominent players in the entertainment business.)
The singer, who’s 51, is on the road this year performing “Musicforthemorningafter” in its entirety to mark the LP’s 25th anniversary; he’s also playing songs from throughout the rest of his career, including a 2009 duo record he made with his friend Scarlett Johansson. On July 24, he’ll release his 12th studio album, “All the Beauty.” Here, he breaks down his routine for a Sunday in his adopted hometown with his wife, jewelry designer Beth Kaltman, and their 10-year-old daughter.
7 a.m. Rise and dine
I’m like a 6:45 or 7 wake up just because I’m used to driving my daughter to school every day. I like to eat right away, and I eat the same two things every day: either yogurt with frozen berries, or there’s this overnight oats called Mush. The blueberry Mush — I can’t get enough of it. That’s what I eat before my shows too. I’ll go to a venue and the people are like, “What would you like for dinner? We have this beautiful menu,” and I’m like, “I’ll just have the Mush.”
10 a.m. Horsing around
Sunday is usually a day for something with my daughter. She’s taken a love to horseback riding — she’s much braver than I am — so I’ll drive her out to this barn near Bell Canyon, which my wife told me is actually in Ventura County. I said, “No way — Ventura County is way up there.” And sure enough, there’s this southern tip of Ventura that’s like 25 minutes from my house up the 101. Anyway, I’ll go and I’ll watch her ride the horse. I’ll be honest — I’m very nervous every time. But my wife grew up horseback riding, and my daughter, she just loves it. She can be very fickle, but this is one thing that’s stuck.
Now, I should say: If it’s NFL season, I can’t skip football. I’m a huge Raiders fan — it’s terrible. So if there’s an important game, I’ll have my Sunday Ticket on my phone and peek at what’s going on. But that’s fine — it’s understood.
12 p.m. Retail therapy
After the horse, we might go this place in Van Nuys called Iceland. It’s ironic because my wife, her dream trip is to go to Iceland the country, and the closest we’re getting to that right now is an ice-skating rink. Or I love going to the Fashion Square mall [in Sherman Oaks] — I don’t know if it’s a remnant of growing up in New Jersey or it just gives me the nostalgic feeling of being with my parents at the mall. I don’t even have to buy anything. I mean, I might end up getting roped into buying something — not a Labubu because that’s over but some sort of kawaii animal stuffy. I just like that the mall still exists in a time when it’s so easy for everyone to buy everything on their phone. My daughter was like, “Whoa, you can go in and touch things?”
3 p.m. Guilty pleasure
Here’s a naughty one: There’s a little bakery right off Ventura Boulevard called Schazti’s, and they have this chocolate banana pudding that is ridiculous. It comes in a paper cup.
6 p.m. Time to dine
If it’s Football Night in America, my wife and daughter would order Japanese or Chinese or Thai. They’d probably order that every day if they had their way — they’re obsessed. Sometimes I’ll just eat a bowl of cereal and call it a night. If there’s no game, a cool place to go that’s been there forever is the Smoke House in Burbank. I’d always seen it but had never been until a few months ago. Just a classic, old-school place — steak is great.
10 p.m. Slow for show
I’m early to bed because I know I’m gonna be up early to drive my daughter to school, which is my favorite thing when I’m home. I don’t want to miss it. I’m very conscious of how fast she’s growing up, and I know me — I’ll be sad when it’s over. We might watch a show or a movie but I’ll feel my eyes getting heavy after like 10 minutes. It takes me quite a few nights to get through an episode.
Zoe Latta, a co-founder of the fashion brand Eckhaus Latta, saw the clock on Instagram and started searching for pharma swag on eBay. “It was just a hole I got in,” she said. Latta soon rounded up some examples at “Rotting on the Vine,” her Substack newsletter, describing them as “silly byproducts of our sick sad world.”
Pharma swag feels somewhat like Marlboro Man merch — “like this very specific modality of our culture that’s changed,” Latta said, adding, “At first, I thought it was ironic and cheeky. But it’s also so dark.”
In particular, swag like the OxyContin mugs that read “The One to Start With. The One to Stay With” is regarded as highly collectible and highly contentious. Jeremy Wells, a newspaper owner and editor in Olive Hill, Ky., remembered, for example, seeing the mugs sold at a Dollar Tree in New Boston, Ohio, in the late 1990s or early 2000s. “At the same moment that the epidemic is blowing up,” he said.
“You can do a chicken-and-egg argument, and I doubt very seriously that those mugs made anybody get addicted,” he said. “But I do feel like things like those mugs did add to the mystique and the aura of seduction.” (After a protracted lawsuit, Purdue Pharma, the maker of OxyContin, has been dissolved and is on the hook to pay more than $5 billion in criminal penalties for fueling the opioid epidemic.)
“I was surprised to see how much this stuff was selling for in general — there is demand,” Latta said, pointing to a vintage Xanax photo frame listed for $230. Latta said she could imagine buying it for a friend who takes Xanax on planes (“if it was at a thrift store for under $10”) or maybe a pair of Moderna aviator sunglasses that she found, which seem to nod at Covid vaccines and the signature Biden eyewear, she said.
Pharmacore — medical-branded pieces worn as fashion — has found new expression at the confluence of identity, medicine and commerce, and at a time when skepticism toward pharmaceuticals is at a high (see: the MAHA movement).
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