Just when we thought Meghan Markle had exhausted every possible avenue of self-reinvention, she’s back with yet another business venture—one that’s bound to be as successful as, well, everything else she’s touched. 

Enter *American Riviera Orchard*, a brand so elusive it makes Bigfoot sightings seem common. Launched with grand fanfare a year ago, Meghan’s lifestyle brand has yet to produce a single product. But fear not, because the wait is almost over. Allegedly.  

According to reports, Meghan’s long-awaited jam will finally hit the shelves. But don’t expect to find it in a posh boutique or even a carefully curated online store. No, Meghan Markle’s big retail moment will take place in none other than *Netflix House*. 

That’s right—the streaming giant is dipping its toes into brick-and-mortar retail, and Meghan’s jam, honey, and olive oil will have their moment of glory in two massive malls: King of Prussia in Philadelphia and the Dallas Galleria. Because nothing screams high-end luxury lifestyle quite like a makeshift jam stand next to *Squid Game* merch.  

Meghan, whose previous ventures include a woke podcast that got axed after one season and a Netflix deal hanging on by a thread, is now betting it all on strawberry jam. Here’s the kicker: *American Riviera Orchard* doesn’t even have a trademark yet. So, what will they call it? Might we suggest *Scam Jam*, *Sweaty Strawberry*, *Bully Blueberry*, or perhaps *Race-Baiting Raspberry*? The possibilities are endless.  

The new brand direction is apparently “with love,” so we’re looking at *With Love Jam*, *With Love Dog Biscuits*, and whatever else can be mass-produced and slapped with a label. But don’t be fooled—this isn’t some exclusive, handcrafted, royal-adjacent gourmet spread. 

If you’re imagining Meghan personally stirring a copper pot of strawberries and sugar on her authentic Californian farm, think again. The reality is far less glamorous. The smart money says she’s buying generic, mass-produced jam in bulk, slapping a new label on it, and calling it “bespoke.” It’s the oldest trick in the brand book—except usually, people at least try to sell the illusion.  

Even King Charles, who actually has gardens at Highgrove House, sells jams and honey from his own estate to fund charitable causes. Meghan, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to grow anything at her Montecito mansion except PR crises.  

Let’s pause for a moment and consider the absolute tragedy of this business move. Once upon a time, Meghan was rubbing elbows with A-list royalty—literally. Now, she’s trying to pedal jam in a mall where her competition consists of Swiss Colony cheese logs and kiosks selling Popcorn Palace tins. 

Nothing says “sophisticated lifestyle” quite like trying to outshine a store that sells matching pajamas for entire families—including their dogs.  

And who even shops at malls anymore? Teenagers avoiding their parents, elderly folks getting in their daily indoor walk, and people desperately searching for an Auntie Anne’s pretzel. This isn’t the glamorous empire-building move Meghan’s PR team will pretend it is. This is QVC-level sales desperation—but without the audience who actually buys things.  

Speaking of PR disasters, let’s not ignore the bigger picture here. Meghan’s five-year, $100 million Netflix deal is running out, and insiders say it won’t be renewed. The only way to possibly extend her Hollywood relevance? Prove she can sell something—anything. And Netflix, perhaps out of amusement or contractual obligation, is giving her a mall kiosk to do just that. It’s a test. If Meghan’s *With Love* brand doesn’t take off, Netflix will quietly cut ties and move on. If they do sell a few jars—most likely because Harry bulk-purchased them to keep up appearances—Meghan will get a tiny cut while Netflix takes the lion’s share of any profits.  

And if history is any indicator, these jars of jam will follow the usual Meghan Markle product trajectory: initial hype, glowing PR articles, breathless speculation about Meghan’s new empire, reality setting in, nobody buying the overpriced generic product, desperation discounts, and finally, the $30 jam jars showing up at TJ Maxx for $2.99. 

The final resting place? The last unsold jars end up at the dollar store—or maybe the food bank. 

So, is this the big break Meghan’s been waiting for, or just another overhyped flop destined to be forgotten? We’ll check back when those jars hit the clearance aisle.  

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