The Sussexes have to earn their bread somehow, so let them make cake | Martha Gill

So what is it, exactly, that we want from the Duke and Duchess of Sussex these days? We know what we don’t want, which is, basically: everything the couple have done so far. We disapproved of the tell-all Oprah interview, and Harry’s memoir, Spare – they were too revealing, too appallingly frank. We hated their tell-nothing Netflix documentary, Harry & Meghan – far too boring, what was the point?

And we particularly loathe the new Netflix show, With Love, Meghan, which garnered what must be a record number of terrible reviews last week – “an exercise in narcissism”, “toe-curlingly unlovable TV”. Where once the pair were ridiculed for their whining self pity, now they are diagnosed with the opposite problem – critics find the new venture “desperately upbeat”.

It’s not that the reviewers are wrong. It is bad TV. Meghan is stiff and awkward and operates entirely in cliches. A cooking show can just about handle a dull presenter if they are skilled and making something interesting – but here is Meghan’s “skillet spaghetti”: dry pasta over a layer of cherry tomatoes and feta, to be boiled up together. She doesn’t look as though she enjoys cooking or is any good at it. Perhaps this would be OK if there were at least a few dynamic guests. But Meghan instantly neuters any conversation that strays off the assigned path (praising her; echoing her platitudes) with a look of true alarm.

What I find interesting, though, is the utter outrage humming through the press about all this, an emotion that underlies every one of these reviews. After all, this is fairly innocuous stuff, as it comes. The duchess is irritating – but no more so than, say, any other Californian lifestyle influencer, or rich actress launching a brand of rustic fantasy tea towels and “inspirational” candles. Even Gwyneth Paltrow did not provoke this level of hate. Neither is Meghan flogging dubious wellness cures, a curse that hangs over so many similar enterprises. She’s just making ladybird crostini out of tomatoes and balsamic glaze, and inviting us to admire her taste in flower arrangements. It’s boring, yes, but is it worth all this fury?

Everything the Sussexes do is wrong. When they paid a sombre visit to a cemetery one Remembrance Sunday, it was pilloried as a PR exercise – they were aping true royals. When they behave instead like mere celebrities, they are scolded as embarrassments to the crown.

It should be a relief to royalists, really, that the “confessional” part of their careers seems to be over, and they are attempting to establish themselves as bland lifestyle influencers. There is no gauntlet thrown down before William and Kate this time, no shaming secrets revealed. Yet this new phase is provoking more anger than ever.

I suppose it’s obvious what we want: for the pair to keep their mouths shut. We would like them to act as if they were still working royals, but without the work. We want decorum, and dignity. We do not want them to do anything as vulgar as make money.

The trouble is, we do not want to pay them, either. The couple need protection, and the public – justifiably – do not wish to foot the bill. As working royals, they received a taxpayer-funded sovereign grant, but we’ve cut them loose, as has King Charles, who no longer pays the rest of Harry’s income. That decision was cheered most heartily by the same corners of the media now slamming Meghan and Harry for their adventures in the private sector. Let them make their own money! No, not like that!

But what else are they supposed to do? A childhood in “the firm” doesn’t exactly set you up for an ordinary job: Harry managed in the army, but this particular career was always going to end prematurely as his status put his fellow soldiers at risk. His wife could go back to acting, perhaps – but their security bill alone is said to run to £1.5m a year. TV companies were willing to spray them with cash for the price of some light self promotion: they signed a £78m multi-year deal with Netflix in 2020. Wouldn’t you take it?

But then the charges laid at their door have always been confusing, to say the least. A chief criticism seems to be that they are using their proximity to the throne to make money. Well, yes. That particular grift must date back to the birth of the monarchy. It also precisely describes the industry – authors, reporters, TV crews – making these accusations in the first place. Not to mention British tourism. Why shouldn’t money be made off the royals? Isn’t that how we justify their existence these days?

Another is that the TV industry is a tawdry and shaming way to make a living. We tend to draw a tender veil, here, over the various ways in which the monarchy has accumulated its wealth over the centuries: empire, slavery, killing rivals and pheasants. There are worse sins than presenting a bad Netflix show.

And if Harry and Meghan are trying to have it both ways – as royals and non-royals – so are we. We pick over With Love, Meghan as if the pair were still subject to royal standards, courting popularity in the British press. But they aren’t. We hear over and over that the duchess isn’t “helping herself”. But she is. Last week the show hit Netflix’s top 10. It has just been renewed for a second season.

This, I suppose, is the price of cutting royals loose: embarrassment. They are no longer answerable to us, no longer cowed by bad press. King Charles cannot pull them into line. And yet, somehow, they still represent the royal family. Charles has expressed a wish to “slim down” the monarchy, sending more royals off to seek their fortunes in the wide world. It’s a risk.

Martha Gill is an Observer columnist

• Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a letter of up to 250 words to be considered for publication, email it to us at [email protected]