We’ve talked about this remarkable phenomenon many times in recent years: British Derangers literally going far out of their way to consume something made by the Duchess of Sussex, then the Derangers act like they’ve been forced at gunpoint (by Meghan personally) to consume her wares. They did this with Meghan’s podcasts, with all of the Sussexes’ Netflix shows, and now they’re doing it with Meghan’s As Ever. As Ever is only sold in the US. There are work-arounds, of course, but Meghan has not marketed anything to British consumers and she has not opened up her online sales to British or European consumers. If you want to pick up As Ever products, you either have to live in the US or… stop by Godmothers bookshop in Santa Barbara, which is the only brick-and-mortar retail shop carrying As Ever products. Obviously, the Daily Mail’s cockeyed columnist Jan Moir decided to FLY TO CALIFORNIA and DRIVE TO SUMMERLAND all to visit Godmothers and write about the experience, just to criticize Meghan. I am only posting the sparsest of excerpts because these people are not well, but we need to actually all sit together and acknowledge their profound stupidity.
Traveling 5,500 miles to look at As Ever products: I’m en route to visit Meghan’s As Ever pop-up shop in a posh bookstore by the beach, where she is selling her festive gift boxes of jam spreads, scented candles, herb teas and honey duos directly to the real housewives of the American Riviera, should they be interested in her mulling spice kits (a racket in a packet) for £12.50 or a tin of her damnable flower sprinkles (twigs in a tin) for £11. You have to admire the boldness of the pricing, if nothing else. And the gold velvet ribbons are lovely, too.
The jam: Damn that jam. I feel like bubbling myself. You’d think it was the elixir of life, the way she goes on about it – but perhaps for Meghan, it really is that important. The jam is the lodestar of her As Ever brand and it is why I am here at Godmothers, situated in a white 1920s barn in the seaside town of Summerland.
The wealthy bookstore customers: With its log fire, shearling armchairs and wide plank oak floors, this is no ordinary bookshop and the people who come here are far from ordinary, too. Women in Jenni Kayne chocolate cashmere and carrying £3,000 Dior tote bags peruse the shelves, while men in James Perse suede jackets park their gleaming Benzos outside in this world where everything is tasteful, beautiful, covetous, lush.
The As Ever tables: Up on the first floor, nestling next to cookbook corner and with ocean views to the front, Meghan has laid out her wares on oak tables; piles of her gift-boxed jams, her honeys, her teas and her two varieties of scented candles, displayed under glass cloches like precious museum artefacts. ‘Meghan likes the one with mint best because it reminds her of her wedding day,’ says one of the glamorous shop assistants. I don’t have the heart to tell her that anything minty on the day was probably creepy Uncle Andrew’s mouthwash. For Meghan was so appalled by the ‘musty’ smell of St George’s Chapel in Windsor she wanted to pump in air freshener, a request denied by Buckingham Palace.
Downton Abbey vibes: Speaking of which, I can’t help but note that Megan has been royally straining with her shop tablescapes, trying to make everything as regal as possible, going for that Downton Abbey vibe Americans love so much. Jars of her precious jams are displayed on silver salvers – could everyone please curtsey – there are lush bundles of eucalyptus and foliage in silver vases and even a dummy bottle of As Ever sparkling wine – actually filled with water – displayed in a silver ice bucket. The real thing isn’t allowed, as Godmothers don’t have an alcohol licence.
The nerve of Meghan to use her name: ‘Share the Love,’ says a little sign, next to a giant wine box which is the centrepiece of the display. The following words are etched on to the front in bold letters; ‘Thoughtfully Curated by Meghan, Duchess of Sussex.’ The nerve! I mean, really. Five years after they fled Europe to escape the tyranny of inherited privilege, Prince Harry and his ambitious wife continue to skate on the thin ice of pure audacity; maximising all the benefits and lustre of the old life they publicly disparaged and claimed to hate, while using their royal titles as commercial tools to boost sales. It’s so hypocritical, but it works. There is a frisson of excitement about being close to royalty one can recognise in the customers who crowd around sniffing the candles and wondering if £48 for two jars of honey is a good deal, even if it is made by ‘wow, Duchess Megan’. Yet my sacred self noted that people were browsing but not buying, while the shop girl wasn’t even sure which product was the best seller. ‘Jam?’ she wondered.
Moir is mad that… the As Ever tables look nice and appealing to customers. She’s mad that the products are being presented attractively. She’s mad that the bookstore customers are wearing nice clothes and carrying expensive purses. She came all that way just to feel insecure about her clothes and poverty. She came all that way to look down her nose at a Black woman. Moir also writes, at the end of the piece, “Will this ragbag range of fruit spreads, wines, candles and teas be a royal success?” Bitch, you flew all the way to California just to look at As Ever products!
Incidentally, this actually isn’t the first time the Mail’s editors have authorized sending their most wall-eyed Deranger on an all-expenses-paid trip to Montecito. Last year, this same woman went to Montecito to stalk Prince Harry for his 40th birthday. She barged into local businesses and demanded to know what people thought about the Sussexes, then she breathlessly reported that Americans mostly blanked her and refused to discuss their local celebrities. Basically, all of this is not proving what Moir thinks it is.
Photos courtesy of As Ever’s Instagram & site.
