Why Meghan Markle’s Outfits Keep Missing the Mark

Photo Credit: Getty Images for TIME via Page Six

By Sara Alba, from the Brewtiful Living Editorial Desk

There are certain things you expect from a public figure making a high-profile appearance: composure, presence, and—if you’re a woman—clothes that tell a story louder than the speech itself.

Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex and perpetual headline fixture (for all the wrong reasons), recently stepped on stage at yet another branded summit, this time draped in a tan Ralph Lauren suit that was supposed to read “sophisticated restraint.” Instead, it read like a half-steamed rental from a forgotten rack at Holt Renfrew.

As I watched the images roll in from Getty and every single women’s magazine pretending not to judge while definitely judging, I found myself asking a question I’ve asked too many times before: Why does Meghan Markle—a woman with access to the best stylists, designers, and tailors in the world—always look like she dressed in a rush, using only beige and blind optimism?

The Soft-Power Suit That Said Absolutely Nothing

If you haven’t seen the outfit, congratulations on protecting your peace. If curiosity gets the better of you, here’s the video via Brittany from The Royal News Network on YouTube—but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Wide-leg trousers pooled at her ankles like the hem gave up halfway through the walk. The blazer? Slouchy, wrinkled, and one steaming session away from saying “I don’t want to be here either.” And the blouse—so painfully neutral it could’ve doubled as a truce offering.

The whole ensemble didn’t look intentional. It looked exhausted.

And that’s where it failed—not just as fashion, but as communication. Because when you take the stage to speak on leadership, empowerment, or whatever buzzword got printed on the lanyards this time, your clothes become part of the message.

Fashion doesn’t have to scream. But it does have to mean something. This didn’t whisper. It mumbled. It shrugged. It stood there hoping no one would ask it a follow-up question.

The Meghan Markle PR Machine: Polished, Pushed, and Pointless

Here’s the part that no one in glossy magazines seems willing to say: we didn’t ask for this. We didn’t ask for yet another summit, another panel, another microphone moment where Meghan Markle floats in wearing sad trousers and says absolutely nothing new.

And yet—we keep getting her.

Because PR doesn’t care if you’re interested. It cares if you click. So they keep pushing her forward like a human press release in beige, hoping this time, it sticks. A lifestyle brand. A podcast reboot. A vague empowerment initiative. Whatever the next rollout is, it will arrive with middle-parted hair, a neutral pantsuit, and a talking point about resilience.

But here’s the problem: it’s all so relentlessly hollow. The outfits don’t land. The speeches don’t resonate. It’s branding without belief. A perfectly managed image clinging to relevance with nothing to say and even less to wear.

And still, the coverage continues. As if beige is a message. As if wrinkles are a metaphor. As if we’re not all watching this unfold in real time thinking, she really showed up like that? Again?

The PR machine may be working overtime. But the rest of us are over it.

Why the Clothes Matter (Yes, Still)

We shouldn’t care this much. But we do. Because when someone with a global platform gets up on stage to talk about leadership, empowerment, or literally anything with “impact” in the name, their presence matters. And presence includes clothes.

Fashion isn’t just vanity—it’s message control. It’s visual authority. It tells us, instantly, whether you understand the moment you’re in. Whether you came prepared. Whether we should take you seriously.

And Meghan? She keeps showing up looking like she’s about to ask if you’d like oat milk with that.

This latest tan suit isn’t a one-off. It’s part of a consistent pattern of fashion failures that miss the cultural memo by a mile. We’re in an era of women owning space—visually, politically, unapologetically. AOC gets it. Tracee Ellis Ross eats every single time. Queen Letizia? Never off-duty. These women understand fit, proportion, presence. They know tailoring is power. Meghan, somehow, doesn’t.

Her clothes aren’t minimalist. They’re messy. They don’t speak softly—they say nothing. Drooping hems. Bunched sleeves. Blazers that hang like they’re punishing her. And always, that uncanny “this looked better on the hanger” energy.

It’s not just a missed fashion moment. It’s a missed opportunity—every single time.

From Sleek to Sloppy: A Style Evolution in Reverse

You’d think the royal wardrobe era would’ve been the fashion moment. The big debut. The era of polished tailoring, elevated glamour, and clothes that spoke as confidently as the woman wearing them.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

Even with the royal title, the global spotlight, and access to literally any designer she wanted, Meghan’s style during her time in the monarchy was… fine. Occasionally lovely. But mostly forgettable. The silhouettes were safe, the colour palette muted to the point of vanishing, and the styling often just slightly off—wrinkled here, ill-fitted there, like no one ever thought to assign her a tailor. The press called it “modern,” but really it was just noncommittal. More performative than personal.

Sure, there were moments. But they were few, far between, and usually dulled by the overwhelming need to appear uncontroversial. Her best style work? That was years earlier, as Rachel Zane on Suits. That version of Meghan knew the power of a sharp cut and a cinched waist. The wardrobe was ambitious, structured, sleek. She looked like a woman with opinions and a tailor on retainer.

Now, we’re in the post-royal “relatable” era—and it’s not better. It’s worse. Baggy beige. Creased pants. Slouchy blazers that scream “I don’t know who I am anymore, but I do know I don’t steam my clothes.” What was once strategic restraint has slipped into straight-up style neglect.

People call it California casual. But that’s giving it too much credit. California cool can still be deliberate. Zendaya exists. So does Tracee Ellis Ross. Meghan’s current vibe? It’s less Malibu and more “I forgot this was today.”

And when you’re trying to build a legacy off presence and platform, dressing like you just rolled out of a Net-a-Porter return box isn’t helping.

The Real Cost of Trying This Hard

Here’s the part that makes this whole thing weirder: she’s not phoning it in. Meghan thinks she looks great.

The hair is sleek. The makeup is camera-ready. The outfits are clearly chosen, styled, approved, steamed by someone (just… not enough). This isn’t effortless. This is effort with no payoff. And that’s what makes it so hard to watch.

Because it’s not “boring but intentional.” It’s “calculated and still missing.” Every appearance is curated, presented like it’s meant to be a moment. But the moment never lands. The trousers pool. The sleeves bunch. The beige blends into beige. And we’re left wondering: how does someone try this hard and still get it so wrong?

When you’re a woman with this kind of reach, the way you show up matters. You’re not just getting dressed—you’re sending signals. And right now, the signal reads: “I want to be taken seriously, but I also don’t want to look like I’m trying.”

Except she is trying. Really hard. And somehow, the result is more confusing than if she weren’t.

It’s not just a style misstep—it’s a brand disconnect. Meghan used to understand the power of presentation. Now, her outfits feel like the physical manifestation of a PR strategy that’s lost the plot: soft-focus, risk-averse, and utterly forgettable.

And maybe the saddest part? She probably walked off that stage thinking she nailed it.

Final Word (and a Plea for a Tailor)

We’re not rooting for Meghan. Not anymore. Not after the way she’s treated her own family, her husband’s family, and anyone who doesn’t fit neatly into her curated narrative of victimhood and soft-focus empowerment.

And the clothes? They’re part of it. Every beige pantsuit, every oversized blazer, every sad, drooping hemline is a metaphor for a brand built on illusion.

You want to talk about leadership? Start by dressing like you’re not afraid to take up space. Wear colour. Wear structure. Wear something that doesn’t look like it was pulled from a staging rack at a lifestyle startup photoshoot.

Because you can’t tell the world how to lead women when you show up looking like you're auditioning to be the assistant to one.

What you wear speaks louder than your talking points. Right now, your clothes are telling the truth you won’t.

We’ll keep watching. Not because we care—but because this spectacle is hard to look away from.

If this isn’t the first time you’ve cringed, read how Meghan Markle ruined her own brand. And yes, we’re just getting started.

Editor’s Note:
Style is not just about taste. It’s about self-awareness, timing, and the ability to read the room—traits we expect from anyone commanding a global platform. Meghan Markle has the stage, the budget, and the spotlight. What she lacks is the mirror.

Until that changes, we’ll be here. Watching. Reporting. And, as always, telling the truth—creased blazers and all.

— Sara, The Editor-in-Chief, Brewtiful Living

Disclaimer:
This piece is satire. Commentary. Fashion critique with a side of espresso and side-eye. Please don’t sue us, Meghan—we’re just trying to help you find a tailor.