Harry & Meghan Netflix series: Brand Sussex has an identity crisis that no documentary can fix

Harry and Meghan are seen in the back of a car in their Netflix docuseries. Picture: Netflix

There was a smell of burning rubber in my living room on Thursday night. So much so that I nearly choked on my G&T. No, it wasn’t my neighbours on Sydney’s lower north shore getting their upper middle bogan on, it was smoke from the furious spinning wheels of Harry and Meghan Sussex’s PR machine in overdrive.

That’s right, folks, I watched Harry and Meghan so you don’t have to. Send gifts of gratitude care of my office.

Among the most noteworthy elements of this self-indulgent twaddle was the fact that Markle has a friend whose name is Silver Tree. Adjective Noun. You’ll also be thrilled to know that they refer to each other by the first initial of their first names. H and M. There’s a strong Hallmark Channel vibe. Much soft-focused, sepia toned, montage to music. Harry thinks Meghan is just like Diana and said so. A lot. I shall refrain from observations of an Oedipal nature, but I think I’ve given you a solid teaser here.

Meghan gets a bit of pampering in a scene from their Netflix docuseries. Picture: Netflix

Having to watch the program in order to write this column was a guilty free pass, to be honest. I’ll admit a certain fascination with Brand Sussex as for two decades my day job has centred on this dark art; building, growing and protecting reputations. Working with corporate and consumer brands, helping define and communicate what they are and stand for in various ways to support strategic objectives.

I wanted to see for myself just how slick the gig would be, just how much lipstick was thrown on the pig, glitter on the proverbial etc. Oh, this was slick all right.

We first see a rumpled, tired and somewhat delirious Harry speaking into his phone camera from the Windsor Suite at Heathrow. Beats the Qantas lounge, I guess. He breathlessly tells us that they’ve just finished their final two weeks of engagements as working royals. Cut to Meghan, forlorn in a shirt and jeans, her hair in a towel. She says she just wants it over. To be on the other side of “this”. Megs, if you’re talking about wanting a truly private life, nobody’s buying it.

A letter that Meghan wrote in school as an 11-year-old. Picture: Netflix

This doco is the latest offering form Brand Sussex, and if I had to sum up their brand values it would look a little like this; highly confused, contradictory messaging, significant credibility challenge. This is a brand with an identity crisis.

Brand Sussex wants us to believe they’re about self-determination and fierce independence. Harry and Meghan speak constantly of a desire for privacy. They continue to rage against media intrusion.

Nothing is sacred, they told us from the private sanctuary of an interview with Oprah Winfrey.

Our lives are not our own, they say as the most personal details of their lives are shared over three, hour-long episodes on the world’s biggest streaming platform.

Harry and Meghan speak in their Netflix docuseries. Picture: Netflix

They say they want to tell their version of events, which is fine but this is instead a festival of oversharing. The most intimate details of their courtship. Text messages. Details of their first trip away together. First dates and first conversations. Things that most of us would consider incongruous with being fiercely private.

Harry in particular speaks repeatedly about protecting his kids. He says it with a genuine conviction. It’s edited around old footage of Princess Diana bravely confronting a paparazzo while on a skiing holiday, appealing to him “as a parent” to give the young princes some privacy. Harry and Meghan’s children are everywhere in this show. Not even a hint of irony about it.

It’s clear that Harry is very much besotted with his wife and she with him. That much at least came across as genuine and warm if not slightly co-dependent in an “us against the world” kind of way. It’s this dynamic that delivers much of the sense of contradiction and search for identity. At times, it was torturous viewing.

Harry, trying to process his mother’s death. Taking awful, barely veiled swipes at his father and brother. Inferring that William married Kate because she fit the mould, while he married for love and destiny. Harry presented as a man-child wrestling with his identity, trying to fit into someone else’s coat. He assumes the roles of victim, protector and villain in equal measure. It was hard not to pity him.

It felt uncomfortable, like watching that friend who posts a blow-by-blow of their marriage break-up on Facebook. Perhaps if they’d have framed their departure from royal life differently; saying look, I’m never going to be King, and Meghan hates the weather here so we’re off to California. Perhaps if they’d been honest, if they hadn’t done their best to burn down the barn on their way out most of us would be cheering them on. Everyone deserves to live the life of their choosing.

But this? They are trading off, monetising the very things they profess to despise. He may no longer be His Royal Highness, but he’s still called Prince Harry. Drop the Prince, mate and then we’ll talk authenticity.

I wonder how long they’ll try to sustain this narrative and what the end game is. Truth is, all brands must adapt and evolve to survive. Don’t believe me? Ask someone on your MySpace page about Nokia. Another truth is that all brands need a strong sense of identity, and authenticity, underpinned by actions. Brand Sussex? It’s got a long, long way to go.

Gemma Tognini is executive director of GT Communications.