It begins with bees. Because, yes, bees are aspirational signifiers of the good life. And yes, bees make beautiful honey for, say, stirring into a sun tea (that would be tea steeped in California sunshine for approx three to four hours) or drizzling into a “beautiful on the inside” cake (which, as far as I can make out, is a Victoria sponge.) But the Duchess of Sussex, who only started beekeeping a year ago but already has “good vibes for good hives”, also sees them as a reminder to do something that scares you a little bit. Like, say, making a tone-deaf lifestyle show in a $8m (£6.3m) Montecito farmhouse while the US and beyond goes to hell in a handcart. “I’m trying to stay in the calm of it because it’s beautiful to be this connected,” she whispers in a low tone, so as not to spook the bees.

Or, indeed, her viewers, who find themselves at the deflating juncture where we can finally judge to our heart’s content the contemporary curio that is With Love, Meghan. Do we really need to though? Gazillions of words, many of them predictably hateful, have already been spewed on what it is actually about, based on the two-minute trailer alone. Is Meghan the ultimate tradwife? A domestic goddess in the wink-wink Nigella vein (if only!)? A fake flaunting her wealth? Is it a cynical money-making exercise (Netflix reportedly paid the Sussexes £78m for their overall deal)? A right-on sister who genuinely cares about diversity? An estranged royal suffering from an incurable case of earnestness? Or, as the New York Times dubbed her, is she “the millennial Martha Stewart of Montecito”?

Having watched the whole damn thing, I can confirm that I haven’t got the foggiest. But I do know that the duchess loves lemon zesting. And that she keeps flaxseeds, chia seeds and hemp hearts on her counter so she can dust her kids’ pancakes willy-nilly. And that she’s got impressive knife skills. And refers to herself as “Meg’” on the labels she ties around her mason jars, which are filled with whatever surprising moments she happens to be elevating. And that all those years slumming it as a freelance calligrapher have really paid off – her handwriting is lovely.

For those who have been hiding in a bunker for completely understandable reasons, With Love, Meghan sees the Duchess of Sussex cooking, flower arranging, candle making, jarring preserves, scenting towels with lavender, making harvest baskets, blowing balloon arches, arranging fruit into rainbows and sprinkling dried edible flowers on literally everything. Creating “moments” is her jam. Though jam, which usually contains equal parts and sugar and fruit, is very much not her jam because she feels the traditional recipe ratio detracts from the fruit, so actually she’s all about slightly less sweet preserves.

‘Good vibes for good hives’ … Branden the beekeeper with Meghan, Duchess of Sussex in With Love, Meghan. Photograph: Courtesy of Netflix

There’s a lot of useless information like this in my head now that will need to be removed slowly, by applying the same care that Meghan shows when designing a crudité plate. Which, incidentally, she makes every single day for her husband and kids. And that’s why they all love vegetables so much! “We don’t all have a garden like this,” she acknowledges as she goes about the sun-washed enorma-estate with her trug, picking lemons always with the leaves on. “I fully recognise that. I didn’t grow up with a garden like this. But go to a farmers market and you can find something … ”

Oh God, it’s toe-curling stuff, but hardly surprising. We all saw Meghan show Oprah her chicken coop. Her lifestyle brand was until very recently, called American Riviera Orchard, which I think was supposed to give off an Alice Waters idyll filmed by Nancy Meyers vibe, but sounded more like the sister takeaway to Chicken Cottage. Anyway, she’s now renamed it As Ever. Frankly, WhatEver would be more on brand. Because what With Love, Meghan vibrates with most is a vacuous, over styled joylessness.

Harry, mostly referred to as “my husband”, features briefly at the end of the final episode, Feels Like Home, in which Meghan cooks a celebration brunch with Waters to mark the next chapter of her life. I fear this next chapter may be a hidden extra episode, but it seems to be the (re)launch of As Ever. We do discover that Harry salts everything at the table and, like a real man-prince, loves his bacon and fried chicken. Not exactly top news lines but, as With Love, Meghan fails to teach us, we all have to make and do. Otherwise, the guests are friends such as “email pen pal” Mindy Kaling, who struggles to crack jokes in such a rarefied environment and ends up saying vapid things like “What are you, Tinker Bell?!” when Meghan starts sprinkling dried flowers again. The best, as in the most real, episode is Two Kids from LA, when Meghan invites Los Angeles chef Roy Choi over and they make fried chicken and kimchi, discuss the 1990s racist backlash against MSG and reminisce about their LA childhoods. When all is said and done, there is but one aspect of With Love, Meghan on which we can all agree – her old beagle, Guy, is a real honey.

Otherwise, it’s back to sweating the small stuff – sniffing essential oils, putting manuka honey into gift bags, and elevating grocery-store carnations. It’s not the activities themselves that are offensive, nor indeed the credo to glean joy from life’s small moments. I could watch Nigella dress her dining table with tea lights then jump into a black cab headed for the local deli until the cows come home. It’s the lack of humour, irony, self-awareness and apprehension of the reality of this deeply unequal and apocalyptic world that makes With Love, Meghan so unlovable in the end.

With Love, Meghan is on Netflix now