Netflix Announces Second Season of Whatever That Was, Meghan

Guess who’s back, back again—because the public didn’t scream loud enough the first time. That’s right: With Love, Meghan. Netflix’s most fragrant branding experiment disguised as a cooking show, has been renewed for a second season. If you missed the first one, congratulations on being spiritually intact.

With Love: A heartfelt blend of ash, ego, and emotional lighting.

Described by critics as “emotionally exfoliating,” “A gourmet ad campaign slow-roasted in emotional lighting and served with a side of vague purpose,” and “what happens when a Pinterest board gains sentience and hires a lighting crew.” The show features Meghan Markle lovingly ladling diced heirloom vegetables into copper cookware while monologuing about turmeric and trauma. It was intended as a warm mix of storytelling and soul food. Instead, it landed somewhere between an ambient hostage tape and an algorithm’s idea of sincerity.

Each episode begins with Meghan, draped in a cashmere apron, whispering life advice to a bowl of legumes. Meals are never actually consumed on camera—either for lighting continuity or legal reasons, especially after one viewer threatened to sue Netflix for burns allegedly caused by a DIY bath salt recipe from Episode 2. (Netflix has since added a disclaimer: “Consume inspiration, not instructions.”)

Viewer reaction was swift and confused. Personally, I found the show to be the most expensive kitchen commercial ever made, with the emotional depth of a butter dish. The trailer alone managed to clear out every comment section like a fart in a yoga class—I’ve never seen silence used so aggressively. And for clarity, no, you are not a racist for using the mute button. By episode three, I was wondering if it could be cooked down into a reduction and quietly poured into the compost. It’s not that it’s unwatchable, it’s that it actively dares you to keep trying.

And yet… it’s back.

Netflix, citing “surprising engagement metrics” and “strong viewership among autoplay-stranded houseplants,” has greenlit Season 2, due for release in the Fall of 2025. Sources close to the production say it will feature bold new segments. One can only imagine.

Meghan released a statement saying she is “humbled and overjoyed to continue this journey,” promising Season 2 will be “even more authentic”—a claim that prompted one Netflix executive to quietly whisper, “God help us.”

Prince Harry is expected to return in a limited capacity, mostly to offer supportive nods and hand-deliver emotionally grounded croutons.

A petition titled “Please Stop This Show Before My Toes Recoil Off My Body” has gained over 40,000 signatures—none from Buckingham Palace, although several are listed under “Definitely Not Charles.” Netflix, unfazed, maintains that “love it or loathe it, you’re watching,” which in 2025 is the closest thing to a mission statement any media company has left.

According to a press release, Season 2 has already finished filming—somewhere between self-awareness and Santa Barbara. I, for one, will be watching—through my fingers, under protest, and with snacks that don’t require emotional backstory.

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