An Open Letter to Prince Harry

BREWTIFUL LIVING | MAY 21, 2025
By Sara Alba, Columnist & Creator-in-Chief

Disclaimer: This is an opinion piece. It does not claim to offer clinical insight into Prince Harry’s personal life or relationships. It is a cultural commentary based on public interviews, media behavior, and patterns that deserve examination.

Dear Harry,

You didn’t escape. You rebranded.

And the longer you keep calling it freedom, the more exhausting it becomes to watch.

Let’s start here: you had everything.

Realistically, you were one of the only royals people actually liked. You weren’t tainted by power or drenched in protocol. You were charming, slightly scruffy, and human enough to be relatable in a family known for wearing emotion like bad cologne.

The public gave you the benefit of the doubt. We forgave the Vegas photos. The Nazi costume. The missteps. We rooted for you when you said you wanted to leave. When you chose love. When you spoke about your mental health. You had a rare and powerful thing: sympathy, on your terms.

And then you lit a match.

Not just one. A series. In memoirs. In interviews. In glossy documentaries pretending to be raw. You aired decades of dirty laundry like it was a healing ritual—but somehow only your pain made the cut. Everyone else’s? Narrative collateral.

Your father? Painted as cold. Your brother? Cast as a villain. Your stepmother? Dissected. The monarchy? Ripped apart and sold in 12-episode arcs.

You weren’t just telling your story. You were burning bridges with cameras rolling and acting like you had no other choice.

So let’s drop the illusion.

You didn’t want out. You wanted the spotlight on your terms.

You didn’t seek privacy. You sought control.

And what you built isn’t freedom…it’s a filtered version of captivity.

Because now it’s not the crown calling the shots. It’s the brand. It’s the handlers. It’s the curated image of “Prince turned prophet,” the man who walked away from power but somehow still demands deference from every room he walks into.

Which brings me to something no one says outright, but a lot of us feel:

I am deeply afraid you’re in a corrosive, controlling relationship.

Not because I hate Meghan. I don’t. I don’t know her. I don’t need to.

I just know what it looks like when someone changes completely, quickly, and with the intensity of a hostage re-learning their talking points.

I know what it looks like when a once-loud voice starts blinking for permission.

I know what it feels like when love isn’t soft, it’s strategic.

You’ve cut off nearly everyone from your old life. You speak like a man in a safehouse. You perform authenticity with the energy of a publicist standing just off-camera. It doesn’t look like growth. It looks like a new script.

And here’s the worst part, Harry.

You had a path to do this right. You really did.

You could’ve stepped down. Recalibrated. Built a life that was rooted in purpose and privacy. Protected your family. Spoken when it mattered. You could’ve been the modern royal blueprint. The rebel who didn’t torch the house, just quietly walked out of it.

Instead, you torched everything and posted the footage.

And what do you have now?

Exile dressed up in sunshine. Public sympathy thinning by the minute. A podcast graveyard. A publishing deal no one’s talking about anymore. Hollywood power that’s already fading. A family you can’t go back to and a new one you seem scared to speak freely inside of.

The freedom you keep bragging about? It looks a lot like a prettier prison.

So here’s what I’ll leave you with, not as a fan, not as a troll, but as someone who has watched too many smart people ruin their lives trying to prove a point:

You didn’t need to burn it all down just to be seen.

You didn’t need to lose everyone just to feel chosen.

You didn’t need to weaponize your wounds just to write your own ending.

The world was ready to love you, Harry. Not because you were perfect—but because you were human.

Now? We don’t know what we’re watching anymore. A man? A brand? A ghost?

I hope one day, when the cameras are gone and the applause dies down, you’ll find your way back to the version of yourself that didn’t need all of this.

Because that guy? That guy had everything.
And he threw it away.

With honesty no one’s given you,
Sara Alba
Brewtiful Living