The air in the Beverly Hilton was thick with anticipation, a familiar mix of champagne-fueled excitement and nervous energy that defines the Golden Globes. But on that night, host Jo Koy stepped onto the stage and, with a few pointed words, lit a fuse that would set off a cultural explosion. What followed wasn’t just a series of jokes; it was the beginning of a global reckoning, a relentless comedic onslaught that would see Meghan Markle and Prince Harry transformed from defiant royals into the world’s most prominent punchline.

Koy’s joke was deceptively simple. He quipped that Harry and Meghan were paid millions for “doing absolutely nothing”—a sharp, biting critique of their lucrative Netflix deal. The camera cut to the star-studded audience, and the reaction was instantaneous: a wave of laughter, not polite or restrained, but a deep, cathartic roar of approval. It was as if Koy had given voice to a sentiment that had been simmering just beneath the surface of public discourse. He didn’t just tell a joke; he broke a seal. In that moment, the Sussexes were no longer just controversial figures; they were fair game. Koy doubled down, calling them “Hollywood’s most privileged freeloaders,” and with that, the floodgates opened.

What followed was a pile-on of epic proportions. The late-night circuit, a reliable barometer of the cultural zeitgeist, quickly joined the fray. Jimmy Fallon lampooned Meghan’s Netflix show as a “Pinterest board of reheated ideas,” while Stephen Colbert playfully mocked their self-appointed “M and H” nicknames. Even the venerable institution of Saturday Night Live couldn’t resist, airing a skit that perfectly captured the central paradox of the Sussex brand: a relentless demand for privacy delivered through the lens of a camera. The jokes were relentless, coming from all corners of the entertainment world, each one chipping away at the couple’s carefully constructed narrative of victimhood.

The mockery wasn’t confined to cheap shots. It evolved, becoming sharper, more analytical, and far more brutal. Comedian Nikki Glaser delivered a particularly vicious blow during a roast, suggesting that if Meghan hadn’t married a prince, she would have ended up on The Bachelor. The joke went viral because it cut to the heart of a growing public perception: that Meghan’s fame was not a product of merit but of marriage. It was a cruel but effective distillation of the criticism that had been dogging her for years.

Then came the heavyweights. Chris Rock, a comedian who understands the intersection of race, fame, and public perception better than anyone, weighed in with his trademark incisive wit. He dismissed Meghan’s claims of shock at the Royal Family’s alleged racism with a devastatingly simple analogy: “It’s like marrying into the Budweiser family and being surprised they drink beer.” With that single line, Rock didn’t just get a laugh; he articulated a deep-seated skepticism about the couple’s narrative, suggesting a willful naivety that many found difficult to believe.

The comedic assault wasn’t just an American phenomenon; it was a global one. The British satirical puppet show Spitting Image resurrected its iconic caricatures to portray Meghan and Harry as pampered, out-of-touch elites, searching for grievances from the comfort of their Montecito mansion. But it was the animated titan, South Park, that delivered the most crippling blow. Their now-infamous episode, “The Worldwide Privacy Tour,” was a masterclass in satire. It depicted the “Prince and Princess of Canada” embarking on a global tour, loudly demanding privacy with signs and megaphones while simultaneously courting media attention.

The episode was a cultural phenomenon. It perfectly encapsulated the perceived hypocrisy at the core of the Sussexes’ public life, turning their mantra into a global running gag. The image of the cartoon couple chanting for privacy while desperately seeking cameras became the definitive caricature, a meme that transcended language and cultural barriers. South Park didn’t just mock them; it defined them for a generation, cementing their image as attention-seeking hypocrites.

This relentless wave of satire did more than just generate laughs; it signaled a profound shift in public opinion. The phenomenon became known as the “Sussex fatigue effect.” The public, once sympathetic to their story of escaping a toxic institution, was growing weary of what many perceived as a never-ending narrative of complaint from a position of immense privilege. The comedians weren’t just telling jokes; they were reflecting and amplifying a collective exhaustion. A “cultural verdict” was being delivered, not in a courtroom, but on stand-up stages and late-night television. Tabloids and social media feasted on the material, creating a feedback loop where the jokes were amplified, dissected, and shared, further eroding the couple’s standing.

For a brand built on authenticity and relatability, the damage was catastrophic. Every joke that landed chipped away at their credibility. How could they be seen as authentic voices for compassion and mental health when they were being portrayed as pampered and out of touch? Whispers began to circulate in corporate circles, questioning the value of their brand. The constant ridicule had made them a liability, a walking punchline that no serious organization wanted to be associated with.

Perhaps the most baffling part of this entire saga was the couple’s response: silence. In the face of a global comedic onslaught, they chose not to engage. This strategy, likely intended to project an image of being above the fray, backfired spectacularly. In the vacuum left by their silence, the comedians’ narrative took hold. Their silence wasn’t interpreted as dignity; it was seen as an inability to defend themselves, an implicit admission that the criticisms had merit. By refusing to address the mockery, they allowed it to define them. The punchline stuck because there was no comeback.

In the end, the comedy world succeeded where the monarchy and the tabloids had failed. It managed to dismantle the carefully crafted image of Meghan and Harry, exposing the perceived contradictions and hypocrisies that lay at its core. They had become a joke, and in the court of public opinion, that is a verdict from which there is often no appeal. The laughter that echoed from the Golden Globes to living rooms around the world was more than just amusement; it was the sound of a narrative collapsing, of a brand being broken, and of a cultural verdict being rendered, one punchline at a time.