Meghan Markle is beautiful.

She is also boring, vapid and entitled.

The same could be said of her new Netflix series, “With Love, Meghan,” which has all the zip and excitement of “Delicious Dish” — the old “Saturday Night Live” spoof of a monotone NPR show.

Put another way: It’s as flat and as basic as a Pinterest board from a decade ago.

For each episode, the wife of Prince Harry is joined in the kitchen and garden — not her own, but at a rented mansion in Montecito, California — by a different friend. She’s making candles, she’s making focaccia, she’s making lavender towels. She’s making me check my watch. When will this be over?

In her signature flat whisper, Markle speaks as if she’s reading from the embroidered tea towel selection at Home Goods.

“Love is in the details.”

“Treat yourself.”

Feeding people is “my love language,” she says more than once.

“Good vibes for good hives,” she whispers to the bees she keeps.

“My bacon brings all the boys to the yard,” she chortles while making breakfast.

Then there’s the word joy, which should pursue a cease-and-desist against Markle.

She carpet bombs every segment with the j-word. If you played a drinking game and threw one back every time she said it, you’d be blacked out 10 minutes into the first episode.

Then again, that could make viewing this vanity project more palatable.

Markle clearly loves hosting and cooking but has no shtick, no charisma and no unique talent for this genre. She merely possesses a precarious deal with Netflix and a royal title — something viewers are reminded of at the end of every episode, as “Executive Producer, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex” flashes across the screen.

But hey, after you’ve already solved racism in the royal family, what else is there to do but make a balloon arch and some Caprese bites that look like lady bugs?

The show is essentially a vehicle to sell crepe mix and flower sprinkles from her new lifestyle brand, As Ever, and drop little trivial bits about herself into the ether.

In one episode, our hostess welcomes Argentinian socialite Delfina Blaquier for a hike and recounts an internship she had in Blaquier’s home country, which reminded her of California and offered “the joy of life and the joy of being outside.”

She also reveals that she was once a Girl Scout and sold a lot of cookies, as a girlhood photo of her flashes across the screen. That’s it. Nothing more to add to her scouting history. Just another bullet point to slap on the pile of evidence that she loves nature.

Then the pair has a dance party on the trail and goes home to relax with a lavender towel — whatever that is — and sun tea.

I know no one who lives a life this precious, not to mention this phony. Nor do I want to. It’s neither relatable nor aspirational. It’s just nauseating treacle.

Perhaps the person who should be most embarrassed is guest Mindy Kaling. Despite regularly posting Instagram videos of herself cooking at home, here the actress calls herself the kind of chef who “microwaves burritos.”

It seems like an effort to exalt the duchess of domesticity, who Kaling treats like a creature formed in a royal incubator rather than some regular chick who grew up in LA.

Kaling is gobsmacked to learn Markle wears inexpensive Zara trousers and not, say, head-to-toe Max Mara. Astounding. Also: She grew up eating fast food.

“Uh, I don’t think anyone in the world knows that Meghan Markle has eaten Jack in the Box and loves it,” Kaling gushes with the plastic enthusiasm of a QVC host who has to move a few hundred units of sequined cardigans by midnight.

But the duchess corrects her. She’s Meghan Sussex now, bitch.

The lone episode of any value is when chef Roy Choi teaches Markle how to cook Korean fried chicken.

But who cares, really?

The entire endeavor is shallow as a baking sheet.

As Markle’s makeup artist friend Daniel Martin says while gazing at mountains in the distance, “I feel like this is all fake.” 

There’s nothing of substance in “With Love, Meghan.” No family recipes, no deep personal stories. No theme other than the aforementioned joy — which means nothing when you have to constantly remind viewers how much wonder and bliss they’re experiencing.