Royal watchers spot Kate's former longtime PA's cheeky Meghan act
The Princess of Wales' former longtime personal assistant has made some telling updates to her social media account.
Shortly after it was revealed last week that Kate's former employee and close friend, Natasha Archer, is departing Kensington Palace after 15 years, she made her Instagram page public – and royal watchers were quick to notice that she followed Meghan and her business, As Ever.
However, Ms Archer, 37, has since unfollowed both the accounts, according to US magazine People.
The former royal staffer had also been following members of the Duchess of Sussex's inner circle, including Daniel Martin and Heather Dorak – but they, too, appeared to have been removed.
It was reported last week that Ms Archer had quit her job with the Palace in order to set up her own private consultancy.
She was known to be an invaluable member of the private household, and has been by Kate's side for key events – both personally and professionally – throughout the years.
According to People, the royal couple has 'wished Natasha the very best for the exciting opportunities ahead'.
Ms Archer first joined royal employment in 2010 and worked as a personal assistant to both Prince William and Kate – the latter of whom she developed a close friendship with over the years, and became an unofficial stylist.
Last year, it emerged that she had been promoted to senior private executive assistant for both the Prince and Princess of Wales back in 2022.
'Natasha deserves this boost — she's unfailingly discreet and loyal to Kate. The salary boost will be welcome too. This appointment means we can expect to see Natasha by Kate's side for years to come,' a source told the Daily Mail at the time.
'It seems to be Kate's way of thanking her for her loyalty.'
Ms Archer is widely credited with reshaping Kate's wardrobe in recent years, evolving her royal look from the more traditional coat dresses to modern suits.
She is also reportedly a close confidante for the princess, providing support and discretion during her cancer battle and subsequent break from the public eye throughout last year.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles

News.com.au
3 hours ago
- News.com.au
Meghan's Netflix show fails to make top 350
It's not often a spreadsheet makes news but today's story comes to you live from the depths of thousands of line items. Every six months Netflix executives take a break from brainstorming ideas like a S quid Game / Stranger Things crossover set in space and lets the world take a look under the hood by releasing their streaming figures. In the first half of this year, the Emmy-nominated Adolescence was the most watched TV show on the platform, hoovering up 145 million hours of viewing. Meanwhile, Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex's lifestyle-tainment show which saw her instruct audiences in the finer art of decanting pretzels from one plastic bag into another didn't manage to make it into the top 350. According to Netflix's latest 'What We Watched' report, With Love, Meghan was the 383rd most watched show, registering 5.3 million views, beaten by the first four seasons of Suits and Gossip Girl season one (number 376). Who knew that Blair Waldorf could better a real life duchess? With Love 's flatter-than-a-deflated-souffle-numbers have left the Hollywood entertainment bible Deadline scratching their heads, given that the world is in for a second serve. They reported that the show's ranking 'is very low for a Netflix original — and pretty unprecedented for a show that has been renewed.' ('Atypically,' they noted, With Love 's seasons one and two were filmed back-to-back.) Today, more than three months on since With Love posed the important question to audiences, 'but have you ever thought about fiddling about and colour-co-ordinating a fruit plates?' No date has been set for Meghan's sophomore series. But there is one clear date on the horizon: September 2. That day will mark five years since Meghan and her husband Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex announced their 'megawatt' five year Netflix deal. Back then, in 2020, this seemed like an all round jolly good bet, with the world pressed-up- against-the-glass and glued to the unfolding saga of the self-exiled couple. They had done the unthinkable - turned down the chance to spend their lives in a group chat with Princess Anne sending horse gifs, doing charity all the charity work they fancied and never having to pay a gas bill. When they announced the deal, it seemed a given that the streamer's subscribers would eagerly gobble up whatever they made. It all seemed pretty win-win: The duke and duchess would make content that 'that informs but also gives hope' and 'impactful content that unlocks action' and Netflix could piggyback on the global Sussex obsession. Five years on the proof is in the cold, stodgy pudding. The only 'action' they have 'unlocked' is Meghan having given an unexpected boost to the flower sprinkle industry and them managing to further estrange the royal family and to set a lot of Brits' teeth further on edge. Meanwhile, Netflix has extracted the only thing of real value the Sussexes possessed -the sorry, sad tale of their tortured royal lives. The outlier in their Netflix tale has been their six-parter, Harry & Meghan, all those hours of raw emotions, soft lighting and one infamous curtsy making for compelling viewing, translating into Netflix's biggest documentary debut ever, which has now been watched for more than 177.85 million hours in total. Huzzah and all that. However, move beyond that and we have two egregiously flaccid duds, Harry's solo Heart of Invictus and Polo proving that he's about as good at making TV as his uncle Andrew is at giving interviews, and With Love's limp showing. Heart of Invictus only got 300,000 views after its release. Since then it has not made the top 6,800 shows. Polo, a boring offering of on field testosterone, horsey braggadocio and capped toothed-men rabbiting on about winning only got 600,000 views, putting it at 2,946th spot. In the six months of this year, it has added 500,000 views and currently sits at 3,436. In return for all this output and their credibility, the Sussexes have reportedly only made tens of millions, far from the much touted figure of $USD100 ($153) million. Over the weekend, 'a source with knowledge of the Netflix deal' told the Daily Mail that the Sussexes 'probably managed to maybe keep $10million-$15million [$15.3-$23 million] or a touch more purely for themselves over the nearly five years so far.' How long can or will that sum last, with the same Mail report saying they need to bank $6 million a year after tax to pay for their living expenses? The good news for the duke and duchess is that Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos is said to be a huge fan of Meghan's and that With Love will be renewed for a third go. According to the Mail, 'It's probable that they'll pay Meghan between $3-$5million [$4.6- $7.6 million] a year for it.' Or in other words, the duchess would make just about enough to keep the lights on and their bank manager sweet. With Spotify having parted ways with the Sussexes back in 2023, the duke failing to have gotten a single podcast series off the ground, and both The Hollywood Reporter and Vanity Fair having published exposes about their allegedly poor treatment of staff, the couple's Hollywood fortunes are in the doldrums territory. The Duchess of Sussex might keep cranking out With Love and dispensing invaluable advice about how to put ice in drinks but beyond that their entertainment careers appear to be largely kaput. Should push ever come to shove, the latest Netflix spreadsheet makes one thing clear: the appetite for royal melodrama is as healthy as ever. Season one The Royals, a long since canned series in which Liz Hurley is the Queen and heads up a fictional British royal family, has been viewed 14.3 million times for a total of more than 85 million hours. As the saying goes, there's money in muck - and monarchy.

ABC News
5 hours ago
- ABC News
Acclaimed conductor, Sir Roger Norrington, dies aged 91
Sir Roger Norrington, the trail-blazing pioneer of the early music movement, died last week aged 91. He had one of the biggest impacts on classical music of any conductor of his generation. With ensembles these days regularly getting standing ovations for concerts on original instruments, it's easy to forget how far the music world has evolved in terms of audience acceptance, even reverence for historically informed performance thanks to radical innovators like Norrington. When he first began evangelising for "authentic" performances of baroque music in the 1960s — rearranging orchestras on stage, thinning the strings down to the numbers composers wrote for and all playing on gut strings without vibrato — many of his musical colleagues and critics were outraged. But Norrington persevered with forensic scholarship and an evangelistic fervour, taking his almost pathological aversion to vibrato into the realm of modern-instrument orchestras. One of his favourite chapters in his musical journey, he said, was working for 15 years with the Stuttgart Radio Symphony orchestra. During his time as principal conductor from 1998, he created "the Stuttgart sound"; what he believed was a near-perfect synthesis of historically informed music-making with the means of a modern and flexible orchestra. When they played Elgar's first symphony at the BBC Proms in 2008 without vibrato, critics said he'd gone too far. However, Norrington argued orchestras in Elgar's time played with much less vibrato than they do today. When he conducted the traditional encore of Land of Hope and Glory on the Last Night without vibrato, he asked the audience with his customary wry humour: "Can you sing with a bit more vibrato, please?" Audiences loved him. As Norrington pointed out to anyone who would listen: "The fact is orchestras didn't generally use vibrato until the 1930s. It is a fashion, like smoking, which came in at about the same time. Smoking has gone, so maybe vibrato will too." These days Norrington's brisk tempi, his scholarly, historically focused approach and what he loved calling "pure tone" are the norm, and he had much to celebrate in his last years. He has left behind a rich legacy of thousands of concerts world-wide and more than 150 recordings. Beyond his revolutionary impact on early music, with the Heinrich Schütz Choir he founded in the 1960s, and later his long-running London Classical Players (1978-97) which morphed into the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, Norrington extended the concept of "period performance" to music of the 18th and 19th centuries. When he lapped at the door of 20th century music and shared his expertise with non-period instrument symphony orchestras, the musicians would say: "We've come for a detox, maestro." Norrington was unorthodox from day one, but always a team player. If you look at some of his concerts on YouTube, you'll see he usually conducted in rehearsals and concerts from a swivelling office chair; often chatting to the audience and encouraging them to clap between movements. "You are part of the team," he insisted. Part of his secret was bringing irrepressible joy to his music making. His aim, he always said, "is to re-create as best as possible, the original sound the composers would have heard; to honour their intentions". To that end, he always tried to disseminate his scholarly findings in revelatory liner notes on his recordings and "Experience Weekends". In these early outreach, total immersion programs — part marathon concert and part musicological seminar — he'd focus on a single major work or composer with performances backed up by lectures and open rehearsals. In 1991 Norrington was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumour. After surgery, doctors gave him months, then weeks to live. He began to say his goodbyes. Then he discovered an unconventional New York cancer doctor and, although he had to take a lot of medication, made a miraculous recovery. In 2021, he announced his intention to retire, giving a "no fuss" all-Haydn concert as his swan song outside London, at the Sage music venue near Newcastle in the north of England, with the Royal Northern Sinfonia. When asked if he'd be writing his memoirs next, he replied: "For my family only. No, I am not that interesting." Norrington was born into a musical family in 1934. His parents met while both were performing in a Gilbert and Sullivan amateur production. His father was President of Trinity College, Oxford, and inventor of the Norrington Table — the unofficial college listings according to academic success! Norrington learnt violin, sang as a boy soprano and later as a tenor after the family returned home to Oxford when he was 10. They evacuated to Canada during the war. "I found these musty old records. Some of the Beethoven was a bit difficult at first, but the Bach Brandenburg No. 6 was wonderful," he said. "I played it a hundred times a day. If this was so-called serious music, then it was for me." But he thought, like his parents, that he would spend his life making music in his spare time. He initially read English literature at Clare College, Cambridge, where he was a choral scholar, and then took a job at Oxford University Press, where he published religious books. Just as the English language has changed since 1800, he argued, so had the language of music. Although he sang and played in orchestras and quartets in his spare time, and saw conductors like Colin Davis, Giulini and Furtwängler in action, it wasn't until Norrington was 28 that he decided to take music more seriously, founding his Schütz choir. He was inspired by a new publication of the 17th century composer's church music that was virtually unknown, so there was no modern performing tradition. Their first London concert sparked a sensation. At that concert was the principal of the Royal College of Music, who offered him a place. Norrington then found himself studying conducting with Adrian Boult, learning composition and music history, however he bemusedly recalled he didn't have to do exams. "I don't even have grade one recorder," he said. In 1969 Norrington became the first director of Kent Opera, cutting his teeth in every production the company staged for more than a decade. Few associate him with opera but he has conducted more than 500 opera performances and made many recordings too. His approach was always to create everything afresh by going back to the sources and presenting the work as though it was a premiere. Before he retired, Norrington was asked about his extraordinary longevity and relationships with musicians. "I've always tried to earn rather than command respect," he said. "When you're older they're all younger than you and they think: 'Well, he must be good — he's been around such a long time, I had his records when I was 16!'" When he conducted the Last Night of the Proms concert in 2008, Norrington spoke movingly to the audience about what music meant to him. Get the latest classical music stories direct to your inbox

ABC News
7 hours ago
- ABC News
The Facebook effect: How Mark Zuckerberg fashioned a generation in his own image - ABC Religion & Ethics
You can hear Samuel Cornell discuss the way social media is cultivating regressive expressions of masculinity with Waleed Aly and Scott Stephens on The Minefield. Mark Zuckerberg's ubiquitous 'platforms' have hosted the lives, loves and losses of an entire generation of people. Gen Z — which refers broadly to those born between 1997 and 2012 — have lived out their lives on the social media and internet platforms created by some of the world's wealthiest and most powerful people. People who attained their positions and status not through their emotional intelligence, their love of mankind or altruism, their desire to leave the world a better place, but through their insatiable desire for optimisation, 'connection', attention and power. Is it any wonder we have a generation of people that mirror their creator? People largely deficient in emotional intelligence, limited in person-to-person interaction yet comfortable in front of a camera, dismissive of empathy, inattentive to signs of human depth. A generation whose operative norms and online virtues have been instilled by Meta's 'Community Standards' — standards that are themselves changeable when it is politically expedient to do so. Not only is Silicon Valley shaping our sense of personhood, but Gen-Zers are even beginning to look like Zuck — what is now known as 'the Gen Z stare', the flat affect, deadpan expression, eyes glazed over. Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg attending the inauguration of US President-elect Donald Trump in the US Capitol Rotunda on 20 January 2025 in Washington, DC. (Photo by Kenny Holston-Pool / Getty Images) This isn't the shell-shocked state, the long stare of a person who's seen awful horrors during war. It's a mirror of the affective style of a generation raised online and in front of screens. We know that young people have been profoundly shaped by their near constant exposure to social media and the online world, but this influence is perhaps even deeper than it appears. The world according to Zuck Mark Zuckerberg's view of the world —described in some detail by Sarah Wynn-Williams in her recent book Careless People — suggests a man who cares more for power and control than he does true connection between people. What he seeks is efficient, expedient and, crucially, frictionless communication. Not the kind of communication that requires nuance and subtlety of expression, but one that can be binary coded. Which is to say, robotic communication. Strategic communication. If we've learned nothing else from the last two decades, is that social media platforms reward strategy . Strategic presentation of the self. Strategic emotional display. Strategic posting. Strategic commenting and replying. Strategic adherence to whatever is trending. Zuckerberg has created a generation that excels in strategic 'authenticity', but which has little time for the kind of in-person communication that doesn't serve tactical means to an end. Zuckerberg's own idiosyncrasies, his trademark robotic style of communication, have been reproduced in the behaviour of young people now entering the real world. No longer coddled by the relative safety of school, the workplace demands more of them than social media has prepared them up for. That is, unless they can all aspire to the same role of manipulation, curation and control as their creator — such as striving to become an influencer, a true acolyte of the algorithm. Pick-and-mix identity Gen Z grew up inside social media rather than with it. It cradled them from a very young age and has been ever present in their lives. It's where they formed their identities. It's where they learned that personal identity, with its ever-increasing atomisation and grouping, was essential — particularly if they want to have a defined presence on social media. To be seen online, you had to define what, exactly, you are. To belong, you had to sort yourself into little niche groups. Social media made personal identity a matter of public branding. Instagram bios became identity resumes — without one, who are you? It would make others uneasy to not know. Zuckerberg's platform logic was built, fundamentally, on niche segmentation — that's the best way to direct advertisements your way. And who better to segment than the young, as early and quickly as possible for greater advertising revenue and effect. Social media has made personal identity a matter of public branding. (Photo illustration by Chris Jackson / Getty Images) This need to fit in with the algorithm isn't just about belonging. It's about survival in a space where visibility equals value. The platforms reward those who conform to their preferred categories. Be a brand, not a person. Be legible, not complex. You can shift identities, but only along recognised lines. Fluidity is fine (it's branded, after all), as long as it's easy to monetise. The result? A generation confident in self-presentation online, where they understand the rules and dynamics, but uncomfortable offline. Life is designed for the feed as opposed to real world interactions. The moral authority of Zuck's algorithm We don't know how the algorithms really work. There's probably nothing else in the world with such a gigantic influence on the lives of so many, and so many young people, that is as secretive and unaccountable. Even the people who are supposed to legislate and regulate these platforms don't understand them. Yet, young people have internalised the 'Community Standards' of the platforms they inhabit. Rules that are vague, erratic and inconsistent across contexts, but which carry much weight, nevertheless. For so many young users, these are the de jure limits to free speech and political expression. Therefore, these platforms have effectively become the moral arbiters of a generation — morals that don't promote introspection, or knowledge of self, so much as self-presentation. They tell users what they are by the constant feedback mechanism of the algorithms: honing and honing and honing until you can be optimised online no more. A cookie-cutter production of personas What kind of persona does an online environment such as this produce? Personas that are at once conflict averse and hyper-critical, emotionally dulled yet highly reactive online, socially engaged and attuned to online developments yet personally disconnected. Much like Zuckerberg's own low empathy, high control, distanced life of private jets and subservient employees, ever tinkering with code and obsessing about system performance, the people he's created concern themselves with metrics — likes, follows, shares — and rankings. Zuckerberg's ambition to get everyone into the metaverse by means of digital avatars that can communicate with AI agents and fashion an artificial life, is the antithesis of all that it means to be a human and fulfil human desires. Especially in adolescence, growth and development require friction and real social feedback. It's unclear where this will lead us. Perhaps Australia's social media minimum age regulation will be a positive start. We clearly need more than digital literacy. It seems there's enough focus on the digital as it is. Perhaps we need more focus on the physical, the tangible and material. The person to person. There doesn't always need to be 'an app for that'. Samuel Cornell is a PhD candidate at the University of New South Wales, researching public health, social media, and digital behaviour.