The Interlude

HBO’s wildly popular Succession has effectively placed millions of fans in a chokehold. As a newly-turned fan of the show (I watched all three seasons in two weeks), I’m now also fully engrossed in an effort to see everything Succession — from memes to actor profiles and even the show’s podcast. 

The show, in case you’re one of the lucky few who escaped its grasp, focuses on the uber-rich Logan Roy, owner of a billion-dollar media conglomerate, and his four adult children, who are all vying to take over the company in their father’s stead. It’s a show where the plot revolves heavily around what should be boring business talk, but really, it’s not half as boring as it sounds. 

There’s a lot to love about Succession: the witty writing, the rapport of the actors, brilliant staging, and probably the best theme song to ever exist. But, with all of that, the one thing that I just can’t let myself love are the characters.

Am I obsessed with Shiv’s power turtlenecks, Roman’s giggle, and the innumerable times Logan tells someone to fuck off? Absolutely. But let’s be real — they’re all absolutely garbage human beings. 

A friend asked me the other day, “Who do you think the worst out of all of them is?” and I have a lot of thoughts. Let’s go through them together, shall we?

Willa Ferreyra

I’ll start out with an easy one. Willa Ferreyra is, in fact, the best character. The now-fiancée of Connor Roy, Willa became involved with the Roys when she was hired by Connor as an escort. Since then, they’ve been in a pretty stable working relationship, with Connor supporting her doomed playwriting endeavors, and Willa doing what she can for Connor’s (hopefully equally doomed) presidential campaign. It seems clear to me that, while Willa may have a fondness for Connor, she definitely does not love him the way he loves her.

Even so, Willa doesn’t use this love disparity to her advantage — there’s no backstabbing or  manipulation like we see with the other relationships in this show (that we see yet, at least).

When Willa decides to accept Connor’s proposal, it seems to be in part because she realizes how badly Connor is hurt by his family’s drama. She is slowly transitioning into Connor’s protector, and whether or not she uses this marriage for her own personal gain in the future, it shows that Willa does care for Connor, and is prioritizing his feelings (and his political campaign).

There’s a reason Willa is the most attractive person on this show — because unproblematic people are always the best looking. That’s just science, sorry.

Gregory Hirsch

Poor (not-so) little Greg. I want to believe that Greg has good intentions to start, but he does fall quite quickly into the Roys’ scheming ways, especially when he decides to keep copies of the cruise ship documents. Really, it’s what he has to do in order to protect himself. And I do believe that, though he ended up “selling his soul to the devil” at the end of Season 3, he ultimately has a good heart, which is why he comes right behind Willa.

Greg does what he can to make what he believes will be the best decision for himself, and also grapples a lot with what the “right” decision is. Ultimately, though, he goes back to Logan when Kendall threatens to take him down in the press, and does agree to help Tom betray the Roy children (maybe he didn’t know the exact circumstances, but he did make it quite clear he was willing to do whatever it took to give himself a better position in the company).

Besides that, Greg has a lot of wholesome moments. Watching him gather the courage to ask out Kendall’s assistant is adorable. He’s certainly not the best person, but he also is not the worst.

Oh, and also, he’s got major beef with Greenpeace. Yikes.

Connor Roy

Ah, the Roy siblings. Let me preface here that Logan Roy is an abusive father, as you know. Much of his actions throughout the siblings’ childhoods leave no doubt about that. But how they’ve handled this trauma is a big part of this ranking.

Connor Roy, at his heart, just wants to be loved. He is consistently left out, as the only half-sibling, because he’s the eldest, and because he lives across the country from the rest of the Roy family. His younger siblings don’t try and hide the fact they think he’s dumb, and constantly berate him in group settings.

We get hints that Connor was the one who protected the other siblings growing up. He has pretty much kept himself out of the scummy dealings of the family business so far (whether or not this was his choice is unclear).

He has some pretty egregious political ideals, which are revealed through the course of his presidential campaign. 

Compared to his siblings (we’ll get into that), I do think that Connor is the best person. His feelings for Willa come off as earnest, even though they started as a more…”business-oriented” relationship. Still, if Connor truly loves Willa the way it seems like he does, then it appears he’s the only Roy sibling actually capable of feeling love.

Kendall Roy

I feel so conflicted about this. Kendall is, admittedly, not my favorite character, and I find the “dude-bro” energy about him so unbearable. If the Roys were an alignment chart, Kendall would be the true neutral. He obviously has feelings, but he’s definitely gotten lost along the way. We don’t see him interact with his children much, and he seems to only interact with Rava when it is most convenient for him.

Of course, a big tally against Kendall here is the car accident, where he drove under the influence and ran away from the scene. This is a big gray area. Kendall should not have driven under the influence, and he should not have run from the scene, so he does hold some responsibility, but he is not a murderer. The guilt that consumes him shows that he does, at least, feel remorse, though the extent of that remorse becomes self-serving pretty quick. Kendall acts fast to hop on the #metoo bandwagon for his own benefit during the cruise-ship scandals by sharing Logan’s involvement in the cover-up. 

Though he pretends to be “woke” (and maybe, he really thinks he is), he ends up being just another white man masquerading as a feminist for their own gain.

Kendall tries his best, especially at the end of season three, to really separate himself from his father by selling his shares of the company. But however hard he tries, he ends up being suckered back in. 

Tom Wambsgans

Tom falls nicely into the trap of the Roys. Their selfishness is intoxicating, and Tom seems to naturally take on the role of the ladder climber, doing whatever he can to put himself higher up in the company.

Tom’s relationship with Greg (despite being very meme-worthy) is also rocky territory, with Tom consistently asserting his dominance over Greg, sometimes in really weird ways. Right away, Tom throws Greg under the bus to destroy the cruise documents — a pretty shitty move, considering Greg is an eager-to-please newcomer. He browbeats Greg tons, not only in the workplace, but also when Greg starts to confide in Tom about pursuing relationships outside of work.

One of Tom’s saving graces here is that he does actually love Shiv, and puts up with a lot of her shit because of it, including the possibility of going to jail. But he’s still greedy for power, and ultimately betrays his wife for a better position at Waystar-Royco. 

Roman Roy 

I think it’s pretty obvious why Roman’s up near the top. From ripping up the check in front of a random kid in the first episode, Roman has done nothing but consistently prove that he’s a piece of shit. (A funny piece of shit, but a piece of shit nonetheless).

Shall I list every terrible thing Roman has done? I could, but it would probably take too much space. I’ll give you the highlights, lest you forgot:

Most infamously, Roman was caught sending Gerri unsolicited pictures of his junk, even after she told him not to. He also did this in a corporate meeting — and accidentally sent it to his father. He also shoved Kendall on his birthday after throwing some pretty brutal insults his way. Those are just in the last few episodes of the season. He constantly says things that are insensitive.

I don’t feel many people can argue for Roman being a good person, but some may place him higher up on this list. While he’s done some pretty awful things, it’s of note that Roman is also a victim of abuse, both from Logan, and most likely from his siblings as well. He’s the only one that we see Logan physically abuse in “Argestes”.  Even though all of the Roy children have experienced abuse and neglect at the hands of their parents, Roman appears to bear the brunt of it and is often discarded and not taken seriously.

This doesn’t excuse his actions, of course, but I believe it provides some explanation as to why he acts the way he does. I can’t help it — I have a bit of sympathy for Roman Roy, and I don’t believe he is the worst of the worst. He’s a product of his environment.

Caroline Collingwood

Caroline doesn’t show up much throughout the three seasons, but she plays a pivotal role on and off the screen.

As the other half of the top of the Roy family tree, Caroline’s involvement (or lack thereof) in the children’s lives has shaped who they became. Anyone who has spent 15 years married to Logan Roy has to be some level of terrible. It’s fighting fire with fire. 

When her and Logan divorced, the children chose not to spend holidays with Caroline, and while that would sting, she has shown little effort to reconnect with her children. In fact, when she shows up, she usually acts cold or uninterested. At Shiv and Tom’s wedding, she called him “very plausible”. And when Kendall tried to confide in her about the car accident, she quickly changed the topic. 

The cherry on top, of course, is that Caroline gave up the kids’ shares in Waystar when the divorce settlement was reopened. While it’s unclear the extent Caroline knows about her spawn’s attempted coup, the brevity of her phone call in the room where it happened suggests she knows she’s done something bad.

Logan Roy

Ah, the patriarch. We’ve already stated that Logan is an abusive father. Logan had a rough childhood, and unfortunately, only perpetuated this cycle with his own children. 

From the first episode, Logan consistently pits his children against one another, fostering an environment full of distrust and backstabbing. It’s really no wonder the Roy children turned out the way they did.

Logan has very few redeeming qualities, compared to the other characters in this show. But the fact that he is self-made may explain why he’s so selfish and unable to trust when it comes to who will take over Waystar-Royco when he’s gone. 

It’s unclear whether Logan really loves his children or not. As a perpetual optimist, I would like to believe he does love them. But he weaponizes affection for his children wherever he can. Perhaps this is most notable when Logan helps Kendall cover up the car accident. Even though he holds a crying Kendall and says, “You’re my boy,” he uses this vulnerability to his advantage to stop Kendall from going against him. 

Siobhan “Shiv” Roy

If you disagree with Shiv’s placement on this list, just hear me out for a minute. 

What is possibly the worst thing about Shiv Roy is that she does not appear to have any emotions, and will do anything in her self-interest, including throwing her husband to the wayside.

Quick recap, in case you forgot: Shiv cheated on her fiancé and told him about it on their wedding night, essentially forcing Tom to be okay with an open relationship. She originally agreed that Tom should take the fall and go to jail over the DOJ-cruise ship scandal. And, to put the cherry on top, she said some pretty terrible things to Tom under the rouse of dirty talk. She does not treat Tom with affection or respect. Her fight to the top of Waystar-Royco has included all of the worst traits of a #girlboss, going to such lengths as pressuring sexual assault victims not to testify against her family.

What is so frustrating about Shiv might be that she should know better. As the sole woman in the family (excluding Caroline), she is the only person to experience some sort of marginalization at the hands of a male-dominated company. Though she built her own career apart from her family, it appears that her emergence into the progressive political world is more to get back at her father’s right-wing propaganda machine, rather than for any moral reasons. (Not to mention, the second she has the opportunity to become head of that machine, she swiftly abandons her position as a left-wing campaign strategist). 

Essentially, Shiv is the mini-me of Logan Roy. She will do whatever necessary to gain and keep power for herself. 

It’s important to note, again, that all of the Roy children are victims of abuse. How they deal with that as grown-ups says a lot about their personalities. Children who are abused are, in fact, more likely to become abusive themselves as adults, but this doesn’t mean that the Roy children are doomed. Instead of escaping how she was brought up, Shiv seems to lean right into it, possibly because it’s the only way she knows how to act. Regardless, Shiv’s lack of humility and regards for others makes her the worst person on Succession. She’s only continuing the pattern set by her father.

Watching Succession is like watching a train wreck over and over again. It’s messy, it’s dark, and misery seems inevitable. No matter what, Logan comes out on top. The intriguing thing about Succession isn’t the battle to see who is going to become the chair of Waystar-Royco; what captivates audiences are the complicated relationships. There are so many levels of each relationship, and even more when you factor in the rest of the family. 

What is right and what is wrong isn’t always black and white. I think that’s what is most appealing about this show. So many of the characters are “bad” people, and yet we obsess over them week after week. Who’s to say we wouldn’t make the same decisions if we were in their shoes? 

I wasn’t prepared for the serious introspection Bo Burnham’s newest comedy special Inside would summon upon viewing. The “comedy” special — written, directed, edited, and starring Burnham — is essentially a one-man show featuring dramatic musical numbers and skits, all shot inside a single room for the program’s entirety. What starts as a light-hearted reflection of himself and the outside world quickly evolves into a show devoted to Burnham’s deteriorating mental state, the longer he’s trapped inside his home. 

Three months after its release on Netflix, I find myself revisiting the special often; not only to marvel over Burnham’s masterful artwork, but also to examine and re-examine the overt themes of reckoning, absurdity, longing, solitude, and depression that Burnham creatively conveys to the audience. 

Unlike other Netflix originals that garnered lots of hype, especially on social media, then quickly faded away (Bird Box, Tiger King), Inside poses something different: it requires work from the viewer long after the special is over. In a capitalist society where much of our surroundings and media intake is performative in more ways than one, Inside frequently turns the camera back onto its audience.

Before he performs the musical number “Unpaid Intern,” Burnham even asks “Can anyone shut the fuck up?” Though a blunt question, at the center of Inside is encouragement for honest reflection. In some cases, Burnham has placed mirrors in the background to regularly remind viewers not to get swept away with his literal and satirical performances of song, comedy, and despair. Rather, it’s imperative we keep in mind the central-most theme of the special.

Burnham wants viewers to take a hard look at themselves with the intent of getting better. In the song “Comedy,” Burnham says “If you start to smell burning toast, you’re having a stroke or overcooking your toast.” Meaning, it couldn’t hurt to check in on yourself once and a while, especially being that we’re in a pandemic. At best, you’ll find little wrong. However, practicing regular introspection may save you in the long run. And sadly, after I finished the special, I realized reflecting was something I had yet to truly do before watching Inside for the first time. Because, truthfully, I found the most comfort in deflecting. 

But as Inside concludes, it’s now our turn to put ourselves in Burnham’s shoes and explore the many conflicting and complicated emotions we may have had since the pandemic first began. “I wanna hear you tell a joke when no one’s laughing in the background,” he says in the final song, “Goodbye.” And as the credits rolled, I felt sadness. Sadness for Burnham. Then sadness for myself. And finally, a sadness for the collective loss we’ve all experienced and are still experiencing as the pandemic persists and continues to have global consequences. So, as Burnham instructed, it was my turn to shut the fuck up and dig into my grief.

Last year, like many others, I grieved the loss of many things at once. And the forced narrative of America being at a “post-pandemic” point provides no space for any of us to sit with our grief nor heal from trauma brought on by the unprecedented events of the last two years. Like many recent grads, I find myself trying to get my life back on track as I endure the stress of applying for jobs again and gear up to go back to school in the fall. I also stopped doing all the (albeit superficial) self-care practices that helped me cope, because the pace at which our society is moving to “return to normal” makes me feel as though I should be past the point of needing comfort from those activities. 

Unfortunately, the unhealthy methods of coping I picked up last year to distract myself from myself and global disasters I can’t control are still very much present in my day-to-day schedule — spending too much time on my phone and subsequently doom-scrolling, as well as using other forms of media and pop culture to divert my mind from forming any negative thoughts that might distract me from work or socializing with others.

My experience navigating an ill-timed pandemic (as if there’s ever a proper time for catastrophic events) the best way I can isn’t unique. Clearly, Bo Burnham seems to be merely figuring things out the best way he knows how as well. The Massachusetts-born comedian had been on a five-year hiatus from performing live comedy specials after suffering severe and frequent panic attacks while onstage. His comeback was slightly deterred by the pandemic, but he managed to shift gears and give fans a “quarantine-esque” performance to reflect the newfound, complex, and depressing reality we all had to manage.

While the pandemic ensues and gets worse again, the time to re-examine the sorrow we all felt last year is now. I keep revisiting the special because the sadness I felt after watching Inside gave me a chance to pause and properly hold space for my grief — which ultimately was the point. “It’s just me and my camera and you and your screen,” Burnham tells the audience as the special begins. Inside “begs us to look inward” before re-entering the world, says arts writer Anya Soller for The Michigan Daily. 

And I will — I must and so should you — because the oppressive systems and classes of our society aren’t going to validate, acknowledge, nor remotely care for the full scope and nuance of our angst. So, the least I can try to do is validate and (re)engage with all I and we’ve lost— but also withstood. Because whether America’s ready for it or not, we may soon find ourselves forced back inside having to find ways to cope all over again.

Spoilers for WandaVision and the MCU ahead.

I keep thinking about the awful seduction of a lobotomy. That a doctor could possibly extract all the bad stuff from my head and make me a more productive citizen and loving family member. It bewilders me to see other people already moving on from this year of profound loss, the effects of climate grief, and the erosion of traditional levels of adulthood by late-stage capitalism. They seem to me like the brainwashed residents of Westview, N.J. in WandaVision, Marvel’s nine-episode miniseries on Disney+. Loosely controlled by Wanda Maximoff (Elizabeth Olsen), the residents act out a scripted version of idyllic suburban life, unaware of the dangers lurking between town fundraisers and Halloween festivals.

WandaVision joins a long line of pop culture plots to alleviate the burden of grief by snuffing it out instead of processing it. In the CW’s The Vampire Diaries, the titular immortal beings could “flip a switch” and turn their humanity off when it became too much. In Lauren Oliver’s young adult Delirium trilogy, the dystopian government surgically removes love from people’s brains to make it easier to live. In most iterations of The Stepford Wives, women are made into perfectly submissive homemakers by the conformity of suburbia (and things like robotic replacement or brainwashing).

Wanda herself has so much grief: she has lost her parents, her childhood home, her twin brother, and her life partner before reaching age 30. Paired with her superpowers and the seeming indifference to her pain by everyone left in her life, Wanda accidentally hijacks the entire town of Westview using chaos magic and turns it into an evolving sitcom set. Unable to bury the body of her Synthezoid partner, Vision, she leans into the future he planned for them: a quiet life with sidewalks, friendly neighbors, and a gazebo in the town square. To complete the fantasy, she brings a version of him back to life.

Even if Vision had not died twice in Avengers: Infinity War (2018), it’s a far-fetched fantasy. Agencies like S.H.I.E.L.D. and S.W.O.R.D. would never have allowed the most powerful Avengers total peace and privacy. And after seeing the destruction wrought in her Sokovian hometown by Americans who thought they knew best, why would Wanda accept their worldview? After joining HYDRA as a young woman, wouldn’t she be skeptical of any future that promised such things?

Grief is funny like that. It takes a strong, capable person and reduces them to their coping mechanisms: watching old television shows, reliving moments with the deceased over and over, planning improbable futures on a Pinterest board. I will admit to some misplaced jealousy at Wanda’s situation, because at least her grief is specific and nameable: Mom, Dad, Pietro, and Vision. For many people described as Gen Z or Millennials, grief is more ambiguous. It can be publicly mourning the late Chadwick Boseman, or lamenting your favorite city because it will likely be underwater in a few decades.

Wanda’s subconscious decision to go ahead with an impossible plan for the future (growing old and raising children with Vision) feels so relatable because we all do it to some extent. We imagine getting out of generational poverty, getting our dream homes, getting adequate healthcare. We focus so much on creating a bearable future that we leave little time to mourn what we once appeared entitled to take. A series that demonstrates the harm we do to ourselves and others by carrying on as if everything is okay can be cathartic, even if it frequently involves beams of light shooting out of people.

WandaVision — like nearly everything in the Marvel Cinematic Universe — is thinly veiled military propaganda that rarely challenges its audience and leans heavily on our sitcom nostalgia. Its $25-million-dollars-a-pop episodes are not some funky indie foray into the superhero craze, but carefully plotted, focus-grouped, and analyzed attempts to appeal to the widest viewership possible. I could list dozens of writers and directors that deal with grief in smarter, more interesting ways. Like how the hit HBO series Big Little Lies explores the pain of missing terrible people, or the ways in which Harry Mulisch’s The Assault challenges our notion of ever getting over grief. Even better, the skill with which Lulu Wang’s The Farewell reminds us that grief is a collective emotion.

But WandaVision brings something new to the table. Its massive audience meant feeling connected to people (albeit on the internet) in a way that centers something other than the pandemic for the first time in nearly a year. The series also gave us one more way to describe loss in a scene from the eighth episode “Previously On” that inspired both praise and memeification. In a flashback, Vision suggests, “But what is grief, if not love persevering?”

However cheesy, this show about comic book characters helped me realize that if we’re going to get through grief, we’ll need all the help we can get. We’ll need to create new, less picturesque futures together. Even Wanda, with all her power, needed help saving the day. Her pain became surmountable once she let hope in. When the residents of Westview awoke from Wanda’s spell, they may not have jumped for joy, but they were relieved to not be trapped by her grief anymore. Like Vision opined, “It can’t all be sorrow, can it?”

It’s December, baby. Where I am in Texas, that means enjoying iced holiday coffee drinks and reveling in the blissful two hours I get each morning to comfortably wear chunky sweaters before the temperature inevitably creeps upward and I change into a t-shirt. For me, December also means snuggling up on my parents’ couch with all the lights turned off, our Christmas tree glowing, and watching my ultimate comfort show: Gilmore Girls. While the show doesn’t have any Christmas specials, each season features a holiday themed episode. So, in honor of the show’s 20th anniversary earlier this year, here is my ranking of every Christmas episode from the series’ original run. Some spoilers ahead.

7. “Just Like Gwen and Gavin” (6×12)

Let me start by saying this: I don’t think any episode of Gilmore Girls is bad. However, every show has its weakest episodes, and season six’s holiday episode could be one of them. While Lorelai runs a booth at the Winter Carnival, the holiday vibes are scant on this episode. The episode is more preoccupied with Paris’ dictatorial reign at The Yale Daily News, leading to Rory being elected the new editor-in-chief. Paris, of course, takes this comically poorly. It’s nice to watch the rare moments where Rory is good at her job, but I hate watching the episode’s other plot: Lorelai finding out about Luke’s daughter, April, whose existence he has been hiding for two months. Most Gilmore Girls fans know this is the beginning of the end. This episode does not bring me tidings of joy. It’s a huge bummer.

6. “Santa’s Secret Stuff” (7×11)

This season actually has two Christmastime episodes. I don’t even want to talk about the fight scene at the end of the other episode, “Merry Fisticuffs,” so I will focus on this one instead. Lorelai and Christopher waited to celebrate Christmas until Rory returned from visiting Logan in London. The Christmas lights are still up, and the stockings are still hanging from the mantle, but Weston’s is out of peppermint coffee, and the tree is shedding needles. Rory and Lorelai’s belated celebration is representative of Christopher and Lorelai’s entire marriage and season seven in general: a contrived happiness that is ultimately depressing. It’s almost like the new writers (who replaced the show creators when they left the show after season six) knew they wouldn’t be able to replicate the snow-globe-come-to-life vibes of a usual Christmas episode, so they didn’t even try. At least in this episode we have Lorelai writing a character reference for Luke’s custody battle, meaning the end to Lorelai and Christopher’s marriage is on the horizon.

5. “That’ll Do, Pig” (3×10)

Stars Hollow’s annual winter carnival serves as a backdrop to more of the Rory/Dean/Jess love triangle. Rory wants to go to the carnival with new beau Jess, but Jess tells Rory he has no interest in going to town events now that he’s won her over. This goes down as one of the many reasons I hate Jess and avoid watching the episodes with them as a couple. Who stops putting in effort as soon as the relationship starts? Rory and Dean decide to be friends, and when they link up together for the festivities, a jealous Jess decides to tag along. I don’t like either of these boys, so this conflict is just tiring. I would have rather seen Rory and Lorelai goofing around at the carnival together. Unfortunately, Lorelai was busy at a dinner with her parents and her grandmother, Trix. Lorelai gives Emily advice on how to deal with her difficult mother-in-law, playing to the show’s strong suit of displaying intergenerational female relationships in a complex and humorous way.

4. “In the Clamor and Clangor” (4×11)

This placement might be influenced by my deep love for season four, as this particular episode doesn’t do much to move any meaningful plots of the season forward. Still, I watch it and feel so comforted. Rory confronts a boy who she thinks is spreading rumors about her, only to find out he was talking about someone else entirely. Weird to spend an entire episode on a character who never returns, but whatever. We get to see Rory being foolish while figuring out who she wants her college self to be. Luke and Lorelai team up to break the newly renovated church bells (they ring every 15 minutes???? Who can blame them?) and when Lorelai finds out Luke moved to Woodbridge with his girlfriend/ex-wife Nicole, she finally voices what has taken four seasons to voice: Lorelai cares about Luke. I could listen to Luke yell at Lorelai about snow shovels in his “why I oughta!” voice all day.

3. “Woman of Questionable Morals” (5×11)

All the way back in season one, Gilmore Girls established Lorelai’s deep love for snow. Like, jolts-awake-at-night-because-she-can-smell-snow-is-coming level love. So when the first snowfall of the year comes to Stars Hollow in season five, Lorelai is overjoyed at the chance to drink coffee and watch the flurries fall at The Dragonfly Inn for the first time. But then the inn is out of coffee, the driveway is snowed in, two guests got lost snowshoeing and Lorelai’s relationship with snow gets more complicated. To cheer her up, Luke makes Lorelai an ice rink in her front yard. Talk about romance. In one of the wackier side plots of the series, the town plans a salacious Revolutionary War reenactment. Sometimes plots like these are too goofy, but to me it’s the perfect amount of antics, and (most of) the jokes land. (Kirk shows up in a dress for a classic dose of early-2000s-sitcom transphobia.) This episode gets knocked a bit for Rory’s conflict with Christopher, which I simply do not care about.

2. “Forgiveness and Stuff” (1×10)

Richard and Emily host their annual Christmas dinner, but Lorelai is uninvited after a tiff with Emily. Naturally, she instead spends her evening at Luke’s, where he makes her a burger shaped like Santa Claus, complete with a mayonnaise beard, to make the night more festive. Their chemistry is off the charts, and it’s hard to believe it took them four years to finally get together. The night takes a turn when Richard has a heart attack and is rushed to the hospital, and each of the Gilmore girls goes down their own emotional spiral: Emily frantically tries to take care of Richard and fulfill her duties as wife, Rory grapples with the near loss of the grandfather she just started developing a relationship with, and Lorelai struggles with the emotional distance between her and her father. This episode is Gilmore Girls at its finest — tender and smart.

1. “The Bracebridge Dinner” (2×10)

When the affluent Bracebridge group can’t make it to their scheduled stay at the Independence Inn, Lorelai and Sookie are stuck with the makings of a Renaissance-style dinner party with no guests to attend it. Enter: every single person in Stars Hollow. This isn’t just my favorite holiday episode, but one of my favorite Gilmore Girls episodes, period. The party serves as a clever way to get the entire town in one place and see character interactions you wouldn’t normally get to see, like Paris and Bootsy or Babette and Mrs. Kim. It also creates a perfect balance between townie antics and a meaningful plot for Rory, Lorelai and the grandparents. (Richard quit his job? The scandal!) And I can’t talk about this episode without giving praise to Lorelai and Rory’s Björk-snowman and the “Human Behavior” needle drop in the final scene.

In a year filled with mass deaths, a global racial justice reckoning, and a grueling election cycle, it’s understandable if you’ve felt underlying anxiety every single day. It’s been hard to find a brief escape or even an outlet to get out our thoughts, as we’ve kept away from our friends and family to keep from adding to the U.S.’ dismal COVID-19 infection rate and death toll. We’ve found momentary relief through little things: Zoom calls, baking, and quarantine walks. But one universal escape became more essential in 2020 — this year, we needed reality TV, for better or worse.

Here’s what has gotten The Interlude staff through the pandemic.

Andie Kanaras, Culture Editor

I cannot fathom choosing just one, but for the purpose of this blog I will. The one reality show that’s gotten me through the beginning of quarantine to now is Survivor. With 40 seasons to choose from, you will remain entertained for years to come (depending on how you binge each season). I purchased not only a CBS All Access account to access the show’s archive, but also a 50-inch TV to witness the beautiful shots of diverse terrain. I’ll put it quite bluntly: if you like the drama of Real Housewives, the antics of RuPauls’ Drag Race (this is a stretch, but sometimes a season’s cast gets along very well!), the adventure and physical toughness of The Amazing Race, and the psychological challenges of Alone, this is THE show for you. All fans of reality television will be fed. You have villains and heroes and clowns and antiheroes and JEFF PROBST (the chaotic king!!). Anyway, you can’t go wrong with this show. Hope this convinced you!

Rachel N-Blair, Writer

In terms of what I’ve been watching since the panoramic started (this is a joke people, I know it’s called a pandemic), my favorite reality show has been Too Hot to Handle. First of all, the fact that the cast were on an island resort comforted me, as I watched from my mom’s couch in mid-Atlantic USA after having my undergrad graduation celebrations stolen from me. It was an escape. Each of the cast members’ personalities were fun to pick at. Anyone cast for this show would lean toward the conceited and ditzy side. Yet the show developed each cast member’s capacity for not only genuine human connection, but also plain ol’ simple self-control. Of course, the cast members with the most sense were eventually sent home. But it was fun rooting for them. I highly recommend you watch this show to have an opportunity to laugh and not think too hard.

Cameron Oakes, Investigations Editor

Below Deck is my favorite reality TV show. I should caveat that I am obsessed with the Bravolebrity world in general (Andy, please sponsor me). But something about yachties stuck on a boat in the middle of an ocean with some of the most obnoxious rich people in human history really does it for me. Add Captain Lee to the mix, and I become a high seas simp.

Maggie Chirdo, Copy Editor

A piece of clothing can change your life. At least, that’s the promise of Say Yes to the Dress, the half-hour show that follows engaged people searching for their perfect wedding dress at Kleinfeld Bridal in New York. How tantalizing the belief that if you only agree to this fabric, this Vera Wang, this veil with that embroidered belt, you will weep with relief! Say Yes to the Dress was my first fashion love, and it soothes me to this day, even with its pricey dresses and dramatic customers, because it gives into the (correct) notion that material goods are imbued with so much more than can ever be put into words. Nearly every episode ends with someone turning towards a three-paned mirror and really seeing themselves, past the tulle and bows and bouquets, as a person agreeing to a long life with a partner, commenced by slipping into an outfit they met just moments ago.

Megi Meskhi, Lifestyle & Social Editor

Mine is Survivor! Survival/castaway shows always have allure for us, comfortable, spoiled 21st century first-worlders, but it’s not just that. It’s a show that always keeps you guessing, always has twists and turns you’re not expecting — and not all because they have good writers or producers. It’s because of just human nature: what one is willing to do to be the last one standing. Because of the amount of social play and physical strength one has to exhibit to win and because of this incredibly delicate balance, you need to keep on playing everyone while making it seem like you’re the one being played. When one does manage to win it’s always very impressive. It’s incredibly entertaining, telling, and even educational. And because of the show’s 20-year history, it’s almost become its own world.

Manahil Zafar, Features & First Person Editor

The Amazing Race has been my favorite show for a while. I love puzzles, traveling, and living vicariously through people I’ve never met before. Add in a sprinkle of team drama, friendly (and occasionally toxic) contestant rivalries, and Roadblocks cast members who just can’t hack, and you’ve got great reality TV. The show brings me comfort and lets my mind wander in a time when the most adventurous thing I do every day is check my mailbox. The Amazing Race combines all of my favorite things into one package. And it’s always fun watching my siblings debate who amongst us would make the best duo to apply for the show.

This story is part of Reality TV Week. Check out the other stories here.

I was about three-years-old when American Idol first exploded with new talent, breaking television records by featuring promising American singers. My extended family would crowd the little TV in our living room and watch singers blow the judge’s minds away or completely flop and embarrass themselves in front of the menacing judges and on national TV. We were devoted fans — watching Ryan Seacrest’s little hosting bits every week and ringing in the maximum amount of calls every week to ensure that a singer would not get eliminated and ultimately become the next “American Idol.” After the first couple of seasons, our fascination dwindled. We weren’t compelled to have any participation towards the show and the wow factor was completely gone.

The drama and the urgency from the earlier seasons still flashes through my mind sometimes. I remember my mom incessantly telling our family and friends to vote for Jasmine Trias — one of the Filipino contestants during season three—and the whole let down when she was let go as the third finalist was unbearable, yet surprising, for my fanatic family members. American Idol was the Filipino embodiment of the American Dream in the entertainment industry since a common stereotype is that Filipinos do sing well, but there isn’t a set path or institution for up and coming artists. There was much camaraderie within the community to help push for a rising Filipina star, and my mother would even pray for Trias’ win after each performance. Our landline was devoted to calling that 1-800 number and extension and she’d encourage all my cousins to use their minutes to call from their prepaid Virgin Mobile flip phones. To her, every vote counted. My mom would always tell me “When you’re older, you should go on American Idol!” Looking back at that statement as an adult and years of (forced) singing lessons, I’m more than happy that my life didn’t go down that route of competition stardom.

A couple months ago, my friends and I were perusing the internet and stumbled upon William Hung’s infamous cover of “She Bangs” by Ricky Martin. It was a zing moment — like a forgotten collective memory. We remembered Simon Cowell’s disproving looks, news stories, and precursor memes (and racism) that arose out of that off-beat and off-pitch moment. We had wondered what happened after that whole boom and seemingly discovered that he had released a whole album of cringey covers that weren’t bad but they also weren’t necessarily good.

American Idol has been off my radar for years. In fact, the only reason why I know that American Idol is still airing and filming today is because of Claudia Conway’s recent TikToks. Why is a show that showcases singing talent that is dependent on the same old covers still popular? Or at least asking to be revived? The first run of American Idol ended on Fox in 2017 and ABC later picked up the show within the next year and revamped the show’s format. American Idol isn’t the only show that revolves around singing. The prominence of The Voice and America’s Got Talent has eclipsed Idol’s momentum, though all of them basically have the same concept.

It seemed like early American Idol predicted trends and virality before they exploded on the internet. There was more emphasis on the outrageous antics, the surprising skills, and the tragic backstories that have put those singers on that audition stage in the first place. To be the “American Idol” was the key to immediate pop star fame. Even runner ups were given the chance to have record deals (Clay Aiken, anyone?). Every season finale was momentous where it feels like a completed rags to riches journey — you can make it big in the music industry with great talent and enough votes! The legacy from early seasons still linger where you can slowly see the talent of Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood, and Jordin Sparks seep through Today’s Hits radio stations.

However, I can’t seem to put a face or name to anyone who has been on the show for the last decade. There haven’t been any winners who have had the same kind of mainstream success that happened when the millennia started. In my account, the last person who won American Idol was Philip Philips and that is only because both his first and last name are the same and not because of his music. Do we care who wins American Idol nowadays? Probably not, because every online platform is saturated with discoverable talent. We can’t wait 4 months and vote continuously to know who’s going to hold the title of “American Idol.” Breakout stars aren’t limited to TV or radio anymore. The next viral star can be found on TikTok or Youtube and record contracts are given out left and right to promising individuals who have mastered the skill of grabbing the attention span of the public. There are more people to idolize than the American Idol going into this new decade, but I will still be jamming to David Archuleta’s “Crush.”

This story is part of Reality TV Week. Check out the other stories here.

Over the summer, I bought my first pieces of backpacking gear and made it out on a few silent, serene hiking trips where nervous thoughts of the pandemic almost faded among steep mountains and trickling rivers. But it wasn’t safe enough to do that every weekend, and the little daily quarantine walks around my Brooklyn neighborhood that I’d go on otherwise just weren’t cutting it anymore. I wanted to be in the backcountry of a remote wilderness, with nothing but a pack full of necessities and maybe my partner. Maybe.

If I couldn’t be outside, away from stress-inducing social media, a dysfunctional government, and a pandemic, I needed to at least watch someone else live off the land, in a state of peaceful, solo anarchy. So I threw myself into the survival reality show Alone.

The show follows ten survival and bushcraft fanatics, who agree to be thrown into an extreme, isolated environment, with nothing but ten items selected off an approved list of things like ferro rods, axes, bows, arrows, and fishing line. Mountain ranges and large bodies of water separate the participants, making it impossible to find one another, intentionally or otherwise. Each person is outfitted with a satellite cell phone, and can tap out at any time, with rescue crews on standby to pick them up. The last one standing wins $500,000, but the catch is that none of the contestants are notified when someone drops out, like the opposite of the Hunger Games cannons.

There’s something intensely fascinating about observing people survive and interact with themselves while completely isolated in harsh locations like Vancouver Island, Patagonia, and the Arctic. I find myself gleefully watching participants spot a bear walking near their shelter or listen to a pack of wolves in the distance. These bizarre dangers have become a thrill for me, since they seem far away from the immediate health danger that everyone has been in for months.

This all sounds extreme, I know. But the show is equal parts an exercise in sympathizing with the isolated contestants and feeling better about yourself because they have it worse than you. I have my partner with me, and my friends and family are a phone call away. Every time I watched Sam in season one and six trap, skin, cook, and eat a field mouse was enough to make me a little more grateful for my own isolated experience.

At the same time, while it might seem counterproductive to want to be alone or watch people be alone during a pandemic that has caused many folks to go without seeing their loved ones, Alone is the only reality show that allows me to truly escape the pandemic. TV series like The Bachelor and Love Island that have been filmed during the ongoing coronavirus crisis only make me think about the health risks the people on those shows are putting themselves and the crew through. While Alone has its own set of health risks associated with it (Poisonous spider bites? Starvation?), it is, by design socially distant, and affords a little escapism to the woods for the viewer. It is not filming during the pandemic, but it easily could be.

Each contestant films themselves nearly 24 hours a day while they hunt, fish, forage, wield off predators, and try to keep their minds occupied. The camera is their only companion as they shoot thousands of hours of footage — and people tend to get vulnerable. There are clips of contestants crying about missing their family, eating bad food that makes them sick, and a few times, even accidentally setting the shelters they built on fire (looking at you, Nikki from season six). It’s easy to look at the contestants and say “Wow, that was stupid” when they burn their home down or eat parasitic fish even though they know it might make them sick. But obviously, keeping yourself alive in the Arctic or Mongolia when you’re starving and freezing is harder than it looks on TV.

A number of Alone contestants drop out due to loneliness, but I never imagine that would be the hard part of the challenge. Being socially isolated these past months has chilled me into thinking that being by myself wouldn’t be so bad, and the mental challenge of being out in the wilderness would be easy in comparison to the actual survival skills. When contestants tap out because they miss their family, I almost always scoff, believing that finding food and staying safe are the real challenges, and that they’re being soft for bowing out due to loneliness. This lack of empathy for isolated contestants likely stems from not being able to see my family for almost a year now, as I’ve been unable to travel during the pandemic. Perhaps I’m a bit jealous that Alone contestants have the choice to tap out and go see their loved ones, but I don’t have that option right now.

Aside from the mental challenges of Alone, I like to think about how I’d handle survival, if I had the skills to be on the show (in my head, I’m a skilled survivalist, but in reality, I’m a recreational hiker at best). Maybe part of my fascination with the show is like the appeal of cottagecore, but turned extreme. During the pandemic, people looked to cottagecore activities like baking, gardening, and sewing to bring them back to a simpler life, before the pandemic. I have the same intentions, but instead of embroidery, cherry pies, and picnics, I just want to throw the whole society out and live in a shelter in the woods.

So, while it’s perhaps the most unrealistic show for me to put myself into (I would not be able to survive on my own in the wilderness for more than maybe two days, considering I don’t know how to properly start a fire), Alone is the only reality show that actually makes sense during the context of the pandemic. There is no film crew. There are no coronavirus risks associated with being in the remote wilderness all by yourself. Hunger, predators, and the cold are the main dangers, instead of a wild virus. I am free to imagine how I’d handle survival (which living through a pandemic sometimes feels like) and empathize (or choose not to) with the contestants over their struggles and decisions to tap out. It’s the only show that draws me in so intensely, that I can forget about real-world anxieties and worry only about how Jordan from season six is going to store his moose meat.

Until further notice, you’ll find me watching people process their raw emotions by themselves in the wilderness, instead of watching heavily-produced dramas. And for the record, if I had to choose between watching someone fight off a bear or a reality TV star talking about how they’ve been quarantining to appear on a show, I’d gladly choose the bear.

This story is part of Reality TV Week. Check out the other stories here.

If 2020 is a hot mess, Election Day-Turned-Week was a dumpster fire. I wasn’t sleeping, I was glued to a screen at all times, and I lost brain cells worrying about the fate of democracy. In a year where everything is, yes, unprecedented, I’ve been clinging to any semblance of normalcy to help me stay grounded. And unfortunately for me, one of the few constants in my life is The Bachelorette.

Pre-pandemic, I considered not watching The Bachelor franchise anymore. Over the years, it’s dwindled from being my problematic fave to simply being… problematic. The premise of the show itself is, of course, sexist: dozens of women vie for the attention, approval, and love of one man, who can send them packing at the snap of a finger. It often portrays women as overly emotional, irrational, and whiny. The franchise has also been (rightfully) called out for its racist history — in its nearly 20-year history, only one Black Bachelorette has ever been cast, and the series will feature its first Black Bachelor next season.

More recently, Peter Weber’s season kinda sucked. Viewers spent much of the season picking a new villain every few weeks. And by the season finale, Bachelor Nation resented Weber more than the women who sparred for his love. I couldn’t figure out why I still kept watching the show — I had started it in high school, mostly to have an excuse to hang out in my friend’s basement on a school night — but all I knew for sure was that I didn’t care to watch more from the franchise anytime soon.

And then the pandemic hit. To put it lightly, the last eight months have been terrible. I’m extremely grateful that I was able to move home and be with my family, but my mental health declined and improved in waves. Graduating without any job prospects, in my basement, and away from my friends and a city I had begun to view as home was crushingly anticlimactic. I had a hard time creating any normalcy in my day-to-day life. I spent much of the summer feeling anxious, crying in the middle of the day, missing my friends, fighting with my 16-year-old sister — who’s also dealing with the pandemic at a fragile age — and feeling like working my ass off for years ultimately didn’t matter.

As the fall rolled around and I began to land on my feet with freelance work, I still found myself clinging onto anything that gave me some sort of routine: walking my dog at 11 a.m. every day, weekly Zoom calls with friends, and daily sunset drives around my hometown. The weeks leading up to the election became more and more chaotic, and my anxiety peaked during election week itself. So when The Bachelorette rolled around in October, I was excited to have a weekly escape. Every day of the news cycle (and my early onset quarter-life crisis) brought new waves of stress, but going back to watching The Bachelorette gave me the same comfort as putting on an old sweatshirt from high school.

I’m not going to say that The Bachelorette revived my sense of stability. To be honest, watching it this year has given me more stress. This season, featuring Clare Crawley, became more awkward as it progressed — from Crawley declaring contestant Dale Moss her future husband on the first night, to becoming upset with the men when they didn’t leap to speak with her, to hosting cringey group dates that rubbed contestants — and viewers — the wrong way. I would pause each episode every 10 minutes because I needed to cool off. It almost felt like this season was engineered to be as chaotic as this year. But while The Bachelor franchise can be a train wreck, it’s one that I’m always prepared for.

If you’re keeping up with this season, you know that Tuesday nights are for The Bachelorette. But during the first week of November, the show was rescheduled for Thursday night to make room for a different dysfunctional fiasco: Election Day. (I had honestly kind of forgotten about The Bachelorette, given the state of democracy and all.) And on Nov. 5, as the country waited — to no avail — for Nevada or Arizona or Georgia or Pennsylvania (or, honestly, anyone) to finish counting their votes, a coworker reminded me that she would be simultaneously watching both the election results and long-awaited episode where former Bachelor contestant Tayshia Adams replaced Crawley after she became engaged to Moss.

My few remaining brain cells physically felt the reprieve. After watching nonstop coverage of an election that seemed to move like a snail, I was excited to give myself a break and watch literally anything else. And, of course, Bachelor fans who have been suffering through the season thus far were rewarded when the months-long rumors came true, and Adams became the new Bachelorette. A longtime favorite, Adams brought a change of pace that excited me and probably everyone else in Bachelor Nation.

It was a messy pivot during an already-chaotic season. But while this season of The Bachelorette has sometimes felt too cringey to watch, it was nice (in a sort of twisted way) to watch a more-or-less inconsequential reality show instead of watching a former reality show host try to cling to his last remaining bits of power in this country. And it was also nice to pretend that in a year where it feels like life was turned upside down, I had something that I had once enjoyed in my past life to look forward to.

Is it ridiculous for me to say that it’s a little poetic that we got a new Bachelorette and a new President-elect in the same week? Yeah. 100%. But did they both bring me a little relief in a time where every day feels like a chore and the future is terrifyingly uncertain? Also yes. After the first week of November, it has felt like a little bit of order was restored to the world. There’s a long, chaotic, grim road ahead, but it feels like we’ve landed on one foot, at least. And as we plow through an unsettling transition period, I’m looking forward to escaping the madness with The Bachelorette’s routine insanity.

This story is part of Reality TV Week. Check out the other stories here.

It all started as a joke. My roommate and I were browsing Hulu on a Thursday or Saturday or maybe Monday night (they’ve all felt the same lately), when she said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we started watching Love Island?”

I laughed, but then I thought about it for a second. Why not watch it? It was something new, and lighthearted, and it would be a refreshing change of pace from rewatching Gilmore Girls like I always do. We picked season four of Love Island UK at random and dove in.

Love Island is a British reality dating series that originally aired with celebrity contestants in 2005 and 2006, before returning in its current iteration in 2015. Each season, ten contestants live together in a gorgeous villa in a tropical destination with the goal to find love. New contestants, or islanders, appear throughout the season to shake things up, and islanders are periodically eliminated through public vote, votes among each other, or recouplings where islanders must couple up and the odd person out must leave the villa. The final couple standing wins $50,000.

We finished in about a month — a huge (and slightly embarrassing) feat considering each season is around 50 episodes. That was in June, and now we’ve also watched seasons three, five, and six. When we weren’t watching, we were looking up our favorite contestants on Instagram and subscribing to their post-villa YouTube channels. We were reading articles from The Sun to find out things like if Jess really did hook up with Mike. I watched more than one YouTube video explaining accents from the different regions of Great Britain. It’s possible I have practiced a few phrases in a Mancunian mumble.

Love Island isn’t the only British TV show I’ve been filling my time with lately. Since the pandemic started, I’ve watched the British season of RuPaul’s Drag Race that premiered last year, entranced by British drag queens’ unique sense of humour, style, and camp. I’ve ugly-laughed at episodes of the comedic game show Taskmaster. I’ve watched the floral design competition show The Big Flower Fight. It was an obvious attempt to capitalize off the popularity of the similarly saccharine Great British Bake Off, and even though the contestants were boring and the judges’ calls were questionable, I still devoured the show.

Of course, I’ve rewatched old seasons of the Great British Bake Off as well, and I religiously dedicated Friday nights to new episodes of the latest season. Cooking and baking are some of my favorite pastimes, so you’d think most culinary competition shows would be streaming staples for me. But the Great British Bake Off is really the only one I’ll regularly watch. American cooking competitions are edited to emphasize an intense, competitive atmosphere. Chefs enter the kitchen like wrestlers entering the ring. The music is anxiety-inducing. The judges are harsh. Even the show names — Chopped, Hell’s Kitchen, and Cutthroat Kitchen — are hardcore. That competitive energy just isn’t there in GBBO. Contestants who finish with time to spare help those who are running behind. Everyone hugs each other when someone is eliminated. They take breaks while their sweets are in the oven to drink tea.

Many of these reality TV habits aligned with my early-quarantine fascination with cottagecore. Even before the aesthetic started popping up on Tumblr and TikTok in 2018, I daydreamed about tending to a vegetable garden, baking herbaceous loaves of bread, and sewing my own clothes. But once quarantine started — when I was stuck in my home while the world literally and metaphorically burned around me — those quaint fantasies intensified. I planted okra and cucumber seeds in a raised bed I found on Facebook Marketplace. I bought floral bandanas to wear in my hair. And I watched people with silly accents make fruit tarts and 20-feet sculptures out of flowers and grasses. I was on the couch in my house in a sprawling city, but in my mind, I was in a cozy cottage in the woods.

Even Love Island UK contains a wholesomeness I haven’t found in American romance competition shows. I’ve watched a handful of seasons of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. I liked them, even. But when I tried to watch during quarantine, the cattiness between contestants dueling for a single person’s heart combined with Chris Harrison’s melodramatic narration was too much. Love Island, on the other hand, is a silly contest to see who can have fun in Spain the longest. Most couples after the show fall victim to the “Six Month Curse,” but even though most of the romantic relationships end, the friendships between contestants have stayed strong years after they left the villa. Who can forget in season five, when all of the girls ran to Anna’s defense when Jordan tried to flirt with India, a day after making Anna his girlfriend? Or the silly freestyle sessions between Kem and Chris in season three? Thinking about these scenes still warms my heart.

Love Island UK is just one iteration in the international Love Island franchise — an American version began last year. So when season two of Love Island USA aired in August, I tried to watch it. I didn’t even finish the first episode. Maybe that’s because it was filmed during the pandemic, and thinking about what safety precautions the crew was and wasn’t following while filming was too stressful. Maybe it’s because the rooftop Las Vegas villa was not as scenic as the one nestled among the lush hills of South Africa. Or maybe it’s because hearing people look and speak just like people I went to high school with grounded me too much in reality in a way Love Island UK never did.

So many American reality shows are about being the toughest of the bunch, being the last one standing, or overcoming adversity. It makes sense; those narratives are at the core of the American psyche. Conflict and stakes are what make a story captivating, but they aren’t what captivates me lately. After long days watching COVID cases rise, worrying about my family and community, and fighting to complete school work like nothing is wrong, nothing is better than wrapping up in a blanket, lighting a candle, and watching some British television. I’m not saying the United Kingdom is a twee fantasy come to life. I know it isn’t. But their reality TV programming does a pretty good job of pretending it is.

This story is part of Reality TV Week. Check out the other stories here.

 

I have never been on a date. And thanks to COVID-19, what IRL dating life in New York could have been this year still remains a mystery to me. Turning to romantic TV shows and movies on streaming services has been my only source of having a taste of the ups and downs of love. From the classic When Harry Met Sally… to the quaint Modern Love, there is an endless list of shows and movies that show New York City to be a mystic romantic labyrinth. The most recent addition to that list is the debut of HBO Max’s anthology series Love Life, created by newcomer Sam Boyd and starring Anna Kendrick, which showcases the perils of romanticizing life a little bit too much.

Love Life joins the ranks with the other HBO NYC rom-coms Sex and the City and Girls. As in, they’re all centered around straight white women and their struggles to steer their romantic boat in a storm safely to shore. The first season focuses on the turbulent lifestyle of Darby Carter (played by Kendrick), a recent NYU grad and aspiring gallery owner who, from a young age after her parent’s divorce, believes that she’ll never be able to find true love. Instead of jumping around relationships, Darby’s romantic partnerships dissolve with every sense of self doubt. Kendrick’s portrayal of her character’s growth shines through as striking, however the menial activities she does to accomplish the goals of finding true love drags the plot towards what seems to be a continuous loop of discouragement.

Each individual episode highlights a different relationship, some of which are not necessarily romantic: from unrequited love, to falling out with best friends, to an unhappy marriage and divorce. At the beginning of each episode, there’s meet-cute scenarios of the first stages of being in a relationship that can be totally relatable such as conveniently meeting a partner at her best friend’s karaoke party on St. Marks. Her interactions aren’t completely dull or outrageous, but does that aspect make the show seem more realistic? Maybe so.

Darby is naive, but every decision that she makes is a profound (sometimes irrational) action that affects her outlook on love. Every stage of her romantic relationships stems from some sort of insecurity that she inherited from a wide range of her intrapersonal relationships. She’s capable of stumbling into one relationship with open arms, but once it unravels into uncontrollable circumstances, she’s thoroughly disappointed. The blame ultimately revolves around her own perception of love, having other people overanalyze each little detail of disappointment in the relationship. Relationships, including friendships, seem transactional to her. She does whatever she can to grab a person’s complete attention and consoles them in a way that only makes sense to her, such as dealing with her best friend’s heartbreak by making her decide on ultimatums on personal health or relationships.

Eventually, she slowly grasps this concept by going to therapy and reaching out to old flames from high school who made her realize that while the people around her matured, she did not. The correspondence of love and the age old question of growing older questions her (and even my) own sanity. Is there a way to be in love (or act out love) without stunting your own growth?

Darby is ready to take the challenges of love head on, while I, on the other hand, am a consequentialist — constantly debating the good and the bad in every single potential romantic scenario before it even comes into fruition. Darby and I stand on two opposite ends of the ethics spectrum, but nonetheless each are unhealthy coping mechanisms. There are so many differences between me: Asian, Queer and highly inexperienced with love, versus the white female protagonist yet I still watch it because of the high stakes relatability. There are glimpses of contentment within each of Darby’s relationship stages, but the emotional rollercoaster ends with a vicious drop. In times of viewing, it makes me wonder: is being in a relationship worth it for my well-being?

Both Darby and I rely on the idea of love and not necessarily love itself, and itching towards that fulfillment is a two-way effort that does not make room for complete selfishness. It’s good to dream about love, but it can consume morality or other real life prospects. Darby isn’t conceited or the “my way or the highway” type of gal, but she overtly relies on her high expectations of her lovers to make her feel like a happy person. At the last possible moment when she sticks the landing with (what the narrator says is) her soulmate, it’s not as gratifying as I had hoped. The multiple attempts of jumping into love contributes to the complicated depth of Darby’s character, and as an audience we are left wondering if she’s finally satisfied with a stranger after only a couple heartfelt conversations. It’s a happily ever after approach, but it’s also probably the key to a healthy and worthwhile relationship.

For people like Darby, it’s easy for them to find love because they’re ideal, but harder to retain it. For me, it’s harder to find love, but who knows if it’s easier to retain it? Their situations aren’t entirely applicable, but at least there are some references and signs that will help me go down the right path when the time comes.