Rue Benett (Zendaya) in Euphoria. Image courtesy of MTV.
After nearly two and half years, the award-winning HBO original “Euphoria” has returned for a second season, which premiered on January 9th, 2022. The first season received high praise, winning Zendaya, who stars as 17-year-old drug addict Rue Bennett, an Emmy for her stellar performance. Brimming with unconventional shots and costumes, “Euphoria” masterfully conveys the fantastical, often over-dramatized teenage life. Beneath this tasteful production lies a myriad of more sinister themes, including the hypersexualization of minors and the glamorization of substance abuse and mental illness. This review digs deeper into these themes to explore the show’s potentially damaging effect on its young audience.
A necessary disclaimer: This review contains plot spoilers for Seasons 1 and 2 of “Euphoria.” The show contains potentially triggering content, including drug addiction, sexual assault, and suicidal ideation, some of which are mentioned in this article.
There is no denying that every shot in “Euphoria” is cinematic eye-candy. The use of glitter, neon eyeshadows, and unapologetic pattern mixing embodies Generation Z’s desire for unique self-expression. Many of the characters, including Maddy Perez (Alexa Demie) and Kat Hernandez (Barbie Ferreira), illustrate an identity change through their clothes. Compared to the first season, where both characters often wore bright pinks— with Kat even sporting leather chains— Maddy and Kat dress in pastels and darker hues this season. These subtle changes indicate maturity and an eagerness to explore: for Maddy, how to cope with being single, for Kat, unfulfilled desires in her stagnant relationship.
However, for Cassie Howard (Sydney Sweeney), clothing symbolizes the self-sabotage one can fall prey to in a toxic relationship. In Episode 4, S.2, Cassie regularly wakes at 4 a.m., subjecting herself to a relentless beauty routine in an attempt to impress Nate Jacobs, played by Jacob Elordi, the ex-boyfriend of her best friend Maddy. Cassie’s dedication to self-grooming represents a ritualistic internalization to misogynistic beauty standards. Her transformation into the “ideal” pretty girl becomes so exaggerated that others compare her to Laurie from the musical “Oklahoma!” – an embodiment of the classic doe-eyed, “dumb” blonde. This “morning ritual” montage pinpoints how many young women and femme people chase after an idealized feminity – one that values thinness, whiteness, and pretty privilege.
The American obsession with looks – specifically the body and how it is accessorized – is at the core of the show’s relevancy. “Euphoria” doesn’t shy away from full nudity and sex scenes, emphasizing the constant hypersexualization of women and, as stated in Samuel Getchaw’s Vogue critique on “Euphoria,” the tendency “to value the visual above all else.” In Season 1, Kat becomes a “camgirl,” pleasuring men’s sexual fantasies through a porn website. While sex work is inarguably a legitimate and valid profession, Kat’s new persona as a fashionable, cool, online dominatrix emphasizes the widely-accepted association of confidence with sexiness.
To love your body and reclaim your sexuality, one becomes sexualized, and therefore, desirable enough under the male gaze. As described in Gretchen Smail’s Bustle article, “Euphoria” depicts the pervasiveness of the “Madonna-whore complex,” a reference to the societal ultimatum for women: choosing between being a respected, but undesirable “prude” or an immoral, yet hypersexualized “whore.” Either choice results in judgment and shame, forcing one to wonder: even within a liberal narrative that claims sex work to be empowering, can women truly reclaim their sexuality when their bodies are so often sexualized to satisfy male desire?
Kat (Barbie Ferreira) posing as camgirl. Image courtesy of Chen/HBO.
For “Euphoria,” the issue lies in the presentation of the visual. It aestheticizes hypersexualization through flashy new outfits and witty dialogue while failing to address the real danger: that the show’s audience, many of whom are young women, may attempt to find confidence solely through the body–whether in real life or online. To curate, decorate, and brand oneself on the Internet as a commodified object for someone else’s satisfaction, captures the stark reality of growing up in the era of social media.
Substance use in “Euphoria” falls into a similar trap. The show sometimes succeeds in portraying the raw, ugly reality of drug addiction through Rue’s relapses, overdoses, and emotional breakdowns. More often, though, it prioritizes the visual. In Ep.4, S.2, while high on pills, Rue enters a dreamlike place to reconnect with her deceased father. The episode mirrors the Season 1 finale, where Rue disappears into a mob of chorale singers–a stylized metaphor for relapsing on cocaine. While visually stunning, these scenes gloss over the life-threatening consequences of drug addiction, serving instead as a how-to guide. This is evident in Ep.3. S. 2, where Rue directly addresses the audience in a classroom-style presentation on “How To Get Away with Being A Drug Addict.”
Other than Rue, none of the other characters face serious consequences for drug abuse. “Euphoria” emphasizes the necessity of the private spaces—the school bathroom stall, a dark corner of a party, in the backseat of a car—as the perfect way to conceal drug and alcohol use. The characters take MDMA at a county fair, trip on psychedelics, and go on drinking-benders predominantly as a way to cope with mental health issues. This casual substance dependency implicitly suggests that it isn’t a problem unless it’s blatantly an addiction. Many Skidmore students can relate to the glorification of substances in college party culture. Under immense stress from school and personal life, college students often develop a normalized, yet harmful relationship with drugs and alcohol.
“Euphoria” succeeds more often when it is quiet. When the glamorous lights, swelling soundtracks, and glittery costumes fall away, all that is left is an unfiltered moment that feels more accurate to a real teenage experience. In Ep.3, S.2 for example, Jules and Elliot (Dominic Fike) have an intimate conversation about who is “sexual” and who is not. The dialogue is realistic and memorable, portraying exactly what the scene is: two people, in denial of their sexual chemistry, talking about that desire. Moments like these are fleeting, however, existing just to be swept away by another whimsically edited scene.
Despite a multitude of flaws, viewers still love “Euphoria” because it has mastered the art of aesthetic entertainment. The power of this aesthetic makes it easy to conceal how often the show’s plot veers off into nonsensical and disconnected directions. When Jules abandons a distressed Rue at the train station in the S.1 finale, it feels unnatural and more like a plot device to ignite Rue’s addiction relapse. What follows this scene, unsurprisingly, is another dramatic, musical video-style montage. Unfortunately, “Euphoria” is not the creative emblem of Generation Z that it wants to be; it is just yet another media depiction of modern teens’ self-destructive habits.