How Euphoria’s return left its Gen Z resonance
Sexy capitalism and everyone at the behest of men
Euphoria was once a fever dream of Gen Z adolescence, but the show’s adult era has swapped emotional chaos for sex, money, male approval and little else. Has it finally lost all resonance with the generation it’s trying to portray?
People loved Euphoria in 2019, but it was pushing it in terms of relatability back then.
The teenage squabbles over drugs, toxic relationships, and spiralling self-destruction weren’t exactly normal, but the high-school setting and callow age of the cast meant it could get away with it.
Despite its ridiculous levels of self-indulgence, it bottled some of the mood of late 2010s adolescence. Back then, life felt a bit like a performance. Everyone seemed to be watching everything, and it was hard to tell where someone’s real personality ended and their online one began.
Euphoria depicted struggles that felt very much of the time, including things like addiction, obsession, body dysmorphia, and utilising beauty as armour. It was obviously heightened, but it didn’t feel alien. It took the plights of Gen Zers on the younger end of the scale, made them look cinematic, and chucked an angsty Labrinth score on top for good measure.
It had its fair share of critics, granted, but that didn’t stop it from becoming cemented in youth culture. You could argue it basically carried the hedonistic, Y2K aesthetic that the likes of Charli XCX and Olivia Rodrigo further popularised years later. I’m not exactly a fan of the show, and yet any time I see that azure blue eyeshadow, I’m reminded of it.
Returning for its third season in big 2026, however, the first three episodes have lost that resonance with Gen Z. My timeline is full of people asking what the hell the show is even about now or what it’s trying to say.
Like the audience, the characters are now five years older and navigating adulthood — but that’s about where the relatability ends. Instead of delving into the nuances of what growing up under the pressure of being constantly perceived looks like now, the cynicism, mistrust of corporations, pivot to wellness and health, trading booze and sex for a more insular life… it reached into the dark and somehow pulled out sex, money, and male approval.
Cassie is trapped in a tradwife nightmare with Nate, has booted up an OnlyFans account, and is depicted in an absurdly sexual nature in 90% of her scenes. Jules has binned off art school and become a sugar baby. Rue is moving drugs for a grim strip club owner. Maddy is briefly shown to have a relatively normal job before hastily pivoting to becoming an OnlyFans guru for women. Noticing a theme?
Self-destructive choices have always been in the show’s DNA, but why does every avenue now seem to lead to some sort of sexual transaction or male control? It feels far more like fixation than social commentary, or perhaps proof that Sam Levinson is less clued up on the generation he’s trying to portray once the high-school tropes are stripped away.
Cassie, in particular, played by the constantly visible Sydney Sweeney, has suddenly lost all of her idiosyncrasies and personality. She was always a contradiction in terms of being both vain and insecure, but she’s now traded in her overbearing desire to be loved and seen for wanting material things. It doesn’t fit, and any time she’s on screen, it feels like the showrunners are speedrunning exposition to get her back in a sexy dog costume or bizarre baby outfit with a pacifier and panties.
Much like the manosphere itself, the show is definitely playing to the attention economy. So many of the scenes are clearly designed to be polarising and clipped up for social media, and almost all of these moments involve Sweeney. If you’re wondering where the engagement bait sits on the subtlety scale, watch the ‘You’ve been a bad, bad dog’ moment and decide for yourself.
It goes without saying, but the world of chronically online young creators earning millions through OnlyFans or livestreaming is a microcosm, not a generational norm. Because characters and content in this space have a propensity to go viral and take over feeds, you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise, but in no way is this an inherently Gen Z thing — nor is it relatable.
Early Euphoria was never realistic, but it had a pulse. This season’s early knockings are more like a collage of taboos stitched together by someone mistaking algorithmic provocation for perspective.
Originally written for Thred Media Substack
