Fading neon
Nearly four years after its second season, Euphoria returns with millions of fans waiting for that instantly recognisable combination of a well-defined aesthetic, meticulous production, and moving Zendaya monologues as the beloved Rue Bennett. However, the popular opinion is that the season severely underperformed; beyond a drop in quality, it is agreed by many to feel detached from the identity that once made the series a cultural phenomenon. As I became gradually disappointed by this season, I found myself wondering not only what went wrong, but whether any third season could have lived up to the standard of the previous two.
The most obvious symptom that gave away this third season would stand out is the loss of visual identity. Palpable from even the promotional posters, the shift is clear: from the overwhelming number of daytime scenes to the lack of glittery maximalism, this Euphoria isn’t the one we’re used to. Importantly, fans mostly miss Labrinth’s score – his eclectic blend of electronic and R&B sounds with gospel vocals made him the musical genius behind Euphoria. Following disputes with director Sam Levinson, he removed his music from the new season, instead soundtracked by the great Hans Zimmer. While his mastery is undeniable, his more classical approach to the instrumentals, combined with the aesthetic change, lacks the visual and sonic continuity that made the show feel, by lack of a better word, euphoric, instead leaving us with something more generic.
With most plots deviating significantly from the average high school experience, Euphoria was never about realism so much as capturing teenager’s heightened emotional reality. Always present as a narrative force within the show, it was expected that sex would continue to play a major role. However, in this season, that motif increasingly tips into spectacle at the expense of character interiority.
With almost all female characters funnelled into sex work-related storylines, they increasingly become vehicles for spectacle rather than fully realised people. Cassie, played by Sydney Sweeney, is the clearest example of this, with the Cassie-Zilla scene making it difficult to reconcile with the nuance her character once had. The show depicting sex and exploitation is not an inherent issue; it only becomes one when understanding the women experiencing it is overshadowed by their hackneyed sexual imagery.
Despite this, the emotional core that has always sustained Euphoria remains: Zendaya continues to disappear into Rue in a way few performances have. In a season that so desperately chases spectacle, Rue reminds us the show has always been strongest when it slows down and exposes humanity in all its contradictions.
Perhaps, though, the greatest obstacle facing this season lies beyond writing or production: time itself. Euphoria portrayed adolescence at its most magical overwhelming, as emotions carry a disproportionate weight in our ever-changing identity. It was always a show about firsts: heartbreak, grief, betrayal, love, are all emotions excessive by nature. Four years later, both the characters and its audience are no longer in high school, forcing the show into the hurdles of recreating a feeling that can’t really exist twice.
