A Beautiful Mess: The Allure and Danger of Euphoria’s Teen Narrative
Television has long influenced the way audiences interpret adolescence. HBO’s Euphoria Season 1 became a cultural phenomenon, attracting over 6.6 million viewers (Variety, 2022) and leaving a significant mark on Gen Z’s emotional and visual language. The series offers an unsettling look at teenage life, exploring addiction, mental illness, gender identity, toxic relationships, and the pressure of curated online identities through emotionally volatile characters. This critique argues that while Euphoria raises important conversations around mental health and identity, it also glamorizes dysfunction in ways that can mislead viewers. By repeatedly showcasing risky behavior without consistent consequences, the show may distort young viewers’ understanding of their struggles, promoting a reality that feels honest but can ultimately be harmful.
At the center of this emotional whirlwind is Rue Bennett (Zendaya), a 17-year-old battling substance use disorder while narrating the story with poetic detachment and sharp insight. Her overdose and subsequent relapse are presented with haunting visuals and immersive sound design, creating a visceral experience that feels more like an art film than a traditional drama. Rue’s intelligence and quiet charisma make her struggles feel deeply relatable. According to social learning theory, audiences, especially adolescents, are more likely to imitate behaviors modeled by characters they may internalize or romanticize.
This becomes especially apparent in feel-good scenes that blur emotional connection with escapism. In one moment, Rue rides bikes with Jules (Hunter Schafer) at sunset, her voiceover gently saying, “The best part about Jules is that when I'm with her, I’m happy.” The warm visuals and soft pacing frame this as a fleeting escape from pain, yet the emotional high closely mirrors the intensity of her drug use. Similarly, in a quiet conversation with her sponsor Ali (Colman Domingo), Rue admits, “I just don’t plan on being here that long,” a line delivered with resignation rather than urgency. The show presents these moments with such beauty and intimacy that despair can appear poetic rather than alarming. While these scenes add emotional depth, they risk positioning Rue’s addiction as a defining trait of her authenticity rather than a destructive force. Without narrative consequences, Rue’s pain may appear inevitable and essential to her identity. While Rue’s internal struggles invite empathy, other characters reflect more overtly harmful patterns.
Nate Jacobs (Jacob Elordi), another central figure in the series, adds a more troubling dimension to the show’s portrayal of relationships. As a high school athlete grappling with his own internalized anger and identity issues, Nate frequently exerts control over Maddy (Alexa Demie) through manipulation, intimidation, and threats of violence. In one disturbing scene from Episode 2, he physically grabs Maddy by the face during an argument, showcasing his need for dominance. In Episode 6, Nate uses private photos on her phone as leverage, blackmailing her into silence. Despite the abuse, the show frames their relationship using slow motion, dramatic lighting, and emotionally charged music. This aesthetic treatment blurs the lines between romantic intensity and psychological abuse. When such behavior is not condemned within the narrative, it can lead viewers to misread control as passion. According to cultivation theory, repeated exposure to this portrayal may influence long-term perceptions about what is normal or acceptable in intimate relationships, potentially reinforcing harmful ideas about masculinity and emotional dominance. His portrayal may not only normalize toxic dynamics but also desensitize viewers to emotional abuse or reinforce unhealthy relationship expectations.
Similarly, Kat’s (Barbie Ferreira) arc starts with empowerment but soon unravels into emotional disconnection. In the beginning, she explores body confidence and self-expression by posting adult content online, gaining validation and a sense of control. By Episode 7, her relationship with Ethan (Austin Abrams) reveals her discomfort with vulnerability. In one scene, she lies about having a brain disorder to avoid honest communication, turning to performance instead of connection. What starts as self-expression ends in emotional detachment. Her arc reflects a larger pattern in Euphoria, where growth gives way to dysfunction, reinforcing the idea that pain is more authentic than healing.
In the end, Euphoria succeeds as an artistic and emotional expression, but fails as a responsible portrayal of adolescence. Its visual brilliance and emotional vulnerability give the illusion of depth, but the lack of sustained consequence or critique creates a hollow space where dysfunction can too easily be mistaken for authenticity. Viewers with the media literacy to recognize fiction may find value in the show, while younger audiences could be misled by its romanticized portrayal of trauma, addiction, and toxic relationships.
References
Maas, J. (2022, February 1). ‘Euphoria’ Season 2 viewership is up nearly 100% from season 1 (exclusive). Variety. URL: https://variety.com/2022/tv/news/euphoria-season-2-ratings-viewership-up