Keaton Marcus

Popular television for teenagers is an unfortunate sight. Forgettable soap operas and cringe-inducing, willfully unrealistic comedies leave little room for artists who want to produce genuinely meaningful, deeper content.

From the guilty pleasures viewers find in Riverdale, the glamorization of the societal 1% in Gossip Girl, to the futile attempts of tackling suicide in 13 Reasons Why mired by an exploitative, victim-blaming nature, teenagers are stuffed with toothless television.

Disregarding the blatant lack of critique in the classism of CW’s Gossip Girl (admittedly addicting for the first few seasons), insecurity is bound to fester within younger viewers. Watching Blake Lively (among everyone else in the show) keep a societally coveted body image flawlessly while dealing with the most painfully privileged issues can’t be healthy when consumed in massive quantities. It wasn’t for myself, and I sure don’t have any friends getting married to French royalty. This all withholds the show from a necessary sense of relatability that good television, like Euphoria, exceeds at. This is television that has the guts to tackle something of greater depth without fumbling the ball completely.

The fantastical world of Gossip Girl is passably enjoyable to watch on occasion (with a mocking perspective), but once in a while, shouldn’t teenagers get more characters that represent themselves socially, sexually, emotionally, or even just physically? And when they do, shouldn’t the writing feel genuine? The aforementioned 13 Reasons Why is definitely an attempt to do so, but following season one, the show obtusely loses all purpose and validity. What is the point of turning a series initially about a victim of suicide into lifeless murder mysteries or love triangles? What should be issues tackled with sensitivity instead just feels like meaningless, directionless exploitation, and I’m tired of it.

Euphoria, the series created by HBO and Sam Levinson, marks a fearless departure from the mainstream of young adult television. Now two seasons in, it has garnered various accolades, critical acclaim and a faithful fan base since its inception in 2019. Levinson, who struggled with substance abuse as a teenager, is refreshingly unafraid to tackle delicate issues with an unbridled, welcome intensity.

“I spent the majority of my teenage years in and out of hospitals, rehabs and halfway houses,” Levinson said at the show’s premiere. “I was a drug addict, and I’d take anything and everything until I couldn’t hear or breathe or feel.” (The Hollywood Reporter)

Intertwining topics of depression, anxiety, sexuality and drug addiction into a fascinating Magnolia-esque coming of age tale, I feel as if Euphoria is genuinely realistic and important. This is in significant contrast to the popular drudgery being produced in harmful quantities from the likes of Netflix and the CW (Riverdale, Never Have I Ever, 13 Reasons Why, etc.).

The real challenge in writing a show with topics such as these is avoiding exploitation and glorification for the sake of entertainment value, an obstacle that many series struggle to overcome.

Levinson, the writer of almost every episode, cleverly injects his personal experiences into the main characters that create interesting contrasts. Brutality in the first season gives into sensitivity in the two therapy-based specials (released in between seasons one and two), and the clearly personal story woven into the show is beautifully paired with a sense of universality with these characters.

The main character, Rue, (Zendaya) most represents Levinson as a person growing up. Struggling with drug addiction and depression from a very young age, Rue’s character arc largely consists of dealing with the temptations of narcotics and attempting to overcome her fixation. Jules (Hunter Schafer) is not only Rue’s love interest but is also dealing with the experiences of being transgender in a high school with a largely heteronormative society. Jules’ existence is a constant back-and-forth with Nate (Jacob Elordi), a seemingly archetypal popular jock at deep subconscious warfare with his sexuality and the stoic traditionalism, toxic masculinity and predatorial attitudes exuded by his father, Cal. Other notable characters are all dealing with individual, nuanced struggles that teens actually face in everyday life, such as body image and toxic relationships.

On one hand, there’s television classified as young adult or series that specifically “cater” to viewers aged 12-18, but on the other, there’s television that a lot of teenagers still watch regardless of the intended audience.

These are shows generally made for adults, such as Game of Thrones, Breaking Bad, The Handmaid’s Tale, Friends, 30 Rock, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and others that aren’t necessarily inappropriate, but weren’t created for younger audiences specifically (12-18 years). All of the series I listed (besides Game of Thrones, which I haven’t seen yet) are very good and very critically acclaimed, but there’s an issue here. When all the best shows that teenagers watch are not only written by adults but also solely about the lives of adults, you know there’s a big disconnect. Now, not all YA television is throwaway trash, but there’s a disappointing discrepancy between the number of quality shows made for adults and teenagers.

What’s so unique about Euphoria is that the man behind the show seeks to reflect on his own adolescence through the main characters, crafting something truly transcendent and universal for teenagers in this largely challenging environment. The quality of some of the finest series on television today is kept in full, but the teenagers have the spotlight this time.

Euphoria isn’t for the faint of heart. Graphic nudity, a visceral portrayal of substance abuse, and at times, brutal violence, are some of the constants in the series. But why should we care for Euphoria then? Why do I ultimately see it as something that stands out from the crowd?

The point of this show isn’t simply to display the drug use or the violence but to spark an affinity between other teenagers dealing with similar issues to the characters here. In response to D.A.R.E (an anti-drug campaign) criticizing Euphoria for “glorifying” drugs, Zendaya argued this same compelling point in an interview with Entertainment Weekly.

“Our show is in no way a moral tale to teach people how to live their life or what they should be doing,” she said. “If anything, the feeling behind ‘Euphoria,’ or whatever we have always been trying to do with it, is to hopefully help people feel a little bit less alone in their experience and their pain.” (Entertainment Weekly)