For the first time in a long time, we are seeing stereotypical tropes of men come up against more complex portrayals of their whole selves. This is incredibly important to see in mainstream media, since toxic masculinity continues to harm men themselves. Men tend to believe they should they should think and act a certain way, but seeing an alternative depiction on one of TV’s biggest shows can go a long way toward shifting that.
The boys and men in Season 2 of Euphoria are challenging toxic masculinity and the predisposed notions and tropes set out for them. For years in mainstream media, we’ve consumed male characters who were neatly written into boxes: The jock, the loser, the brainy nerd—think The Breakfast Club. We’ve gotten used to these simple stereotypes because they create less work for the brain. When boys and men, or anyone for that matter, can be neatly organized into categories, we’re likely getting just a surface level idea of who they are. We aren’t, in these cases, getting the whole picture: where they’ve been, and how their unique histories have shaped them.
Sam Levinson—the creator, primary director, and writer of Euphoria—seems to have wanted to go deeper this season into his male characters, revealing a depth and context that may not otherwise have been explored. As viewers watch closely, we are seeing more nuanced layers to who these characters really are beyond their 2D renderings.
Elliot
As far as first impressions go, we might have pinned Elliot as The Druggie, The Loser, or The Addict since we met him, sitting alone on the floor of a laundry room at a house party on New Year’s Eve. But as we get to know Elliot throughout Season 2, we realize he’s much more than what those stereotypes and tropes hold.
In episode 4, “You Who Cannot See, Think of Those Who Can,” Jules and Elliot have an intimate moment discussing sexuality, in which she asks, point blank: “Are you straight?” to which Elliot replies, “Kinda.” Jules then asks if he is gay, and Elliot, again, says, “Kinda.” Jules asks if he is bisexual to which Elliot gives us more insight: “I don’t think of it that way,” he explains. He admits that he hasn’t thought of his own sexuality “in a particularly rigid way.”
Before hooking up with Jules, Elliot has an opportunity in the bathroom to do a line (like Rue had just done). But he looks at himself in the mirror, looks down at the line of crushed pills, and blows it off the counter before coming clean to Jules about Rue’s relapse into drug use.
Elliot’s openness about his fluid sexuality shows that he’s confident in who he is, who he likes, and doesn’t care for labels. He’s non-socially dominant, unafraid of owning his sexuality, and is truthful, and intentional when considering his new relationship with Jules.
Ethan
We may have initially though Ethan was fulfilling the typical soft theater-nerd role. At least that’s how we see him from Kat’s point of view, as she wonders for most of Season 2 whether Ethan is, perhaps, too nice?
Kat seems to look at the relationships around her, comparing hers to those of her friends. At one point, she fantasizes about a tall, muscled Dothraki from Game of Thrones slaying Ethan before dominating in her bedroom. It’s almost as if Kat is pining for the toxic qualities in the relationships around her, despite being in a healthy, wholesome relationship with Ethan.
During the diner scene, we watch as Kat fumbles through beginning to break up with Ethan before retreating into a lie about a vague, terminal “brain disorder.” Throughout her attempt to turn the tables on Ethan, he sees right through her, plainly calling her out on the specific moves she employs, and her lack of courage in being honest.
Traditionally, toxic masculinity can include acts of violence, misogyny, and manipulation. But Ethan, here, shows active listening and compassion as he tries to help Kat say what she wants to say. In fact, it’s actually Kat using toxic tactics like gaslighting and playing the victim. But even amidst their breakup, Ethan shows honesty, insight, and confidence in understanding the reality (not Kat’s manipulated reality) of what’s happening, despite her attempts to gaslight and change the storyline. Ultimately, Ethan shows strength and courage; ironically, these are the qualities she’s been pining for in a partner.
Fezco
Before Season 2, despite the trials and tribulations of Season 1, some may have thought of Fezco as another run of the mill drug dealer. The show gave him no backstory, so any empathy for how he got to where he is would have had to be projected by the viewer (or implied from previous contexts).
But in the Season 2 opener, we learn more about Fez’s past, growing up with his grandmother, and how she got him out of an abusive household as we see her holding his face, his eye, black and bruised, presumably by his father. We also see him care for Ash, raising him up, and looking out for him—this becomes one reason why Ash is so loyal to Fez. He’s the only family he really has.
As the season goes on, we see a softer side to Fez. He’s a drug dealer, yes. He did beat the crap out of Nate’s face, yes. But those are not necessarily points of pride for Fez. That backstory showed that his drug dealing is anything but a choice—it’s the life he was thrust into, and the only one he’s ever known. And beating Nate up—outside of being enjoyable for just about every single Euphoria viewer—was a way to both stand up for himself and his friends.
Seeing Fez’s more tender nature come out next to Lexi on the couch after they watched Stand By Me was endearing because we are seeing Fez have a moment he may not have been afforded earlier in his life. He’s used to hanging in circles with dangerous people like Mouse, Faye, and even Rue; it’s rare he finds someone as removed from his own world as Lexi. In stark contrast to hard drugs and murders, Fez and Lexi forget who they are for a moment, holding hands like middle school lovers.
Later on, when Fez is getting ready for Lexi’s play, we see those same sensitive qualities come out as he asks Faye: “Tie or no tie?” He changes out of his usual tall tee and loose pants, even securing red roses with baby’s breath before heading out the door. And this shows that he’s comfortable with change; he doesn’t need to pretend to be someone he’s not. Being the stereotypical, hardcore drug dealer doesn’t really appeal to him. He’s okay with being sensitive, supportive, and emotionally intelligent, because that’s who he is at his core.
Cal
Much of the show’s toxic masculinity stems from Cal and the world he grew up in. In flashbacks, we learn of Cal’s past, his relationship with his best friend, and how a pregnancy may or may not have changed the trajectory of his life forever.
We also see, through Cal, just how harmful it was for him personally to repress his own queer identity. After marrying Marsha and continuing on in an inauthentic relationship, we see him return again and again to the desires he’s tried so diligently to shove down. Cal makes his own pornographic videos which his son, Nate, later finds; in a way, he’s passing down the generational trauma of being unable to live authentically as himself. For that, the consequences are seemingly unending this season.
When Cal was in high school, we see that he was closest, in all ways, with his best friend, Derek. Their relationship would be unmatched by the relationship he developed with Marsha, and even though they both felt strongly for one another, neither of them knew how to carve out space to exist openly, together, save for the one night at the gay bar where they danced, embraced, and finally, kissed.
By morning, the light pouring in through the windows, Cal received a call from Marsha about her being pregnant. And with that, despite having what we could safely assume was one of the best nights of his life, Cal had to, once again, repress his authentic self and move forward on a linear path towards what society wanted for him: heterosexuality, self-reliance, and breadwinning for his new family.
We do see Cal “win,” in a way, when he comes home piss-drunk, pisses in a circle on the ground, and tells his family everything from the first floor of their spacious home. For viewers, it’s somewhat satisfying. We see relief of a secret held tight to Cal’s chest. We see freedom for him, troubled as he still may be, though it comes at the cost of having harmed Jules, Nate, and likely others in the process.
Nate
Nate is a key example of the kind of toxic masculinity that might be typically expected in Euphoria’s genre. As much as the show may toe the line, there’s no redeeming this character. Attempts to better understand how he’s come to be the way he is, though, at least help paint a fuller picture of the closest thing Euphoria has to a true villain.
It’s clear to viewers now that Nate has grown up in a home where violence, threats, and angry outbursts have been as normalized as asking someone to pass the salt at the dinner table. In Season 2 alone, we see his comfort with gun violence as he threatens Maddy with some sick sort of Russian Roulette game. We’re called back to his choking of Maddie (referenced by his own mother), and we see the power and control that he wields over Cassie, a power he’s fully aware of as he uses it to his advantage.
And yet, we still see glimmers of goodness shrouded in some of Nate’s choices and actions. He tracks Jules down to give her the CD of the video recording his father made of her without her consent. Even though the motive is selfish—he needs his father’s reputation to be clear before he takes over the family business—he could have destroyed the CD on his own. Instead, he calls Jules, meets up with her, and gives her 1) the information that the recording exists and 2) the physical copy of it so she can have the honor of taking a hammer to it (or keep it for eventually leaking to…whoever).
In another pivotal scene when Nate and his mother, Marsha, are engaging in some “real talk” over mid-morning drinks, we see Nate through his mother’s eyes as she describes him as having been “such a sweet little baby” before he “darkened.” It’s in this moment that viewers learn that innocence once was there, and even his own mother recognizes that something’s happened to make who was once a sweet kid into the sicko sitting next to her. It’s an implication that something must have happened to change him—that perhaps he is a victim, or has been a victim, in this household too.
Marsha also comments on how she likes Cassie much better than Maddy, and as this episode closes, we see Nate bring Cassie back, who smiles and waves to Marsha as she follows Nate into his bedroom. This action of inviting Cassie back seems to be an action of love towards his mother, or an attempt at remaining her sweet boy. It’s a shot at going back in time.
Fast forward to the penultimate episode, which revolves around Lexi’s play. The climax of the play features a character who resembles Nate in the locker room with other football players who work out in an exaggerated manner, playing up their homoerotic interactions and moves.
What the audience sees is a mockery of toxic masculinity, and everyone seems to be allowed to laugh except for Nate, as he is the subject and the one maintaining this rigid image.
The actors are having fun as well as the audience, and Nate knows of nothing else to do except harness his emotions as anger and point them towards Cassie and Lexi. Nate storms out, telling Cassie to pack her things and get out of his house.
When we are limited to an idea of who we have to be, we are not living as our full, authentic selves, and that, as we see in Cal’s case, has consequences that perpetuate for decades and taint the lives of those who come after us.
The men of Euphoria are representing real men—not our fictitious ideas of what men have been or what they “should” be. They mainly reject the idea that they must ignore all of the parts of them that make them wonderful: their softness, their impulses, their true desires. They begin to show us full and complex renderings of how men can exist authentically and genuinely, and this is exactly what we need more of.
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