Kyle Chayka: Recently I wrote a New Yorker column about the new, fourth season of Emily in Paris, the show everyone loves to hate-watch. The ten-episode season was split up into two drops; here is how I described the utterly shallow incoherence of episodes 1-5:
A show about the protagonistâs career at a luxury-marketing agency has become luxury marketing; scarcely an episode goes by without multiple product placements. The characters are mere containers for their monetizable personal brands, both within the showâs narrative and outside of it. (This month, Netflix launched an âEmily in Parisâ video game.) Paris, too, is a shadow of itself, appearing onscreen via a small number of repeating sets as thin as theatre façades.
Now, the latter half is available and we finished watching it in short order, even though the brief Christmas theme made me wish Netflix had held it until the holidays when we all just want treats. (Warning: total spoilers follow.) Miraculously, the second batch was much more satisfying than the first, because Emily manages to escape both Paris and the repetitive swirl of relationship and marketing drama that trapped her there in a manic existential limbo. The show was the same loop over and over again: Gabriel, Camille, Sylvie, Alfie, Mindy, repeat, the characters on a nauseating carousel past the viewer.Â
The cycle must be broken. After shoehorning her in to his not-pregnant ex-gf Camilleâs family Christmas, Gabriel abandons gf Emily on a ski slope thatâs far too difficult for her and occasions a real breakup. Emily is saved on the slopes by Marcello, a handsome Italian man who happens to be rich, well-connected, and the scion of a family fashion brand that is a fictional replica of Brunello Cucinelli, producer of fine cashmere and patron of an Italian village. (The precision of the copy is maybe my favorite thing in the show.) The romantic cycle may be disrupted but not the vicious class hierarchy: Emily meets Marcello again on the polo field where he plays with Mindyâs boyfriend Nicolas, who is also a fashion scion, of JVMA, the showâs version of LVMH.Â
By episode 7 it seemed that the showâs writers remembered they were trying to make something good. What was supposed to be a romantic weekend in Rome for Emily with Marcello becomes a group trip as Sylvie and the gang try to convince him to sign his brand with the agency rather than sell to JVMA and ruin all of that cashmere nonna socialism. Emily tries to stop commodifying her emotional relationships but ultimately cannot, because she is a tool of digital capitalism driven only to make things popular on social media.Â
Absurdity, not normalcy, is what makes Emily in Paris good. Itâs not a slice of life drama because the life on display is as organic as a cupcake. The more ridiculous and the more random variables the better. We love it when Marcelloâs nickname is Limoncello. We love it when Mindy canât sing topless. We love it when Sylvie tries to take over an ex-loverâs office to stage a fake Rome bureau. We love Sylvieâs other ex-lover, a bescarved film director. When the action goes back to Paris and refocuses on the maudlin, charisma-less Gabriel, itâs a disappointment. Emily, please stay in Rome!
Best of One Thing
If youâre a new subscriber, look back through the archives for our greatest hits. We send out short newsletters on taste, authenticity, and recommendation culture every Tuesday and Thursday (plus some extras).
Overtourism destinations Summer tourism turns geography into memes as we select which cities to visit.
Boutique dreams A manual and memoir from a long-running architecture bookstore owner in Seattle: taste as a lifestyle.
Aggregation theory Big media companies and tiny Substacks alike are competing to offer authoritative viewpoints.
Abercrombie and Fitch is back The high school-era brand is embracing trendiness in menswear retail.
The disappearing Insta grid Why we donât like posting to Instagramâs main feed anymore.
Yes - very true on both counts. The first half was terrible- but also worrying in terms of messaging. How was it somehow empowering for Mindy to make money by selling the outfit given by her boyfriend or that after his appalling controlling behaviour everything was somehow ok because he took her to a cupboard with fancy clothes and told her to pick whatever she liked? And Emilyâs actions seemed exploitative of her relationships most of the time. The second half was better although still had the issues mentioned. This was the best analysis Iâve seen of the series - thank you!