There comes a moment in every prestige television show’s life when it has to decide what it wants to be when it grows up. Euphoria has apparently decided that adulthood means more drugs, more nudity, and more scenes that make you question whether you’re watching HBO or accidentally clicking on the wrong browser tab. Season 3 has arrived after four years of delays, drama, and tragedy, and the verdict is in: this is not the show you remember, for better and definitely for worse.
The time jump was supposed to solve everything. Five years have passed, the characters are now in their twenties, the high school setting that made the excesses borderline-exploitative has been left behind. Rue is a drug mule. Cassie is engaged to Nate and creating content for OnlyFans while dressed as various animals. Jules is apparently a sugar baby now, or as Maddy puts it with characteristic delicacy, “a hooker.” Lexi works in Hollywood. Maddy works in talent management. Everyone has theoretically grown up, but the show treats this maturity as an excuse to push further into territory that can only be described as fetishistic.
Critics have used words like “ugly,” “gross,” and “unnecessarily fucking gross” to describe the season’s opening episodes. The scene where Rue and Faye swallow drug-filled balloons and then experience digestive distress in a car has been called “straight up fetish shit” by viewers who were expecting crime drama and got something closer to body horror. Cassie’s puppy costume moment—where she crawls around on all fours drinking from a bowl while her housekeeper films it—has sparked debates about whether this constitutes bold commentary on the commodification of women’s bodies or just Sam Levinson getting weird with the HBO budget.
The problem isn’t that Euphoria is provocative; it’s that it’s provocative without purpose. When the show started, the explicit content served a narrative function. The drug use showed Rue’s self-destruction. The nudity illustrated the way teenagers are objectified by each other and themselves. The violence reflected the reality of abuse. But in Season 3, these elements feel disconnected from any coherent theme. Why does Cassie need to dress as a puppy to establish that she’s seeking validation through sexual performance? Why do we need close-ups of Rue’s gastrointestinal distress to understand that drug mules have unpleasant jobs?
Zendaya remains the show’s saving grace, delivering a performance that somehow grounds even the most absurd material. Her Rue is older, harder, but still capable of the wide-eyed vulnerability that won her two Emmys. The opening scene—driving across the Mexican border with Christopher Cross on the radio—is a masterclass in visual storytelling that reminds you what this show can do when it stops trying to shock you. Colman Domingo as Ali continues to provide the moral center, his scenes with Zendaya crackling with the kind of authentic chemistry that can’t be manufactured.
But the show surrounding these performances feels increasingly like fan fiction—entertaining, stylish, but disconnected from the reality that once made it matter. The Western genre flourishes, the crime boss characters, the strip club sequences—all of it looks incredible, shot on film stock that makes every frame a work of art. But to what end? The Season 2 finale worked because it grounded its excess in recognizable teenage emotion. Season 3 has lost that anchor, floating free in a sea of style without substance.
The question “who is this show for?” has become increasingly difficult to answer. Not for teenagers—the characters are too old and the content too extreme. Not for adults looking for serious drama—the plot points are too ridiculous. Not for anyone seeking comfort—the show has never been comfortable, but it used to be cathartic. Now it’s just exhausting, a beautiful nightmare that keeps escalating without ever resolving.
And yet. And yet you’ll keep watching, because Euphoria at its worst is still more visually arresting than most television at its best. Because Zendaya deserves your attention. Because you need to know what happens to these disaster humans you’ve spent four years worrying about. Because sometimes you want to feel something, even if that something is mild nausea and profound confusion.
This is Euphoria now. Welcome to the dog show.
Judge for yourself—stream Euphoria Season 3 on HBO and see if Sam Levinson’s vision still resonates or if it’s finally jumped the shark… dressed as a puppy.
Also Read: Four Years Ago, Rue Bennett Exposed Cassie Howard