Sex Education returns to our screens and graces us with a latex tight season packed with long distance relationships, debilitatingly open conversations on queer friendships and navigating not quite fitting in the society you’ve been allocated. If the vividly strange entices you, whether it’s questioning if masturbation is cheating; the dangers and insecurities of a long-distance relationship; or how a study date with the quiet boy can twist into abusive behaviours – this show has a relatability that cannot be manufactured by TV ratings. Moreover, it does not encourage the synthetic hive mind of trends – it simply is. Let the lust take over, zip up some thigh high boots and fall into the pleasure and nostalgia of yet another session of everyone’s favourite show. Talking about the most taboo of topics with familiarity and warmth, brace the edge of your seats as they shamelessly put toxicity and dishonesty on the backseat. Rising stars like Emma Mackey, Ncuti Gatwa and Mimi Keene grace our screens to bring us sex counselling sessions and fresh beginnings like never before.
The new series covers all grounds but continues to centre on Maeve and Otis’ relationship in a town full to the brim of struggles. We follow Maeve to a prestigious university (shout out to the Wills Memorial Library making a short appearance) and as a teenage girl in a new city – the haunting and overwhelming change portrayed perfectly. The throes of this relationship is encapsulated by sexting scandals, how to send a good nude and jealousy in seemingly low commitment long distance relationships. This romance has been budding from the first scene (don’t get it twisted, this is definitely not a how to guide), leading us to question do they end up together, don’t they? At the end, this point has been rendered obsolete through grief and focusing on familial and platonic relationships. Eric’s progression within the church and the LGBTQIA community left me completely enamoured, fully identifying this season’s looks with bold patterns, cut out shapes and glowing makeup – the struggle to believe in a faith which is constantly rejecting your other sense of identity is explored within a character personifying ‘God’, other new students at college and eventually splits the friendship between himself and Otis up. This was crucial for the pair to realise that the other was struggling through issues and identity problems that the other could not possibly fathom. Parallels of loneliness when entering a new space where people don’t understand you resonates so dearly with students attending a brand-new university, and the scenes of (ex) Headmaster Groff and Ruby attempting new connections and ending up in a bathroom, eating lunch alone, sets really sad, personal undertones. Shoot me if I’m wrong, but the only storyline I did tend to skip was Adams’, completely disappointing me as he was a particular fan favourite last season. His evolution just didn’t seem coherent with the rest of the characters and was not explored enough/explored only in connection with other, smaller characters. So upset.
Now. The star of the show. The storyline that has made me bawl, given me chills and goosebumps, shaken how I’ve personally dealt with assault and has shown so many women how effective and integral a healing journey has to be. This wasn’t a priority of the show, just essential for Aimee and her eventual closure when starting a new relationship with Isaac (who, despite being infuriating last season, gave her space and reassurance at every turn). Continuing her narrative in a behind the scenes, silent aggression type, the motif of her then-favourite jeans as a reoccurring theme intruding in her most low levelled days was dealt with such dexterity and a painful honesty that grabbed my heartstrings. We all have a favourite jean. We all have a memory tucked away back into the wardrobe that presents itself cruelly and disables your memory into only thinking about this one traumatic past. We all have jeans we should have thrown away, jeans where an assault is almost advertised onto one spot. Underwear, skirts, a top, a bra you used to love but now has an unwarranted stain, rip, a tiny nick that just relives your worst moment. But you burn them. You tell your mum it has to go to landfill and can’t be donated to charity. You tell yourself that you can’t continue the cycle. Aimee lives our pain for us but provides a solution that often doesn’t seem so readily obvious to most entertainment higher ups who just want to see the circle continue. She is there for her family, for her exes, for her best friend — she does wrong, but her mistakes are almost trivialised from how she tries to thrive despite them. It’s a gorgeous, tug on the heartstrings spin on a sex positive comedy you giggle to your best mates about.
Did this season feel a tad fragmented from the prior seasons? Absolutely. Why would we want it to explore the exact same themes when its popularity stemmed from the vibrantly strange and wonderful and wonderfully bad? It embraces differences, a task impossible if the writers are focusing on the same problems every series. To be critical of this show would be like throwing a dagger at a moving target. Entirely possible, but you’ll miss the point again and again, looping yourself around in complicated circles about something you could simply just sit back, relax and enjoy.