Perfect On The Outside

I’ve been watching the show White Lotus while working on my latest crochet project.

It took me a couple of years to finally start it. I didn’t like what I thought it was about—rich white people at expensive resorts being terrible.

But after finishing the first season and getting into the second, I realized something.

It’s not a show about rich people being bad.

It’s a show about people being people trying to find their way in life—no matter their age, marital status, sexuality, gender, or anything else.

Some people do very bad things.

But most don’t.

I like it.

Something I do find compelling in both seasons is the presence of male characters with narcissistic and/or sociopathic traits.

What’s even more striking to me is how quickly I can identify them now.

There was a time I wouldn’t have.

The second season storyline is especially uncomfortable to me.

There’s a couple who, on the outside, look perfect.

They’re stunning.

They appear wildly happy together.

The kind of couple who still have hot sex after years of marriage, don’t fight, and seem like best friends.

The perfect couple.

They’re contrasted by another couple they travel with to a resort in Italy.

This couple feels…off.

The wife seems to enjoy being contrary.

The husband is aloof.

I found myself wondering if they were at the end of their marriage.

They’re almost painful to watch—especially when placed next to the ease of the “perfect” couple.

But as the show goes on, you start to see it.

The perfect couple is only perfect on the outside.

The two wives take an overnight trip away from the resort.

The husbands are left to their own devices.

And something shifts.

The “perfect” husband starts talking.

He asks his friend if he’s ever cheated.

The answer is no.

And then he reframes it.

Why not?

He says it’s a man’s right.

That cheating is a gift.

That he’s done it countless times.

No remorse.

No hesitation.

The night escalates.

Drugs.

A hotel room.

Two women.

The “perfect” husband indulges in all of it—completely at ease.

And the “imperfect” husband?

He sits just outside the bedroom door on the floor.

You can feel it—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

And he can’t quite cross the line.

Even under the influence.

Even with everything right there.

The next morning, the “perfect” husband resets.

Kicks the girls out.

Turns to his friend.

Our secret, right?

The wives come back.

They all go to dinner.

And the performance resumes.

After dinner, the “perfect” couple is in bed.

He’s holding her.

She’s nuzzled into his chest.

They’re talking about their day.

Like nothing happened.

Like he hadn’t been with two other women less than 24 hours before.

And then—this part.

While the wives are away, you learn something else.

The “perfect” wife already knows.

Not everything.

But enough.

Enough to know she doesn't fully trust him.

And she says it plainly—she does what she needs to do to be okay.

That she’s not a victim.

That is an interesting thing for me to think about.

No judgment.

Just recognition.

And discomfort—because I remember being held that exact same way by someone doing similar things to me.

And I remember making the choice to stay, despite the mistreatment and all the red flags.