ridgerton is a romance show. It uses the extravagance, societal rules and the overall setting of the Regency era as a plot device to deliver narratives that resonate in today. Some people dismiss the show as frivolous nonsense simply because it centres around the British monarch or talks incessantly about the marriage mart. Some viewers are reeled in by its ever-increasing diversity; others turn away, claiming that it is insensitive in its treatment of races and representation of various sexual orientations.

What casual viewers do not fully realise is that Bridgerton is a work of fiction. This means that inconsistencies with recorded history and inaccurate representation of the contemporary world dynamics are fair game. The fact that it is specifically marketed as “swoonworthy” by Netflix helps it dodge responsibility of going all in on anything but the central romance of each season.

What Bridgerton is particularly good at is providing crumbs of relatability to everyone. It is about personal and social relationships and how the cobweb formed by the connections affects all parties.

The fourth season explores yet another of these relationships—the working class living amongst noblemen. Once again, Bridgerton uses its setting as a plot device. By simply extending the lens to the “downstairs” part of the same Bridgerton house the viewers have seen on screen for years, it has brought in representation for a whole new segment of the audience.

Close examination shows, however, that there is nothing new, per se. The matriarch, Violet Bridgerton, has always been a relatable mother; she has been loving and distant and perfect and flawed at different times for different children. That she is a Dowager Viscountess—a position none of the viewers or their mothers might hold, is not significant. The fact that Eloise and Penelope or the Queen and Lady Danbury have the kind of female friendship that holds a life-or-death kind of bearing on all four of them is not related in any way to their positions—it’s simply what a strong female friendship is like, for anyone. In the same manner, the lives of those who work for the British monarch and other noblemen aren’t relatable because viewers are in the exact same position, but because they have all experienced class differences and that has impacted their lives.

Everything is a plot device.

The one thing Bridgerton has mastered is the art of storytelling; it uses metaphors without screaming that metaphors are being used and bakes human wounds into the subtext of vibrant colours and a ridiculous plotline that is superficially more comedic than therapeutic. Season 4 does the same—tackling themes of imposter syndrome, the quest to find a purpose, fear of commitment, abandonment and the role self-love and self-esteem play in the journey to securing a romantic partner.

At first glance, these themes seem heavier than in the past seasons, but look again: Bridgerton has always tackled dark themes. Death, parental neglect, poverty, forced marriage, social ruin—we’ve already seen it all in Bridgerton. So this season does not change anything as much as it claims. The Cinderella motifs and symbolisms are aplenty and intentional but balanced in their portrayal as comical or tragic. Araminta, the evil stepmother, is played so evil that she is cartoonish, similar to both the step sisters in their dialogue and mannerisms. They don’t miss a beat when delivering a cruel remark or a facial expression meant to portray years of discriminatory behavior towards Sophie, the female lead - the Cinderella.

The same thread weaves throughout all storylines of the season in the four episodes that have been released so far. Sophie’s inner conflict on whether to pursue Benedict, the Bridgerton sibling of the season, has huge consequences, especially since the story lines her situation up so perfectly with that of her birth mother. These consequences are not pushed aside and can be seen consistently in Yerin Ha’s portrayal of Sophie—the worried glances and smiles quickly turning upside down when reality hits. But the rapport of the main couple is built in a way—especially in Episode 3 when they are literally and metaphorically secluded from the real world— that there is an air of childish carelessness around their actions.

The same goes for the sideplots as they explore a plethora of serious topics while remaining tethered to the backdrop of the show. Francesca Bridgerton’s doubts regarding her fertility are no laughing matter but her search for answers softens the harsh reality for the viewer using scripted confusion and manufactured awkwardness. Eloise Bridgerton’s hatred of the ways of the ton has been played off for laughs since Season 1, but she is the most glaring counterweight to the ridiculousness of the show’s setting. The fact that she is so relatable to the modern woman can be seen as a happy coincidence as well as a rude awakening. The layering of various storytelling techniques grants the viewer the liberty to choose what they want to take away from the show.

Bridgerton: Season Four masquerades as an experiment; actually it is just another day on the playing field for the show-runners. One gets whatever one expects from it, that’s just how it’s built. One of the taglines for this season sums up the phenomenon of Bridgerton perfectly, “Behind the cover of a mask, anything can happen.”

Nadia Ahmed Uqaili is a content strategist with over five years of global agency experience. She also writes short fiction on Substack. She can be reached at [email protected]