The long-awaited return of Euphoria has audiences on edge for more reasons than one. Since its debut in 2019, the series has been as synonymous with controversy as it has with acclaim. Rumors surrounding its production have long clouded its reputation, from alleged toxic working conditions to tensions between cast members and growing scrutiny of creator Sam Levinson. Branded a “poisoned chalice” by The Telegraph, the show arrives with more baggage than ever. But what actually went down, and why does it still feel so addictive to watch?
After nearly four years off-screen, Euphoria returns for its third, and likely final, season. When it first premiered, it quickly established itself as a defining entry in the coming-of-age genre: an unflinching portrait of addiction, identity, and desire. Led by Zendaya as Rue Bennett, a teenager navigating grief and substance abuse, the series built its name on pushing boundaries, and audiences kept watching.
The show quickly evolved into a full-blown phenomenon. By its second season, it was averaging 16.3 million viewers per episode, making it HBO’s second most-watched series after Game of Thrones. Online, it dominated the conversation, amassing tens of millions of tweets and cultivating a fervent, largely Gen Z fan base. Its hyper-stylized aesthetic, from Y2K-inspired fashion to gemstone-encrusted makeup, extended far beyond the screen, shaping an entire visual culture. A distant LA cousin of Skins, it revelled in glitter, danger, and excess. From its scandalous plotlines to its deeply flawed yet magnetic characters, Euphoria built an entire world, and audiences wanted a piece of it.
But it’s no secret that Euphoria, despite its mass fan fervour, has long been surrounded by dispute. From the outset, the show’s so-called “honesty” has been criticized as something closer to exploitation. It was initially condemned for its perceived glamorization of drug use and its “creepy” portrayals of teenage sex, with the Parents Television Council calling for HBO to cancel the series altogether. In response, creator Sam Levinson defended the show’s approach, arguing, “I think it’s crucial that film and television portray addiction in an honest way. That we show the allure of drugs, and the relief they can bring, because that’s ultimately what makes them so destructive.”
Further scrutiny followed over Levinson’s creative influence on the series. He has suggested that parts of the show draw from his own experiences with addiction, and even described Zendaya as “a female version of myself”, a framing that many found unsettling. The idea of a straight white male creator in his 30s writing himself into a predominantly young, diverse female cast, including Black and transgender characters, prompted criticism, particularly from female viewers, who questioned the show’s perspective and intent.
Several female cast members, including Sydney Sweeney (Cassie) and co-star Chloe Cherry (Faye), have spoken about discomfort with aspects of the show’s nudity. The New Yorker described the series as “pornographically sad”, drawing attention to what it characterized as the often degrading framing of female sexuality on screen. Some viewers also expressed unease at depictions of teenage sex, despite the actors being adults.
By its second season, Levinson, often framed as a “tortured genius” auteur, was also facing scrutiny over allegations of a toxic working environment. An exposé in The Daily Beast cited sources who described 18-hour workdays and multiple complaints regarding production delays, including inadequate meal breaks and restricted bathroom access. HBO denied the allegations, stating the production was in full compliance with all safety protocols.
By early 2025, growing fatigue around the series had set in, with many viewers believing it may have run its course. Still, key cast members, including Zendaya, Jacob Elordi, and Sydney Sweeney, publicly insisted it would return, even as their comments often appeared somewhat hesitant about the show’s continued legacy.
In spring, filming was finally confirmed, though the discourse surrounding the series only intensified. Sydney Sweeney became the focus of renewed scrutiny following a viral American Eagle campaign built around the slogan “Sydney Sweeney has great jeans,” alongside commentary on her political affiliations. At the same time, online speculation grew around tensions within the cast, with some reports suggesting divisions between Zendaya and Sweeney, though these claims remained unverified.
More broadly, the blurred line between the show’s subject matter and the realities of its production became increasingly difficult to ignore. Several cast members, including Dominic Fike and Angus Cloud, were open about their struggles with addiction during filming. Cloud’s death in 2023 from an accidental overdose cast a lasting shadow over the series, prompting renewed reflection on the proximity between the show’s themes and the lives of those involved.
That sense of unease has only deepened the mythology surrounding Euphoria. Its reputation as television’s most “cursed” production has been reinforced by ongoing dissensus and abrupt departures, including composer Labrinth’s decision to step back from the series. In a now-viral post, he wrote: “DOUBLE F*CK EUPHORIA.” Similarly, the show’s beloved character Kat, played by Barbie Ferreira, also announced her exit from the show in August 2022. Whatever the intent or reasoning, the sentiment captured a growing sense that, behind the spectacle, something had fundamentally fractured.
Yet despite everything, audience interest has not waned. As of April 2026, Euphoria remains one of HBO’s most prominent dramas, continuing to generate significant cultural conversation and sustained engagement. In other words, the controversy has not diminished the show but amplified it.
So what explains this enduring fascination?
On one hand, Euphoria offers a heightened form of escapism: a stylized, intoxicating world of excess, beauty, and emotional extremity. On the other hand, it contains an unsettling familiarity, with its themes of addiction, desire, and identity often echoing real-life narratives surrounding the series itself. That overlap between fiction and reality creates a disorienting sense of proximity, as though the show does not end when the episode does.
This blurring of boundaries is part of what makes the series so difficult to disengage from. Audiences are not only watching a story unfold on screen, but also consuming the discourse and drama surrounding it. In this sense, Euphoria exists simultaneously as television and as a cultural event, one that is continuously shaped by its own reception.
As the conversation around it intensifies, so too does its visibility. What might once have been promotional marketing has been replaced by audience-driven discourse. Speculation and critique are functioning as a form of ongoing publicity. The result is a cycle in which attention feeds itself.
Which raises a final question: is Euphoria simply a show that understands the culture around it, or one that has become inseparable from it?
Either way, I’m off to watch Season 3.
