There’s no denying it. Shondaland has mainstream media in a chokehold with the anticipated release of Bridgerton season four. This is new terrain for the genre; in the past, while period dramas like Pride and Prejudice received ample critical success, they fell rather short commercially. Their viewers were mainly women of a certain age, and who could blame the rest of the world for turning their bonnets the other way, when such movies hail a white, elitist and decidedly non-feminist way of life? That all changed with Bridgerton, the Diamond of period dramas, with its vibrantly colourful sets and casting, promising us swooning without the usual colonial baggage. Still, I can’t help wondering whether the glitter on the surface hides a concerning idealisation of the past, that denies the realities of Regency England and panders to an outdated view of relationships.

I get it – watching Bridgerton can feel like a much-needed tonic in a world where texting first has become the standard for chivalry. Even the most anti-establishment Cambridge student could melt in the face of rain-soaked declarations and sparkling champagne pyramids. But when we take a step back and look at it alongside the ‘old money’ and ‘tradwife’ trends, the whole show feels like yet another step towards a world where women are made to call their husbands ‘milord’ (a fantasy which I’m sure ends the second someone has to do the laundry).

“I can’t help wondering whether the glitter on the surface hides a concerning idealisation of the past”

Just to clarify, I am not trying to say that Bridgerton did nothing good for popular television. The period drama genre was in desperate need of a good dusting off. And casting BAME actors in aristocratic, happy roles rather than misery and destitution was an important step. But, if Bridgerton writers want to do more than lightly ruffle the feathers of the TV industry, then they can’t simply do away with the evils of colonialism as easily as a broken fan.

One of the areas where the show falls flat is in its flimsy justification for its egalitarian world. We are told that racism disappeared over night, because Queen Charlotte elevated the status of all non-white people in the Bon Ton. It’s hard to reconcile the champagne pyramids with the fact that, during King George’s reign, the slave trade made up over 10% of Britain’s GDP. As a contemporary show that foregrounds race, the writers keep glossing over the rougher edges of Regency England.

“If Bridgerton writers want to do more than lightly ruffle the feathers of the TV industry, then they can’t simply do away with the evils of colonialism as easily as a broken fan”

And what about Class? The millions spent on lavish sets only glorify a lifestyle of a select few. Nobility is a perfectly reasonable topic for a TV show – we all love to watch dramas like Downton Abbey and Victoria. But unlike these TV series, Executive Producer Shonda Rhimes is not in the slightest interested in the perspectives of the poor souls who worked for her protagonists. When season four’s camera panned below the stairs, I hoped to finally see a romanticisation of the life of the many. But if, like in the books, this is just a passing interest to support an upper-class redemption, then Bridgerton is treating the working-class like just another flamboyant set piece.

Looking ahead to future seasons, I am excited to see what Bridgerton does by way of queer representation. So far, queer characters have run parallel to the main storyline. The forbidden romance trope between valets or Benedict’s experimental phase, however, all lead to the same conclusion: queer love has no place in Shondaland. Still, this could change, with the possibility of a sapphic-centred season between Francesca and Michaela (instead of Michael, like in the books). This would be a risky move, considering book readers’ potential fury at being robbed of a heterosexual love story (despite the borderline predatory and abusive hero in the original series). If, however, Rhimes prevails and presents sapphic love as something radiant, emotionally fulfilling, and worth swooning over, this would be a significant win for queer representation.

I am both wary and excited to see what Rhimes has up her sleeve. Could future seasons break with conventions or are we going to get the same tired wealth-marriage-children-trope? Who knows? And to answer your question, dearest bookish reader, will I be tuning into the next season? Well, naturally. Anything else would be positively undignified.