The Enduring Allure of Romantic Period Dramas

Period dramas have long held a special place in the cultural imagination, allowing modern audiences to fall into a time long passed- television soaps like Downton Abbey, gritty gangster sagas like Peaky Blinders and the numerous adaptations of the coming of age tale Little Women- it’s safe to say the genre has range. Often, they portray the best parts of a period- elaborate balls, glittering gowns and aristocratic lifestyles, all against the backdrop of sweeping countrysides and huge estates, and no doubt set in England (because what is a period piece without an upper class British accent?)

But within this already beloved genre, there’s one subcategory that always seems to capture the most hearts: romantic period dramas. These are the shows and films that don’t just transport us back in time, but make us swoon while they do it, offering stolen glances across a ballroom, fiery exchanges that blur the line between love and hate, and declarations of passion so grand they could only ever exist in fiction. Two of the most beloved and talked about favourites - Joe Wright’s Pride & Prejudice (2005) and Netflix’s Bridgerton (2020-) are not only commercial successes , but my own personal picks as they blend history, fantasy, and emotional intensity in such a way that feels both timeless and irresistible. They represent different approaches to the genre- one a faithful, albeit condensed adaption of the Jane Austen classic, and the other a diverse and modernised reimagining of a contemporary historical romance series. Yet, differences aside, both share a core quality- the ability to provide audiences with a world of longing, escape, and gut wrenching romance, carefully balanced between fiction and familiarity.

But what makes these stories so loved? Most end up set in the late 18th to early 19th century for a reason, it’s basically the perfect era for modern audiences. First, the language is formal and “fancy” enough to make every line sound poetic and romantic, but still easy for us to understand without needing a middle english dictionary. Then there’s the fashion- elegant, flowing gowns and tailored coats that look beautiful on screen, without being as heavy, stiff, or downright uncomfortable looking as Tudor ruffs or Stuart corsets. And finally, the settings themselves- sweeping landscapes, rolling green countrysides, and stately manor houses many of which still exist today, making them practical (and stunning) filming locations. But above all, these period romances are escapist fantasies, they allow viewers to indulge in a fantasy of elegance and high society that is as much about spectacle as it is about love. They often skirt around the harsher realities such as class divides, race, colonialism, politics- maybe giving them a passing nod, but never digging deep enough to crack the rosy glass. And when these issues are raised, the story quickly reminds us, love conquers all.

In this piece, I’ll be exploring how Pride and Prejudice and Bridgerton construct their romances- the struggles of women confined by reputation and expectation, and the transformation of men whose aloof exteriors conceal vulnerability- and why these narratives continue to capture our hearts (spoiler, it's not just the costumes, though, they do help!).

Escapism

One of the key charms of the period romance is, like with all romances, it’s escapism. As Kirtley points out, romance novels have always been sources of escapism, from the very first of the genre like Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (1813) and Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847) (Kirtley, 2021). In such books, the heroines overcome rigid social conventions, and often personal hardship to discover happiness; Elizabeth and Jane were essentially the first ‘not like other girls’. These works were published for women, by women, and were about women, their characters becoming hopeful idols for the women held back by society’s patriarchal values and expectations, and laying the bricks for the oh-so-recognisable modern romance formula.

Elizabeth and Kate in particular are the perfect period characters for modern women to resonate with. As Brumos highlights: “Kate shows great strength and intelligence and Elizabeth shows great wit and morals” (Brumos, 2024). Both women have their more historically accurate counterparts for contrast, for Elizabeth her sister Jane, and for Kate her sister Edwina. The sisters are the picture of early 19th century femininity - though varied in class and environment- they are each the ‘diamonds’ of their time. Lizzy and Kate on the contrary are witty, intelligent and reserve their favour until it is earned. We first meet Kate while expertly riding her horse, thus we understand she is not the ‘typical’ woman of her time, and Elizabeth openly challenges Mr Darcy’s prideful facade on several occasions. Penelope is similarly unique, she writes, and although it is a gossip column of questionable morality, she is poised as the wallflower taking power, the rare woman to to take to quill and paper, and for that she is also remarkable. Essentially, what I am trying to say is that the female leads are written to be ‘modern enough’- witty, bold, and unwilling to yield to misogyny or societal expectations - so that they resonate with contemporary audiences in ways their more historically accurate counterparts, like Edwina, Jane, or the other Featherington sisters, never could.

Season 1 of Bridgerton released in 2020, and was hugely popular, no doubt due to the pandemic, which was not only the time for binge watching anything and everything, but also the time for escapism. The series enveloped viewers in the blanket of ton politics, molten attraction, and steaminess at a time where entire social lives, not to mention romantic lives, had become obsolete and isolated. According to Netflix , “82 million households around the world chose to watch Bridgerton in its first 28 days.” , and “the show ranked number one overall in 83 separate countries, including the U.S., U.K., Brazil, France, South Africa, Singapore, India, and Thailand.” (Robinson, 2021). Additionally, it was a distinctly modern adaptation of the popular Regency era, characteristic of its executive producer Shonda Rhimes, Bridgerton had followed a ‘colour blind casting’, which allowed POCs to see themselves for the first time as royals and aristocrats. I will explore race separately later on so will try not to divulge too much on the topic here, but the almost complete absence of ‘race’ within the series fuelled the escapist fantasy further, allowing viewers to immerse themselves even deeper into the show. This detail also carried weight given the broader socio-political context: the early 2020s saw a surge in conversations about race in the Western world fuelled by the Black Lives Matter movement, when issues of police brutality, systemic racism, and racial violence dominated public discourse. Bridgerton, for once, offered a haven where race and racism did not appear to matter.

Finally, as discussed before, period romances tend to portray the best parts of a period, their focus on the wealthier members of society means issues such as child labour, war, poverty, disease, colonisation and slavery are almost always neither portrayed nor discussed - they are romanticisations of history. Even as the Bennet’s are clearly in some degree struggling, and of “inferior rank and circumstance” in the scathing words of Mr. Darcy, we never see this explored in depth enough to distract us from the relationship between the couple. Think about it, a love story set in the slums of the east end would hardly captivate us as much as one in Mayfair. Additionally, these shows to soften certain attitudes of the time, such as misogynistic sentiments (this includes issues of domestic violence too, as such acts were common and normalised), particularly those held by the male love interest, so that we as an audience can still root for him and again, so that the escapist facade remains intact.

Race

We’ll now return to the conversation of race, this time with greater depth. As mentioned before, Bridgerton is a unique title within the genre in that it made use of colour-blind casting; which resulted in an early 19th century London high society populated by all races and ethnicities, and headed by a Black Queen (no doubt inspired by the debates over the ancestry of the real Queen Charlotte (Saul, 2023). The question of race is rarely touched on in the show, so we as an audience assume it to simply not matter, and that this multi-racial alternative universe exists in harmony, without the history of subjugation and colonialism which exists in our own past. In episode 4 of Season 1 however, in a conversation with Simon Basset, Lady Danbury remarks to him, “Look at our queen. Look at our king. Look at their marriage. Look at everything it is doing for us, allowing us to become. We were two separate societies divided by color, until a king fell in love with one of us. Love, Your Grace, conquers all” (Bridgerton, 2020). For the first (and I believe only) time in the show (bar its spin off Queen Charlotte), race is directly addressed. The fantasy is broken, and Lady Danbury’s words reveal that Queen Charlotte’s marriage to King George III was the event that initiated the racial integration of British society. Oh, and of course Love conquers all.

My personal position on this may be unpopular however I will make my case nonetheless. The explanation that a white king of England marrying a black aristocrat would magically join society together was like putting a bandaid over a bullethole. It felt clumsy, rushed and insufficient (We have seen evidence in recent years that racism is not solved by royals marrying POCs). I would have much preferred if they never touched on the issue, and I don’t think it would have been unjust to continue the alternative universe in which race as a divider does not exist. The show is a romantic drama, it is about the love stories of members of high society, and thus it simply does not have the time to do justice to conversations about race, colonialism and slavery - no explanation would have been better than the meagre one given in season 1, and then even more unrealistically developed in Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story

The show simply does not have the time nor scope to handle such questions effectively, and thus what was created not only broke the fantasy for its viewers of colour, but likely left them feeling confused and slighted. I feel that not every piece of media that casts POCs has to explain why they are there, or has to offer a deep analysis of race, that not everything has to be revolutionary. Bridgerton would have, in my opinion, been better had it done just this. Seeing POCs in roles, particularly those fictional escapist fantasies such as Bridgerton, where their race does not need to be explained nor used as a talking point for social commentary, is refreshing. Bridgerton has (mostly) been able to recover from its lackluster handling of race in that bar, the aforementioned conversation between Lady Danbury and Simon in season 1, it is never again touched upon, and so most viewers are able to comfortably watch on, with the escapist bubble intact. If you haven’t watched the Queen Charlotte prequel, then the show does simply seem to subvert the issue of race, which is perhaps why it has, and continues to, experience praise for its diverse casting.

Male Characterisation

What exactly makes the perfect man?

Visually, the answer is relatively obvious - tall, broad shoulders, muscular, chiseled bone structure and ‘the’ smile. Almost every film and book genre understands this basic formula, but what the romance genre (or at least the good parts of it) uniquely understands is the characterisation of the perfect man - men “written by women”. These men are often damaged or confused, unable to realise their feelings until, well, they do - at which point they pour their hearts out in a poetic, emotionally charged and gut wrenching confession, spoken with such urgency and desperation that it feels as if they would stop breathing if they didn’t get these words out (bonus points if it's in the rain or right at the brink of a major crisis like the women leaving town or becoming engaged to another man ). These moments strike audiences because they dramatise something far greater than simple romantic attraction: they reveal the total undoing of the proud, controlled and emotionally impenetrable male figure - and the reason for it, love.

Think of Mr Darcy’s first proposal , or Anthony Bridgerton’s (numerous) confessionals towards Kate. Both are respectable men - gentlemen- who would (and have, for much of their time) rather wrestle with their own pride than with their feelings, and yet, when the moment comes, they let their hearts spill out. Their words resonate deeply with a female audience who frequently find themselves labelled as the ‘emotional’ half of the sexes, in both Pride and Prejudice and Bridgerton, the women do not appear as desperate or undone in the same way. They are certainly moved, and do harbour the same feelings, but , crucially, as is the case with the whole romance genre, they are rarely the initiators of these sweeping declarations. Instead, it is the man who is more ‘in love’ or at least more articulate in expressing it. In Mr. Darcy , Simon Basset, and Anthony Bridgerton’s cases, the emotional weight lies in their breaking of masculine restraint: a man must be utterly consumed by love not only to feel so deeply, but to give voice to those feelings - and to do so with such poeticism. Anthony’s words to Kate are a perfect example: “I know I am imperfect, but I will humble myself before you because I cannot imagine my life without you, and that is why I wish to marry you". It is not Kate who voices the depths of her passion - though she clearly feels it - but Anthony, who crumbles under the weight of his feelings. This reversal is therefore striking: women are instead the listeners, while the men are the ones who break down, confess, and yearn. Additionally, the endurance of these familiar scripting patterns tells us something important: women do not merely want love, they want to feel seen, to be so significant to someone that it unravels them. And in period dramas, the stoic, powerful man who learns to articulate his love so beautifully is the perfect vessel for this fantasy.

Literary critics have long noted that this kind of romantic male hero owes much to the Byronic tradition - the ‘Byronic Hero’ - arrogant, brooding, emotionally detached men, who, in the words of Lutz (2006), are ultimately “redeemed by love”. Take Mr Darcy who begins as awkward, proud, introverted, and even unfriendly (his contrast with the bright and beaming Mr Bingley is poignant) , but is redeemed and transformed by his feelings towards Elizabeth. Lizzy is the remarkable woman because she challenges his facade, eventually cracking it to reveal the man beneath. Darcy’s first confession is rejected by Elizabeth in short terms because of Mr Darcy’s mistreatment of her sister, Jane, and of Mr Wickham, as well as his incredibly insulting manner regarding the "inferiority" of her family and social standing. However in the end, Mr Darcy’s ‘flaws’ are redeemed, he puts his pride, and his prejudice aside, his motivation to do so being his love for Elizabeth.

This trope, of transformation, as Fekete (2022) observes, sees the heroine’s “love-skills” render the hero’s emotional detachment malleable, he is made tender by love, now capable of both passion and emotional intimacy. A central feature of the romantic male lead is that his flaws- e.g. emotional unavailability, promiscuity , pride - are written in such a way that they generate conflict between him and the heroine, yet are never so absolute that they cannot be overcome by a final act realisation and confession.The idea that a woman, one particularly remarkable woman, will ‘change’ a man, that she is the sculptor, and he the sculpture, is so frequently played out in fiction that it often translates into real-life. Many women, particularly younger women, internalise the idea that they too must play the role of the emotional saviour, taking it upon themselves to “fix” or “heal” the troubled, distant man. In reality, such ingrained personality traits do not simply unravel within the space of a single grand gesture or a sudden confession. Yet romance again and again insists that they can, and that it is the right woman that holds the key.

Anthony Bridgerton and Simon Basset are similar in this respect. Anthony makes it clear from when he enters the marriage mart that he does not desire a love match, he will be a dutiful husband but cannot deliver a sweeping love story for his wife-to-be, Edwina. However, he becomes consumed, despite his efforts to suppress such feelings, by an inescapable infatuation with Kate.

Kate: But I am leaving for India.

Anthony: And it is not far enough! Do you think that there is a corner of this Earth that you could travel to far away enough to free me from this torment? I am a gentleman. My father raised me to act with honor, but that honor is hanging by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence. You are the bane of my existence. And the object of all my desires. (Bridgerton, 2022)

He, the man who had no desire for love, falls in love, and his feelings are changed by, you guessed it, one remarkable woman.

Anthony: I love you. I've loved you from the moment we raced each other in that park. I've loved you at every dance, on every walk, every time we've been together, and every time we've been apart. You do not have to accept it or embrace it or even allow it. Knowing you, you probably will not. But you must know it, in your heart. You must feel it, because I do. I love you. (Bridgerton, 20220

Anthony: I know I am imperfect, but I will humble myself before you because I cannot imagine my life without you, and that is why I wish to marry you. (Bridgerton, 2022)

Simon Basset is similarly transformed, he does not initially want to get married, and is even less concerned with love. His experience of his abusive father leads him to vow to end the Hastings family line by never marrying or having children. He is only persuaded to marry Daphne to protect her reputation and honour after they are caught in a compromising situation. However, he is secretly, perhaps unknowingly, fond of her, and that fondness develops into fully fledged love, the more time he spends with her:

Simon: …But in so removing it, we found something far greater. We found friendship. You see, Miss Bridgerton and I have been fooling all of Mayfair for quite some time. We have fooled them into thinking we are courting… when really, all along, we simply enjoyed each other’s company so much we could not stay away from one another. I have never been a man that much enjoyed flirting, or chatting, or, indeed, talking at all. But with Daphne…Miss Bridgerton… conversation has always been easy. Her laughter brings me joy. To meet a beautiful woman is one thing, but to meet your best friend in the most beautiful of women is something entirely apart.” (Bridgerton, 2020)

Simon: I cannot stop thinking of you. From the mornings you ease, to the evenings you quiet, to the dreams you inhabit…my thoughts of you never end. I am yours, Daphne. I have always been yours. (Bridgerton, 2020)

All these fictional men also share another key quality: obsession. They are utterly consumed by their love - Anthony cannot exist in Kate’s presence without the edges of his composure fraying. To viewers, particularly women disillusioned with what modern dating culture offers (look no further than the countless TikToks about dating disasters), these depictions provide an intoxicating fantasy. They take us back to a time, or at least imagined, idealised, one when men were not emotionally absent, but utterly undone by love, they had restraint, and paid respect to the woman they loved.

I close this section with a brief disclaimer of sorts. It is easy to get swept up in the epic love stories of our favourite romance novels, tv shows, and films; to dream of grand gestures and flowery confessions, I think most of us have. But, just as Francesca reminds her mother, love can sometimes be quieter, calmer, it isn’t always dramatic, but that doesn’t make it any less precious. Comparison is after all, the thief of joy - so don’t scorn or resent your partners for not imparting upon you a sweeping Mr-Darcy-esque declaration. Films, books, and shows (even social media now) are crafted to entertain within the limits of fiction; thus they lean on words to signal love and emotion. But we are not fictional beings - our love is better measured in actions. If words cost money, we would spend them sparingly, so do not stare too longingly at the screen, as you might miss what is right in front of you.

The ‘Female Gaze’ and Audience Desires

Laura Mulvey's Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema introduced the concept of the "male gaze," a theory that posits women are depicted in media through a male, heterosexual lens, often objectifying them for male pleasure. Period dramas, however, tend to flip this convention.With an overwhelmingly female audience - Romantic Movie Lovers notes that 85% of romance film audiences are women (App, 2014), mostly between 18 and 44, while Nielsen reported that Bridgerton’s audience was 76% female and notably diverse (Mitovich, 2022) - the camera lens lingers differently.

Instead of focusing on women as sexual objects, it is the men who become the subjects of desire, but through a distinctly female gaze. This might be a flash of abs, the loosening of a tie after a long day, or arms exposed by rolled up sleeves; but ​​it’s often moreso about the hint of intimacy and allure (usually tied to signs of masculinity like strength) rather than through explicit exposure such as with the male gaze.

The cinematography intentionally lingers, allowing viewers to savour these moments - not because the man is being reduced to an object, but because he is filtered through female desire. As Brumos notes, “the female gaze does not consider man [as an object], they are rather the facilitators of the heroine’s growth and development”. On the contrary, the female love interest (although ‘sexual interest’ would be a more befitting title) in male targeted film and tv doesn’t have a true role in the plot , and thus certainly doesn’t foster any kind of growth for the main character.

This female-centred framing explains why scenes like Mr. Darcy’s infamous hand flex in Pride and Prejudice or the iconic Episode 5 scene between Anthony and Kate have such cultural staying power. These gestures are small, restrained, and charged with yearning. They are moments of intimacy, not sex (a key distinction) which makes them far more significant to a female audience craving tension over action. In other words, it is not about the act itself, but about the restraint, the “want despite can’t”. Additionally, the more rigid social norms and expectations of the time make the moments of tension beneath the requirements of respectability and propriety that much more dramatic and meaningful. This is the kind of sexual tension that modern audiences often feel is missing in real life, where men are perceived as blunt and unromantic. As women online often lament, there is no such discipline from contemporary men, whom will just tell you bluntly they want to sleep with you (though far less eloquently). Further, the prolificacy of hookup culture has made sex far more common, and therefore significant, and intimacy even less so.

Pride and Prejudice, for example, includes no sex scenes at all. It is a purely emotional love story, culminating only in a final kiss between Elizabeth and Darcy. That kiss isn’t lustful, it’s tender and romantic, the culmination of every emotion that has simmered for the entire film. I think the greater emphasis on non-sexual emotional intimacy in romantic dramas appeals to the female audience (compare that to scenes in male targeted films, where sex is often suggested). As Haneen explains, Joe Wright sought to accentuate the element of first love, framing his young characters with earnest romance. He sought to convey that Lizzy at 20 and Darcy at 28 (questionable but we’ll skirt past that for now) are simply young people, overwhelmed by the emotions of falling in love for the first time. It is this framing that resonates with young modern female viewers, who are “interested in a story about love and happy endings” (Haneen,2016).

(As a note, this is not to say that women aren’t interested in outright depictions of sexuality- Bridgerton alone is proof of that- but, such scenes are rooted in emotional intensity, which I'll explore further later)

This is important because women have been socialised into fantasy narratives of love from childhood. Every Disney princess story teaches us that love (for women at least) is life’s great goal, and as we get older every teen drama hinges on crushes and relationships. Many women grow up dreaming of fairytale weddings, of great love stories, and of being chosen above all else. Period dramas feed into this desire while offering a safer, idealised version of romance. They give us men who are not misogynistic in the way real men of their time would have been, and offer devotion rather than crude advances. As Brumos notes, Austen and Quinn’s male leads, though formidable, are always passionate, sensitive, and full of emotion- men who “never regard women as sexual objects” but instead perceive them as equals, captivated by their wit and intelligence (Brumos, 2024).

What emerges, then, is a double dynamic. On the one hand, period dramas serve female desires for emotional connection, tender devotion, and deep yearning. On the other, they reproduce the familiar cultural script that women must still long for love and marriage, that our worth is tied to being desired and chosen. The Bechdel Test is a reminder of this: so many stories cannot let women exist outside the realm of romance. Yet even as many of us try to unlearn these narratives- to build full, independent lives without centring men- period dramas remain alluring precisely because they give us the fantasy. The fantasy that a man will fall so deeply in love with us that he will restrain himself, yearn endlessly, and speak words that we have been trained since girlhood to crave.

Sex, Sexuality and Intimacy

When sex scenes occur in period dramas, they are often framed very differently from media set in contemporary settings. Bridgerton, which, rather uniquely for the genre, is no stranger to such scenes, sets itself apart by building them around restraint. Given the societal outlook on premarital sex in the Regency period, characters wrestle with desire as though they are holding back a tidal wave with a single door. The weight of honour and respectability looms over every near-kiss, every charged moment, until the inevitable unraveling. In season two, Anthony and Kate embody this: they come dangerously close to kissing multiple times (Episodes 4 and 5), but pull away at the very last second. Even when they finally kiss in Episode 6, they stop themselves before it goes further. It is not until the gazebo scene in Episode 7, when the “thread of honor” finally snaps. The scene is unlike many contemporary sex scenes - it doesn’t feel overly vulgar or excessively uncomfortable to watch as a female viewer (such as is the case for such scenes in most other genres of television) , but instead deeply emotional. The awkward distinction between “having sex” and “making love” is one that Bridgerton foregrounds, and it is a distinction that appeals strongly to female audiences, many of whom crave depictions of romance that emphasise emotional connection, and intimacy over mere lust.

That said, Bridgerton does not shy away from portraying sex in its less romantic, more transactional forms, however usually as a tool to signal the male characters transformation into love. Anthony’s encounters with Siena the opera singer in season one, or with sex workers in the opening scenes of season two, stand in stark contrast to his relationship with Kate. With Siena and the sex workers, sex is shown as habitual, detached, and transactional - there are several clips of him tossing coins on a table in the opening of season 2.Yet with Kate, Anthony’s desire is tortured, romantic, desperate. His monologues - “You are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires” - frame sex as something perilously bound up with love, honor, and restraint, not simply appetite. The “rake” archetype that Bridgerton so enjoys- Simon and Anthony in season one, Colin before his romance with Penelope, and Benedict’s sexuality was his character’s entire focus in season 3 - always gives way to a man remade by love, his lust transformed into devotion once he finds the woman who will anchor him.

This contrast also highlights how Bridgerton frames male and female sexuality differently. The men are experienced; the women are virgins. The show repeatedly highlights the naivety of its female leads. Men initiate, instruct, and guide, yet crucially, when it comes to the women they respect and love, their focus shifts to female pleasure. Anthony’s “Do you even know all the ways a lady can be seduced? The things I could teach you”, and Colin and Penelope’s carriage scene. The Bridgerton men may treat sex with sex workers as casual and detached, but with their romantic partners, sex is intimate, romantic, and respectful - the misogynistic sentiments of the time conveniently displaced entirely. This distinction reinforces the fantasy of the perfect man, one who not only desires his partner but is deeply attuned to her needs and pleasure, a fantasy which, while most definitely historically, and often contemporarily inaccurate, ties neatly into the female gaze and its emphasis on intimacy over objectification, as pointed out by Iqbal .Iqbal (2014) in a piece assessing the impact of romance novels on women's sexual health observes that romantic fiction has often purveyed idealized depictions of sex that omit the “unromantic, awkward, unseemly, and messy bits”. For instance how the ‘first time’ for the heroines of the Bridgerton series is portrayed as joyful and pleasurable, so as to maintain the romantic mood - because of course the far more realistic pain and discomfort experienced by women in such circumstances would shatter the bubble, and we can’t have that, can we?

Still, Bridgerton is not afraid to complicate this fantasy; I couldn’t brush over Daphne’s assault of Simon in Season 1. In both the original Julia Quinn novel and Shondaland’s adaptation, Daphne in a way forces herself on Simon. While the show alters the scene slightly to soften the act - Simon is awake, not asleep and drunk as in the book - it remains a clear violation of consent. As Joanna Robinson for Vanity Fair (2020) notes, Daphne takes the wheel while Simon pleads for her to stop, and yet the narrative frames her not as an aggressor but as a naive and wronged wife who has been deceived. Robinson also highlights the history of rape or coercion normalised in the romance genre as the only way to allow women to engage in premarital sex while preserving their “virtue”. And yet the producers and writers on Bridgerton, despite progressive leanings in some areas, and its very apparent comfortability in changing the series from the original source material, chose to keep this scene in. I also think this ties into a broader conversation over male sexual assault , and I along with many other viewers were frankly disgusted at the fact that it was Simon whom in the end was apologising to Daphne.

The show also plays heavily with the dichotomies of purity and impurity. The virginal women of the ton are dressed in light gowns, pastels and florals, their innocence guarded fiercely by fathers, brothers, mothers, and the guidelines of respectable conduct. By contrast, Siena and Genevieve Delacroix, two independent women who work for the members of the ton, wear darker, sensual colors, coded as sexually experienced and thus “impure.” Anthony himself makes this divide clear when he remarks to Siena “Every woman is not a lady”; he means to say that sexual activity, and the women who afford men like himself, are stripped of their respectability. As Dietrich observes, Daphne is afforded his gallant protection (he goes as far as to duel to the death with Simon, his best friend, when Simon refuses to marry her) precisely because she is untouched, a respectable lady therefore, whereas Siena, though desired, is not truly respected (Dietrich, 2022) The softer Bridgerton brother, Benedict’s casual relationship with Genevieve (and Tilly and Paul in season 3) follows a similar pattern: tender but ultimately limited, as both know it will never evolve beyond sex, precisely because of class and “respectability”.

What makes these portrayals resonate with audiences, despite their contradictions, is their alignment with female desire as shaped by the romance genre. As Fekete (2022) notes, compared to readers of the 1980s, those in 2016 “wanted to see heroines with more than a deep emotional bond with their partner”; female sexual desire was a necessary part of a gratifying romantic relationship narrative. While readers today want heroines with equal sexual agency, the underlying gender dynamic has not shifted: women are still characterized by emotional expressiveness, men by stoicism and restraint. Even in 2016, women wanted both sex and emotional intimacy in their romantic stories, Bridgerton plays this out faithfully. Men, though experienced, become emotionally awakened only by love. Women, though naive, are granted sexual fulfillment and pleasure through that love. And in its framing, sex is rarely just sex, it is intimacy, it is confession, it is love made physical. That, more than anything, is what continues to make the series so compelling to its overwhelmingly female audience: it gives viewers sex, but through a lens of longing, devotion, and emotional depth.

Final thoughts

In the end, the enduring popularity of period romances speaks less to the realities of history and more to the fantasies we continue to project onto it. Whether in the pages of Austen and Brontë or Netflix’s Bridgerton, what captivates us is not the accuracy of the society depicted , but the promise of timeless themes: love that transforms, desire that softens even the most stoic of men, and the intoxicating mix of passion and restraint. These stories persist because they allow us to imagine a past that feels safe yet thrilling, where emotional intimacy and sweeping devotion are always possible, and the happy ending is always guaranteed.

At their heart, period romances are not really about the past at all, they are about us, our curiosity about the world of the past, our present desires, and the great love fantasies we choose to keep alive. They may be unrealistic fictions, but that isn’t a bad thing, the romance genre is so often looked down upon because of its largely female audience, but I hardly think it a crime to want to step away and indulge in the romantic dreams so many of us hold dear, so long as we remember to step back into our own worlds and smell the flowers around us.

Have any thoughts? Contact me

email: jaz040504@gmail.com

Sources

“An Affair of Honour”. Bridgerton. Netflix. December 25, 2020

“An Unthinkable Fate”. Bridgerton. Netflix. March 25, 2022.

App, Carmela. “Romantic Movies and their Influence on the Audience’s Ideals of Real-Life Relationships”. Persuasion and Propaganda (2014)

Brumos, Ana Simón. "Jane Austen’s Influence on Contemporary Romance Novels." (2024)

Dietrich, Luke. "The Comparison of Bridgerton Season 1 to the Regency Era." The Cupola (2022): 107.

Fekete, Maleah. "Confluent Love and the Evolution of Ideal Intimacy: Romance Reading in 1980 and 2016." Journal of Popular Romance Studies (2022).

Haneen, Sherry. "The Influence of the Target Audience on Joe Wright’s Film Adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice." Annals of the Faculty of Arts, Ain Shams University 44, no. October-December (B) (2016): 663-673.

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