The New Yorker discovers TV exists, immediately lectures you about it

A magazine that hasn't been relevant since your parents' waiting room decided to manufacture urgency by slapping a think-piece about prestige HBO dramas onto a styled bedroom photoshoot. The editorial brain here genuinely believed pairing soft-focus softcore aesthetics with discourse about Euphoria's "problems" would create some kind of intellectual moment. It's the visual equivalent of someone's aunt explaining TikTok at Thanksgiving dinner while dressed like she's in a romance novel. Peak pointless magazine energy masquerading as cultural critique.