In fact, in a clever bit of storytelling, the issues that Love - a white woman of privilege - was facing directly paralleled her obnoxious frenemy. But there was more to Sherry Conrad than just Soul Cycle memberships and W.O.M.B. Did her husband’s masturbatory use of the virtual reality pod in their garage still make our skin crawl? Umm… yeah. Was the rumor that she had secured a top-secret COVID vaccine for the entire neighborhood worrisome? Absolutely. Was she still an image-obsessed housewife who wrote “Our hearts are global but our physical selves reside in Northern California” in the About Me section of her blog? Of course. It wasn’t until the show’s final episodes, when a swinger’s initiation night went wrong and both Cary and Sherry found themselves trapped in the Quinn-Goldberg’s humidity-controlled human enclosure, that we met the real Sherry Conrad. Truly, it seemed her tyranny knew no bounds. She peer-pressured women to orgasm in the name of better breast milk, fed into Missing White Woman syndrome with tacky hashtags, launched a smear campaign against raspberries. She could ostracize community members with a few bits of idle gossip in her home’s commercial kitchen. She could tank Love’s new bakery simply by not purchasing a scone. While Cary was a biohacking himbo preoccupied with his testosterone levels, Sherry’s influence on the rest of Madre Linda’s brainless cohort of juice-happy Stepford Wives was more insidious. (What do you say to a man who tells you they’re “sourcing a french bulldog”? Someone, please tell me!)Īside from her husband Cary (Travis Van Winkle), Sherry was the most grievous offender. These people don’t consume sugar, they make an Olympic sport out of intermittent fasting, and they utter truly absurd phrases without a hint of irony. When we first meet Sherry she’s positioned as the resident Queen Bee of Madre Linda, an upper-class neighborhood filled with tech bros and mommy bloggers who exist in a productivity-obsessed vacuum. That’s what the show intended, and that’s why, after a full season of both of its main characters descending to new deranged lows, Sherry Conrad somehow emerged as the MVP of this story. Of all the serial killers and homicidal maniacs and drug-addled ego-centric villains, Sherry Conrad’s vapidness and sense of entitlement seemed like the worst sin. I didn’t see what my friend - practically a bonafide prophet in the group chat now - saw in the woman who claimed to have invented momfluencing and crafted an entire personality around having twins. Sure, this was a show about a white man who enjoyed obsessively stalking women before (normally) murdering them when they discovered what a complete psychopath he was, but somehow, when You’s third season dropped on Netflix last week, it wasn’t Penn Badgley’s crazed peepers or Victoria Pedretti’s impulsive bloodlust that rubbed me the wrong way. When Love mentions that it seems like everyone is calling her fat, Sherry gaslights her before suggesting that beauty doesn’t even have a size.Of the friend-group viewing party I assembled for You’s third season, only one brave soul admitted to liking Sherry Conrad (Shalita Grant) when she first popped up on-screen. In a particularly cutting sequence, Sherry and her minions shade Love for having a hard time in a fitness class post-baby. And you-well, you clearly need her tutelage. She’s been there, so she obviously harbors the advice needed to fix your mess of a life. She knows how to get under your skin and stay there, incessantly handing out advice you didn’t ask for because she gets it. Sherry, the archetype of an Instagram wellness influencer, wields insincere self-deprecation like a sword. “It’s all paleo-well, keto, really,” says Cary in his first line of the series. After walking past a guest talking about how they microdose ketamine, Joe finally meets Cary, who speaks primarily in abbreviations. When the Quinn-Goldbergs arrive for a party at the Conrads’ home, Joe mentions that Sherry had to post an apology video after throwing a massive party in the middle of the pandemic-even though the Conrads and their friends got early access to a vaccine originally made for the queen of England. Their health-oriented hypocrisy peppers the season. Thanks for signing up! You can manage your newsletter subscriptions at any time.
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