When it comes to Netflix's You, a few key themes are synonymous with the TV series: obsession, love (?), possession, and — you guessed it — murder. Season 3 brought more seat-grabbing twists courtesy of two frenzied characters, of course, but also touches upon the unexpected.
The third season introduces the character of Sherry Conrad, played by a skilful and nuanced Shalita Grant. For the first half of the season, Sherry and her minions are intent on isolating Love, the impeccable Victoria Pedretti. As the show carries on, Sherry becomes a more likeable fixture, but her initial persona, which aggravates Love and Joe (none other than Penn Badgley) likely does the same for the viewer.
The mommy blogger is characterized at first by evident self-righteousness and a perfectly manicured posse of dutiful followers. Sherry also acts as an embodiment of surface-level social media activism and performative activism, a term to describe support for a cause to up your social capital and reputation, without really doing the work needed to create meaningful change.
Let me explain. When Love claims her first victim, neighbour Natalie Englor (Michaela McManus), Sherry takes charge of the search committee, becoming the public face of the cause. This could be considered altruistic if she did not actively dislike the victim prior to her disappearance, openly gossiping and complaining about Natalie. In the first episode, Sherry and her lackeys tell Love that Natalie is "a bad person", "a cheater", and look at her with disdain overall.
There are other instances, too. At a press conference outside Natalie's house, Sherry takes centre stage, telling a reporter and the viewers to follow their cause on a plethora of social platforms: Facebook, Twitter, Insta, Snapchat, TikTok, and Tumblr. The reporter notes that the search seems to be important to Sherry.
"Oh my god, it’s my number one priority. Natalie was my dearest and closest friend," she says with affected emotion.
Watching the news channel on his phone at work, Joe thinks with disgust, "She hated her," just as Sherry says on air, "We all loved her."
It's enough to want to personally alert Sherry to the reality of the situation. This shouldn't be about her.
Later, at a highly publicized search party (which Sherry also manages to be the poster child for), she delivers emotional words. Sherry feigns a breakdown, wiping her eyes and pausing for a reaction from a watchful crowd, tepidly applauding. Love appears to see through this perfunctory display, closing her eyes and offering up her signature look of contempt. A lot can be said about Love, but she isn't exactly fake.
Throughout these brief vignettes of the Natalie Engler storyline, the writers emphasize an all-too familiar sight: someone seizing another's tragedy for the purpose of both sympathy and social-media. Sherry also manages to center herself at the heart of the tragedy, prioritizing her emotional response over the family of the victim. In other words, this was a selfish endeavour, going beyond merely being a fake figure.
With this storyline, Sherry is a realization of performative activism.
Performative activism has gained momentum in our collective consciousness particularly during the Black Lives Matter movement, throughout which social media users called out those who weren't displaying true allyship. Corporations and people alike were called out for these displays, with criticism directed at those seeking approval and praise for lacklustre gestures.
For most viewers, I would assume Sherry's intentions are transparent. Her character speaks to a greater message: the rise of those congregating for a cause in order to benefit themselves, not the cause itself. In Sherry's case, her actions are purely a means to more power. By doing so, the grief and trauma of the Engler family are both minimised and sidelined.
Perhaps the most telling moment of the Sherry saga is when Natalie's stepson, Theo (Dylan Arnold), calls out Sherry in the woods at the search party. He and Love catch Sherry openly slandering the Engler family, pretty much sealing her pseudo-activist stance.
"Everyone knows what the fuck you're doing," Theo spits out. "You're trying to cash in on someone else's tragedy, so you can sell your vegan panties — get all these fucking likes on your Instagram."
That's just it, isn't it? In Sherry's case, incentivising the community and advocating for Natalie to be found were purely means to more power. For her, this moment of "activism" was an opportunity, a chance to appear a certain way in the public eye and gain further favour from the community.
Sherry's behaviour is symbolic of what performative activism does, in that it detracts from the cause at hand. Instead, emphasis should be placed on the victim, striving for them to be heard and their needs met. A path to justice like this should focus on healing and transformation, on both individual and community levels.
Theo's outburst and Natalie's husband Matthew Engler's (Scott Speedman) suppressed desperation for the truth are indicative of the weight of the tragedy upon them. The latter is accused of being Natalie's murderer, later acquitted, but never really given time to process. Yet, Sherry's search drew publicity for herself and unwanted eyes on the family. It wasn't really about Natalie or the Englers at all.
In this narrative, You makes a strong case for keeping the privacy, desires, and space of those at the centre of a cause sacred, without making another person's misfortune about yourself. True activism would centre a distinctive selflessness instead, placing the stories and voices of the people affected at the heart of the path forward.
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