POSE: The Most Extravagant Netflix Series

In 1990, American director Jennie Livingston made the documentary Paris Is Burning, considered one of the most important films depicting the glittering underground subculture of the 1980s LGBTQ community. Livingston delves into the world of ball culture—hidden in New York’s back‐street bars with dance floors and runways where Black and Latino gay men, drag queens, and transgender women hold lavish balls featuring dance, fashion, and style worthy of magazine covers. It was the first direct encounter with a phenomenon that would soon become a cultural sensation. Pose.

To anyone planning to watch Pose, I recommend this documentary.

It perfectly outlines the historical, social, and cultural context of the series’ storyline, which, through the prism of ball culture, alternately illustrates the colorful and the gray‐hued lives of New York’s dark‐skinned queer community, driven to society’s margins. The world drawn by the creators—though filled to the brim with injustice and misunderstanding at every turn—is impressively captivating and enchanting, hypnotic in its mix of colors, lights, and glittering trinkets.

New York, 1987.

Blanca, a transgender woman, has just been diagnosed with HIV—at that time essentially a death sentence, as there was no treatment yet. Determined to leave something behind before she dies, she decides to become a mother, founding a house—an alternative, surrogate family for those whose sexual orientation or gender identity fails to meet society’s established norms. Blanca takes in her first “children”: Angel, a transgender woman and former sex worker dreaming of a modeling career; Damon, a seventeen‐year‐old gay dancer kicked out by his parents; and Papi, a drug dealer seeking a better path.

The four share a single passion: balls. Calling themselves the House of Evangelista, Blanca and her adopted children compete with other powerful houses for trophies, titles, and above all recognition on New York’s underground ball scene.

There, voguing reigns supreme—a native dance style that, thanks to Madonna’s hit single, would soon become a fashion craze. Beyond dance competitions, the most important contests are the ostentatious runway battles, where Blanca fiercely rivals her former mother, Electra of the House of Abundance. Nightlife swirls around the balls, as do the series’ characters. Yet Pose addresses far wider issues.

The balls provide a vibrant backdrop to the show’s dramatic storylines, with the creators exploring not only artistic counterculture but also the activism of these groups: their fight against blatant social inequality, the AIDS epidemic, and efforts to raise public awareness.

 Pose is addictive. Its subject may not fascinate everyone, but if you feel the vibe and surrender to the hits of Madonna or Whitney Houston, the series will consume you completely. You may even want to leave your screen dancing in the rhythm of voguing. I have already learned several signature poses, which I practice enthusiastically in front of the mirror.

The show is endlessly extravagant, fantastical, campy, and beautiful, and its glitter‐strewn 1980s aesthetic hits you like an expensive perfume.

What keeps you watching to the final episode are the charismatic characters from diverse backgrounds and beliefs—some easy to identify with and understand, others strangely fascinating and fabulously exaggerated. The creators allow viewers to immerse themselves fully in a richly layered, colorful world, presented here for the first time as a group of strong, unique individuals. Pose is nevertheless based primarily on the difficult history of the queer community in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

Of course, the series’ storyline is somewhat heightened to elicit specific emotions—compassion, sorrow—but the stories on which Ryan Murphy’s show is based are not invented. The creators of Pose present a slice of history that should have been told long ago with this boldness and directness.

Indeed, the minority groups depicted were pushed to society’s fringes in the 1990s. Homosexuality was taboo, and transgender identity was considered a further ring of hell. This led to the formation of houses such as Xtravaganza and LaBeija, which inspired the world of the series. What is more, real members of the House of Xtravaganza appear in the first episodes as ball judges.

Beneath its fantasy and flamboyance, Pose tackles vital issues: the struggle against social ostracism and impossible norms, and the search for acceptance and recognition. Yet it avoids unnecessary moralizing; it knows its message and delivers it with lightness.

For me, Pose ultimately became a series about motherhood—about strong family bonds unrelated to blood ties. The plot revolves around Blanca: a mother by choice—devoted, self‐sacrificing, caring for her children but firm when needed. She must also fight her entire life for the right to be a woman.

This makes her the most believable, multidimensional character in the series, especially because, though she is its protagonist, she also makes mistakes. Her bittersweet story of the hardships of single parenthood, marked by illness and societal prejudice, is the most heart‐gripping.

I even formed a maternal bond with her. Although Pose addresses significant, challenging themes, it is hard to call it exceptionally ambitious television—perhaps it never sought that title. The creators gracefully shift from dramatic to comedic threads. At times they indulge in banality and sentimentality, and over time the series even takes on the feel of a sitcom or telenovela.

The plot comes to focus more on the peculiar family dynamics centered around Blanca—the show’s sweet soul—becoming progressively simpler, leaning heavily into sentimentality. Interestingly, I did not mind. I adored characters like Pray and Electra, portrayed by the phenomenal Billy Porter and Dominique Jackson, so much that I continued watching with keen interest.

I also realized that my life lacks a comedy series about mischievous transgender women who, in their supremely sophisticated way, expose everyone they can (I would not object to such a spin‐off).

The series earned viewers’ affection from the first episode, and even minor narrative flaws could not spoil that.

My original TV instincts kicked in, and I let myself be swept up in this melodramatic roller coaster of emotions and attachments—and it felt wonderful. The end of the second season can bring tears to one’s eyes. In the finale I realized why: it is the series’ final farewell to its characters. I experienced a refined, exceptionally subtle conclusion that deftly tied the narrative together. I felt both sorrow and joy that it ended on such a bittersweet note, and my hopes for a third season quickly and painlessly faded.

Pose is a delightfully engaging, meaningful, sometimes divinely Broadway‐esque series that ended exactly where it should and as it should. Let us hope it stays that way. Nevertheless, I look forward to more bold productions like this.