Why Fleabag Season 2 Keeps Sticking with Me (And It's Not Just the Hot Priest)

This post is for people who have watched both seasons of Fleabag on Amazon Prime Video and contains spoilers.

If you’ve had a conversation with me in the past two weeks–online or in real life–I have inevitably brought up Fleabag. This elicits one of two responses:

           "Uh, Fleabag? What is that? Sounds gross.“

           "OMG FLEABAG!!!”

For the latter camp, there’s an immediate bond in the knowledge that this show is something special. And while much of the attention is on Andrew Scott’s Hot Priest (who is, as Claire points out, quite hot) there’s something more here. Other shows have had charming actors or sharp writing or an original voice, and Fleabag is undoubtedly a rare combination of all three.

But still, there’s something else.

Here are a few of my guesses on what creator Phoebe Waller-Bridge has done that’s resonating so strongly with the people who love, and are in love, with this show.

1. It’s about forgiveness.

When people talk about the divisiveness of today’s politics and general cultural landscape, I think what they’re really mourning is the loss of forgiveness. Nobody can make a mistake, and if they do, they’re cast out from the conversation, from existence, almost. Everyone is on edge, scared they’ll be the next to screw up, sometimes in ways they didn’t even know they could.

About a year ago, I made a comment online about the NFL national anthem protests that I phrased badly. I immediately got a condescending rebuke from someone I’ve known for nearly 20 years. Because of this history, I asked this person to consider my comment in the context of what they know about me. The response? That what this person knew about me is that I’m a writer and I choose my words very carefully. In other words, that it was impossible I could have made a mistake. I was swiftly unfriended.

This confirmed my worst perfectionist fears: One misstep means you’ve messed it up for good. So the safe route? Stay hidden. Don’t try. It’s not worth the risk.

Season 1 of Fleabag is primarily about Fleabag’s inability to forgive herself for what we discover was her role in Boo’s death. To get there, she benefits from the forgiveness of others. She remembers Boo reminding her that pencils have erasers because people make mistakes. This same sentiment is echoed by the Bank Manager as he approves her loan, after earning his own forgiveness from Fleabag at the silent retreat.

In season 2, Fleabag and the Priest connect through a clear history of shared flaws. They’ve each tried to numb these issues through an approach to sex–she has lots of it, he chooses to have none–and ultimately, they’re each looking for someone to tell them they’re good people.

As funny as it is when the Priest overhears Fleabag’s salacious conversation with the Hot Misogynist at the door of her apartment, and when he later opens her coat to see she’s only got underwear on underneath, there’s also an undercurrent of forgiveness and acceptance to the scene. A lesser script would have him walk out in judgment (“I think I’ve made a mistake”) but he shushes her attempts to explain. He knows exactly what was happening–and he accepts her anyway, because he takes it in the context of everything else he knows about her.

2. It portrays people who are good at their jobs.

This is a less philosophical observation, but so much of modern comedy finds humor in incompetence. With Fleabag driving the show from her very specific point of view, it would be easy to portray her as smarter than everyone else, rolling her eyes at the dummies who come in and out of her life. (Think Veep.) But instead, Waller-Bridge lets Fleabag learn from people who are older, wiser, and skilled in their work.

The therapist scene starts with one of the series’ funniest throwaway lines–“I have dry forearms”–but as the conversation progresses, we see she’s a good therapist. Fleabag thinks she can coast her way through with jokes and psychological buzzwords, but the session ultimately helps her.

In that same vein, Fleabag’s father was right to give her the voucher for the session. It’s played for an awkward moment at the dinner table that he thought it was a suitable birthday present, but it was actually some good parenting, that. She was struggling, and he was brave enough to guide her toward the help she needed.

Even the Priest–our hot, hot Priest–is shown to actually be a good priest. Yes, he has alcoholic tendencies and he’s, as he says, really fucking lonely, but he likes his job. In such a tightly scripted series, I’ve wondered why Waller-Bridge spends so many lines on the Priest going through the notices at the end of Mass. But it’s to show that he’s good at this, and his parishioners recognize it.

The scene in the confessional–inspirer of sexy gifs that it is–also is about him helping her acknowledge the vulnerability she’s been hiding up to that point. (I’m convinced this is when he truly falls in love with her.) She hints at being burned in the past (“I tell you my secrets so you can use them to trap and control me”), but he asserts himself as someone she can trust (“You tell me what’s weighing on your heart and I listen without judgment”). He’s doing what the good parts of religion are supposed to do.

3. Phoebe Waller-Bridge channels a certain smart, funny American woman.

I’m talking, of course, about Brené Brown.

Yes, people have compared Waller-Bridge to Tina Fey; British GQ even had Fey interview her. But as I watched Fleabag, I got the sense I’d heard these themes before, about shame and imperfection and the courage of vulnerability to make real human connections.

Then I remembered I had just recently watched Brown’s The Call to Courage on Netflix. The special summarizes the messages in her many books, particularly Daring Greatly, her 2012 breakout based on a now famous Teddy Roosevelt quote about achievement being in the willingness to fight, and not in criticizing those who try. Brown talks about the concept of “wholehearted” living, which can only happen when you’re willing to be vulnerable and fail, but fail by daring greatly.

In The Call to Courage, she also explains the difference between belonging and fitting in. The latter is actually the opposite of the former, Brown says. Fitting in is changing who you are to be accepted, versus being accepted for exactly who you are. In Fleabag, we see characters consistently trying to adapt themselves in an attempt to be more like the person they think has it better.

This is perhaps most noticeable in Claire, who consistently takes on external changes that make her more like Fleabag–funky trainers, short haircut–and laments that she can be funny and interesting, too. It’s no coincidence the person she ends up loving shares her name. She’s finally learned to love herself.

Fleabag herself is trying to be a grown-up by exercising, eating pine nuts in her salad, and laughing with a group of people we know are not really her friends. But it’s not until she opens herself up to being loved (to paraphrase the old Finnish expression) and to loving someone else, even when she stands to gain nothing from it, that she truly matures. By the final scene, she’s become wholehearted.

There’s been a lot of talk about how the Priest is the only person who “sees” Fleabag in his ability to notice her breaking the fourth wall. And at the wedding, he talks about how loving someone gives you hope. I think what’s striking such a nerve for fans of Fleabag is that it’s about the doubts and fears and imperfections we all feel inside, but never share. It feels like Waller-Bridge sees us, and that gives us hope that we’re not alone.

4. The Priest is hot.

OK, OK, there’s also that. What can I say? I’m not made of wood.