I Kissed a Boy Stan 3/5 stars.
If I Kissed a Boy Season 2 is anything to go by, queer girls might just be deeper than queer boys. In this second outing of the BBC’s groundbreaking gay dating show, the drama is turned up but unfortunately, the depth is dialled way down. The format remains the same: the boys meet, kiss and then spend the next several episodes deciding whether that first kiss might lead to something more. As before, the cast is young, mostly sweet and refreshingly lacking in the cut-throat antics that define many other dating shows (Love Island, take notes). Even the rare flashes of conflict feel more manufactured than authentic.
But for all its charm, the show rarely rises above the surface. Conversations seem stuck in a loop of “top, bottom or side” and after a while, the emotional shallowness becomes tedious. Compared to I Kissed a Girl—which dared to explore queer identity, gender fluidity and LGBTQ+ history—I Kissed a Boy feels disappointingly safe.
There are missed opportunities everywhere. Several contestants are gender non-conforming but the show never unpacks what that means. A trans man comes out to the group but we hear nothing more about his journey. One contestant reveals he is HIV-positive, leading to a brief, moving conversation… and then it’s never mentioned again.
Even structurally, the show stumbles. The focus remains on the dramatic love triangles rather than the stable couples, which means we see little to no evolution of the connections that actually last. That’s a shame, because in the final episode, there’s a genuinely touching moment when one contestant thanks his partner for embracing his femininity—a fleeting glimpse of the show’s potential for emotional depth—had it allowed space for more vulnerable, meaningful conversations.
Instead, I Kissed a Boy seems content to stay light, glossy and frivolous. Yes, it’s aimed at a 20-something audience, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be shallow. Young queer people deserve to see themselves reflected with honesty and complexity—not just through glitter and kisses—but through the deeper realities of identity, love and self-acceptance.
Maybe it was the editing. Or maybe queer girls really are hosting deep chats over herbal tea while the boys are still debating who gets to be the little spoon.
Overcompensating Amazon Prime. 3.5 stars.
Overcompensating is a frat-boy comedy in the vein of American Pie—but with a twist: it’s also a coming-out story. Created by social media star Benito Skinner and inspired by his own experiences, the series is a sometimes hilarious, sometimes touching and occasionally uneven look at the cost of performing masculinity to fit in.
Football star Benny Skinner arrives at Yates University and dives headfirst into its hyper-masculine party scene, complete with pranks, booze and pressure to hook up. As the title suggests, Benny ‘overcompensates’ in cringey-but-funny ways, until he starts confronting the truth about his identity.
Running alongside Benny’s story is that of Carmen, a fellow outsider coping with grief and high school baggage. Wally Baram gives a standout performance, even if Carmen’s subplot often feels disconnected from the main arc.
The show shines in moments of vulnerability between Benny and Carmen but once Benny comes out, the central tension dissolves and the narrative starts to wander. Still, Overcompensating is an ambitious, watchable and refreshingly queer take on a well-worn genre and a reminder that even white, well-to-do-progressive 20-somethings can experience gay shame.
What It Feels Like For a Girl VPN required. 5/5 stars.
At last, a coming-of-age trans story that feels as urgent and essential as it is bold, fun and fabulous. Based on Paris Lees’ memoir of the same name, this British eight-part series charts the messy, exhilarating journey of 15-year-old Byron – from an awkward queer teen grappling with gender dysphoria to a defiant, empowered young trans woman on the path to living her truth.
But don’t mistake ‘awkward’ for ‘victim’. Despite growing up under the weight of a bullying, emotionally-stunted father and a mostly absent mother who’s more focused on her own life than Byron’s, Byron is anything but passive. They are mouthy, bolshy, often difficult – and absolutely magnetic. Given the circumstances, their attitude feels not just understandable but vital. Survival, in Byron’s world, is loud.
After a chance encounter in a toilet block, Byron realises their youth is a commodity and begins exchanging sexual favours for money. It’s during this time they meet Max, a charming rent boy who introduces them to a world of wealthier clients. Byron quickly falls for Max but when he disappears, the story takes a turn. In the search for Max, Byron stumbles into a queer Nottingham club and discovers something more transformative than love: community.
Here, Byron finds their tribe – a crew of trans and queer 20-somethings who welcome them with open arms into a world of clubbing, drugs and raw authenticity. Set in the early 2000s, the show nails the cultural moment: the fashion is cool, the music is wonderfully nostalgic and yes – the drugs do what they’re supposed to do.
What It Feels Like for a Girl is the kind of fierce, unflinching and heartfelt television we rarely see. And Byron? Byron is unforgettable: messy, selfish, hilarious, vulnerable and utterly human.
This is a show that gives a beautifully unapologetic middle finger to transphobia while celebrating the courage it takes to live outside the norm. Essential viewing.
