TV Review: "Emily in Paris" (Seasons 1-5)

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Not bad. Not awesome. Sort of there for light fun, when you’re tired and need a break, or on an airplane.

Emily in Paris is very clearly a Darren Star production, and Darren Star makes no secret about it. He did it once. Why not replicate the bestselling sandwich? This is Sex and the City for a younger generation, right down to the fantasy lack of logic that other people project onto Gen Z and Gen Alpha, the romantic whiplash roller coaster ride, and the idea that one woman’s personal life can somehow bend an entire city around her. Spoiler, it wouldn’t in reality.

Our Carrie Bradshaw lite wannabe is Emily Cooper, played by Lily Collins. She does her best doe eyed, Illinois transplant who leans hard into the “naïve Midwesterner” archetype. Emily’s high-pitched, rapid fire, and at times, nervous delivery, exaggerated body language, theatrical clothing, and questionable life choices wouldn’t last five minutes in the actual Chicago she’s supposedly from. How might I know? I spent my childhood in Illinois, the living one that isn’t on Netflix. Nothing about her feels grounded or realistic. I love camp, like really, I love camp so much, but even camp needs an internal belief system. This somehow overshoots the mark. What next, Emily? Asking for no sauce on a deep dish pizza?

Season 1 plays like a crash course in American vs. French cultural differences, filtered through an Instagram obsessed lens. Don’t expect depth, because the show skims past anything genuinely interesting in favor of quick gags and social media punchlines. Anything Emily does turns to gold on the platform. Sure, Jan.

Emily’s version of Mr. Big is a French chef who floats between doormat and villain depending on the episode. He is not given much to do.

Her best friend, Mindy Chen, played by the incredibly talented Ashley Park, feels like a total missed opportunity. You could skip Mindy’s storyline entirely and lose almost nothing in terms of the main plot, which is a huge problem. Sex and the City worked because it was a web of interconnected lives. Emily in Paris exists firmly in “main character syndrome” territory. Everything revolves around Emily, Emily, Emily, Emily! If her friends disappeared, would she notice? Probably not, nope, not if there’s another love interest waiting around the corner and a selfie ready for today’s look.

Emily cycles through the same romantic spats and personal messes Carrie Bradshaw did decades ago. If you’ve seen Sex and the City, you’ve already seen a sharper, more self aware, thankfully adulting version of this show. As SATC fans know, and you know from the title serving as that show’s entire plot in a sentence, Carrie was rarely single for long. Emily isn’t either. A new man appears every few episodes it feels, including one notably uncomfortably younger love interest. It’s interesting how this dynamic is framed as light comedy when the older character is a woman, something we’ve seen before, from Desperate Housewives to here, and not when a man does it. Double standards much? Imagine if there were Charlie Sheen in Paris. Wouldn’t we call out people responsible for that?

Visually, the show delivers exactly what it promises: postcard Paris, selfie ready backdrops, clothes all over, foodie fun, and endless aspirational scenery. And, just like Carrie Bradshaw, Emily is inexplicably adored at work with a few minor non-issues. Every man is attracted to her. Everyone believes in her marketing ideas. In a city full of supermodels and the birthplace of effortless French girl style everyone copies, Emily somehow turns Paris upside down?! The idea that Europeans, famously less impressed by American celebrity culture and statistically less obsessed with social media and podcasts, would fawn over her influencer status just doesn’t hold up! Really, I saw the stats were what, 1/4 of the populations listens to podcasts, and if I recall, 3/4 or more of America does?

Mindy is repeatedly given opportunities to sing for reasons that have nothing to do with the show’s actual story, and it’s kind of annoying. These moments don’t serve her character and feel like a separate, less interesting series stitched in. Honestly, I’m far more interested in the show that never existed: Mindy as a rebellious heiress trying to launch a singing career in romantic Europe. She’s fun, well acted for being a side plot nobody role, well, “nobody” in Emily’s world, and the best part of this series. She doesn’t get to shine, because she is supposed to shut up and be a wimpier SATC Charlotte. Heck with it, I would watch an entire movie devoted to her.

For a while, the series felt like it was slowly cancelling itself, until season 5.

Then season 5 arrived, all fancy but casual, set in Rome, and something finally clicked. The over the top soap acting becomes knowingly cool, if even, fun. The locations are more visually dynamic than post-season 1 Paris. The men seem in on the joke. Emily is finally treated like what she is: late night comfort viewing for days when you want to forget your stress, not a realism exercise.

People push back on her marketing ideas. She’s told no. She carries a fake Fendi bag and gets called out. Mindy finally has a storyline that actually weaves into Emily’s life. Suddenly, the show feels lighter, sharper, and more self-aware, and much, much better for it. Maybe it quit taking itself so seriously.

Which only makes you wonder why seasons 2 through 4 didn’t aim for this balance sooner. SATC was a hit from Kim Cattrall providing a rougher quality to Carrie’s delusional world. “Honey,” she always started, to say something true. Or she had a life of her own outside of Carrie. She pointed out how Carrie sucked as a friend.

Emily in Paris doesn’t do this until season 5, and it does so fearfully. For this to be a long running program, it needs a lot more Samantha bite.

My advice: watch season 1, skip right to spoiler scenes you can find like the wedding and intro to some of the men, hit season 5 for the fun.