As soon as Parker Posey’s character began rattling off the Ratliff family’s university lineage in season 3 of “White Lotus,” southerners knew they were in for a treat.
Middle child Piper (Sarah Catherine Hooks), we’re told by father Timothy (Jason Isaacs), is writing a thesis on Buddhism as a senior at the University of North Carolina. Thus, the family jaunt to Thailand.
“I was also a Tar Heel, but Timothy went to Duke, Saxon graduated Duke, Lochlan our youngest just got accepted to both,” Posey’s Victoria purrs. “So you can imagine it’s a whole theng.”
Which, of course, it is. So much so that the parody may fall flat on some ACC and SEC veterans, whose porch alma mater flags are all but required by their home owners’ associations.
As a southerner (born in North Carolina, raised in South Carolina, living in D.C. and working in Texas) I can attest to the accuracy. The Duke-Carolina rivalry is as big Longhorns vs. Aggies, and matriculation from both schools holds similar social capital. I went to App State, the hippie third option that Piper probably wanted to go to but would have been told NEEAUUUUU with similar levels of disbelief to Piper’s decision to enroll at a meditation center in Thailand after school, revealed in Episode 5.
Victoria: “What if it’s a cult Piper?”
Piper: “Mom I promise you it is very legit. The monk who runs it, he has written major books.”
Victoria: “So? Charles Manson wrote books. Bill Clinton wrote books. The list goes on. Hillary Clinton wrote five books.”
Oof. I guess the Comet Ping Pong shooter was from North Carolina.
That level of understanding of regional status signaling, coupled with Posey’s accent, more than make up for the missing woooo’s of the new theme song. Then, in episode 3, we got that politics scene, in which Leslie Bibb’s Kate embodies a certain type of Austin transplant who sheepishly shrugs when asked by her girlfriends if she voted for President Donald Trump. And it was clear this season is fan service for the southern set.
To address the elephant — or longhorn — in the room: There’s no consensus on whether Texas is part of the south. I get it. Texas is its own republic and national brand (it’s become a motto of sorts here at The Barbed Wire). However, I’m using what I call the Southern Living test — the magazine’s geographic lines include Texas, and editing alumni include Lone Star luminaries a la Jenna Bush Hager. (I will happily engage in a more thorough debate on card-carrying southern states at a later time.)
And let’s be real, the only thing Texans love more than Texas is debating who is actually Texan.
If you weren’t born in a Buc-ee’s parking lot, good luck claiming citizenship.
Meanwhile in the larger south, Texas is like that cousin at Thanksgiving who insists they’re “different” but still shows up for the pecan pie and SEC football.
But more to the point, in these unprecedented times (or is life imitating The Onion precedented now?) we deserve a southern Moira Rose — a woman with a wardrobe that would make Blanche Devereaux jealous, who is happily hooked on a 21st century mommy’s little helper. The way Posey delivers the word lorazepam deserves an Emmy. As do the writers for choosing the Ativan generic, which has greater comedic effect than Xanax.
At first, there was a little internet backlash to Posey’s accent, claiming it didn’t sound right. But our king Landon Bryant quickly shut that debate down in one of his viral videos on southern culture: “Y’all are being ugly, and you need to stop.”
Posey spent the early part of her childhood in Monroe, Louisiana, and the latter in Laurel, Mississippi — where Bryant is from and which Posey told SF Gate was the dirty, stinking town Steve Forbert claimed.
“If you were to go to the Laurel country club, her mama and ‘em all sound exactly like that,” Bryant said in his video. “And also, how dare you, she is a southern queen.”
If we needed further proof, there’s Posey’s appearance on the Today show. Host Craig Melvin (a good South Carolina boy himself) asked Posey how she came to the pronounced twang, to which Posey responded with an instantly memeable riff on the funnier words in the script: tsunameeee, BOODHISM, Piper NEAUUUU. (The last, unsurprisingly to Christopher Guest fans, came out of her long-running work with the director.)
“I love southern women,” Posey said, before touching on our collective appreciation for the show “Southern Charm.” She added, “Being able to be this dramatic and funny is just so juicy and fun to do.”
In addition to the growing recognition of Posey as more than an indy queen, Austin has received a little lampooning. And, frankly, as Texas has become home to tech billionaires with visions of themselves as modern rough riders, and companies seeking tax cuts and escapes from DEI initiatives, we deserve a proper skewering of a certain Texas trope.
Many have an idea of Texas — like a Trumpian version of “Yellowstone” — that may have some truth but is largely at odds with the enormity and diversity of the state. It’s also historically inaccurate for the ‘let’s keep it weird’ liberal island of Austin.
And that’s what makes the bit even better. Perhaps I’m giving the showrunners too much credit, but the punchlines seem directed at the right targets — newcomers living out their rodeo, MAHA mom fantasies, and coastal elites who think that’s all there is to Texas.
In 2023, the U.S. Census Bureau confirmed that Latinos outnumber white residents in the state. Last year, Texas added more residents than any other state, particularly in the “suburban ring counties,” as State Demographer Lloyd Potter told Texas Standard. “So, you know, in the Austin area, it would be like Williamson County and Hays County, and now Bastrop is kind of picking up in terms of its growth as well,” Potter said.
Many are from California, part of the “Texifornia” trend backed up by data from U-haul. And, perhaps surprisingly, they’re actually not making the state more progressive. Rather, Californians who have settled in outlying Williamson County are more likely to be Republicans, according to research published in the Houston Chronicle.
Bibb’s Kate is a new-to-Austin transplant on vacation with Jaclyn (Michelle Monaghan), an actress living in L.A., and Laurie (Carrie Coon), a New York lawyer — though we don’t know where the group is originally from.
The toe-curling dinner scene in Episode 3 that touched on every topic an old school southern hostess would caution against — religion, politics, money — prompted the internet to do what it does best: joke about where the fictional Kate would live, what church she would go to, what car she’d drive.
My best guess: Kate lives in a West Lake Hills McMansion, drives a Tesla she swears is “just for the environment,” and name-drops her Pilates instructor more than her actual kids.
Kate’s coastal friends perpetuate the Texas stigmas. Their health guide for their stay, Valentin (Arnas Fedaravicius), tells Jaclyn and Laurie they have the numbers of people half their age. But not Kate, which her friends posit is the fatty food of Austin, butter and steak, etc. The truth is, the list of vegan taco options is as long as the line for Franklin’s brisket.
But it’s the interaction between Victoria and Kate that’s a real coup d’etat of class parody. In Episode 2, Kate stops at the Ratliff family table, insisting she knows Victoria because they attended the same baby shower in Austin. Victoria simply stares blankly in response. It’s one of the skin crawlingly awkward interpersonal scenes that Mike White has made his creative brand.
Lochlan chides: “Mom why were you like that?”
Victoria: “Like what?”
Lochlan: “Kinda rude.”
“Oh please, what does she want me from? We met at a baby shower 10 years ago,” Victoria says. “I’m on vacation with my family, I don’t know her.”
Saxon points out that her friend is a famous actress.
“Should I be impressed? Actresses are all basically prostitutes,” Victoria retorts, to laughs from all but Piper.
For “White Lotus,” it’s a full-circle moment, conjuring that painful scene in Season 1 between tech CFO Nicole (Connie Britton) and budding journalist Rachel (Alexandria Daddario), in which Rachel is desperately seeking Nicole’s approval and Nicole takes offense to the girlboss of it all.
Breaking into the spheres of old money southerners is a saga worthy of a Kiera Knightley movie — they are, of course, descendants of Brits who have perfected the art of immutable social and racial classes.
And in Texas, old money means you either own oil, land, or both. If your great-grandpa wasn’t branding cattle or drilling into the ground, you’re new money (and bless your heart).
Kate wears the trappings of wealth and parrots the necessary lines — the people at her church are “nice people, really good families” — but there’s something missing. In one scene, she exemplifies the taboo of trying too hard. Complaining about not knowing who her true friends are, she humblebrags about her husband’s wealth — “everyone in Austin knows about Dave and his company” — and all the people asking her for donations or help getting onto boards.
It comes off as the embodiment of social striver that born and raised southerners across all socio-economic lines have a genetic intolerance to. And made-for-TV comedic perfection.
