The second season of “Heartstopper” on Netflix went down just as smoothly as the first. I paced myself, allowing only one episode per night, stalling the story as I took off for the internet-free family cottage—first visit since 2019 (curses to you, COVID!).
My boyfriend watched the first season under duress. It was the early months of our budding relationship and I suppose he was still learning when to say no. He prefers shows with zombies, cowboys and, the ultimate of ultimates: cowboy zombies. There are probably four of five such series, but I can’t name them. We’ve both gotten very good at no.
I didn’t even try coercion this time. I get that “Heartstopper” is too sweet for viewers accustomed to “Game of Thrones,” “The Walking Dead” and flicks about Jeffrey Dahmer. I wondered if I’d get into the second season. I thought I might have graduated from mild high school drama but, once again, “Heartstopper” was the sugar fix I didn’t know I needed.
For all its lite-ness, the show surprised me by introducing a rarely addressed subject: male eating disorders. At first, the hints that were dropped were too subtle. In the fourth episode of the season, as the gang explores Paris on an extended field trip, Nick buys Charlie an ice cream cone which Charlie refuses, saying he’s still full from breakfast. What? Ice cream from the bf is supposed to be romantic and, gosh golly, it’s ICE CREAM. Who could refuse?
(I could. As much as I love ice cream, it’s chocolate and that’s never been my thing. I won’t waste calories on a flavor I know doesn’t do anything for me. But then, I’m a guy with an eating disorder. Every bite I consume—of anything—is carefully considered.)
Charlie takes a lick. And, because it’s “Heartstopper,” he gets chocolate on his nose and is oblivious to it. Like a four-year-old. Or like an adorable teen boyfriend. Nick swipes his thumb across the chocolate spot and then licks his thumb. Aww. How cute. End of scene. We assume Charlie eats on and lets Nick clean his face after each messy lick. No napkins. Let’s conserve paper.
Later, the entire school group gathers for dinner and Charlie looks somewhat repulsed by the meal set in front of him, some sort of meatball dish drowning in heaps of dark gravy. He hesitates, as would many people. He doesn’t even touch it but then that’s because there’s a very public tiff between one of the teen couples. No one eats. Charlie and Nick leave the dining room to comfort one of people involved in the quarrel. There’s a little group hug. Happy, happy. Does he go back and have dinner? Who knows? That doesn’t seem to have any bearing in the story.
It wasn’t until episode five that my eating disorder detectors awakened. At breakfast on Day 2 in Paris, with more skipping and hugging and laughing on the itinerary, Charlie says he isn’t hungry. It’s possible he’s upset from being teased over a hickey—how’s that for a high school plot point? (This is a far cry from HBO’s “Euphoria.”) Charlie’s not feeling well. And then, later:
Charlie faints.
That’ll happen when someone doesn’t feel well and/or doesn’t eat enough. If this were a teen vampire show, it could even be the result of that hickey. Proving to be a thoughtful boyfriend, dear Nick had wrapped up and carried around the croissant Charlie didn’t eat at breakfast. I’d figured this teensy storyline was an queer adolescent version of saving the damsel in distress. No dragon or evil knight to fight; just hunger pangs sated with a stashed French pastry. Très romantique!
But then “Heartstopper” goes for it. Nick expresses concern about Charlie: “I want to understand.”
Charlie, bless him, opens up. “I know I don’t eat like normal people. Some days I’m fine but…other days I feel like I need to…control it. I used to do it a lot last year when everything at school was really bad. Sometimes it feels like the only thing I can control in my life.”
Charlie takes a small bite of the treasured croissant. “It’s a bit dry.” A joke for levity. Back to touring the museum. A playful tumble. An admonishment. Time to flee. Boy chases boy. Apparently, the fainting spell has passed. A wee bite of the underwhelming croissant energizes.
I’m the one wanting more.
The momentousness of the scene is not lost on me. My obsession with weight began at ten. Anorexia set in at seventeen, roughly Charlie’s age. That’s the onset for many guys—when there’s that push to coax a bicep out of some dumbbell curls, when the dream begins to get a six-pack from a hundred sit-ups. Or a thousand. There are guys who are genetically gifted with tonier body frames. They become the standard. Along with the Brad Pitts du jour, gracing magazine covers and posting shirtless selfies across social media. It’s the look to strive for. It’s what elicits a hundred likes per post. Or a thousand.
Come on, “Heartstopper.” Charlie’s character has the potential of offer something more than, It’s okay to be gay. Charlie shows there’s still a struggle in coming out, there’s still bullying and sometimes it breeds a sense of chaos a young person can neither calm nor control. The Croissant Incident is a welcome start but, when you scratch the surface of a serious subject, there’s an obligation to go deeper…even in “Heartstopper” happyland where animated flowers and butterflies flutter across the screen and where problems last no longer than a zit.
I went to bed bothered. The show hadn’t even given Charlie’s condition a label. Some labels matter. Some labels are the first step to understanding differences and, in this case, getting help.
The subject didn’t come up in the next episode. I still loved “Heartstopper,” even if I felt a tad heartbroken. Opportunity knocked, then ran away.
It’s hard to fit Big Topics into a feel-good show and the second season may have overpacked for its journey, epic Parisian field trip and all. The story arc for the season centers on Nick coming out, a gradual process of telling one person, then another, with hesitation and stumbles along the way. There’s also an absent father, a lesbian struggling with the word love (and vague issues on the home front), a boy discovering he’s asexual/aromantic, another boy crushing on a trans girl, an older sibling returning home to resume being a jerk, a harsh ex seeking forgiveness and two teachers as clumsy with their feelings as the teens. How the heck can “Heartstopper” adequately portray a guy’s eating disorder?
With only two minutes left in the seventh episode, Nick’s mother puts the subject back on the radar while cleaning up after an eventful dinner involving the two boys’ families: “Charlie didn’t eat very much.” Yay, mom. Adults in these shows aren’t supposed to solve things, but it’s enough to prompt Nick to search “eating disorders” on his phone.
I cheered aloud.
I conjured up my own visions of flowers and butterflies.
It took nearly four decades for me to be diagnosed and I’ve made little to no progress since then. I felt hope for Charlie, this fictional teen with whom I suddenly felt very connected. Chances are many young queer viewers did, too. That’s me. I’m like Charlie. Early diagnosis and intervention can result in a better prognosis.
And just like “Heartstopper” seems to always do, it segued into a perfect song for the moment, “Blush” by Wolf Alice, with the opening:
Curse the things
That made me sad for so long.
Yeah, it hurts to think that
They can still go on.
The final episode of the season is called “Perfect.” Indeed, it’s the perfect title, capturing how hard “Heartstopper” tries to be in capturing happiness, the good people triumphing over the bullies, love winning despite any and all obstacles thrown its way.
But there’s a darker side to “perfect” when it involves eating disorders. And, hallelujah, it appears “Heartstopper” is game to go there.
As they’re together in Nick’s bedroom, Nick says, “Is everything fine? I know you like everything to be fine and happy and perfect all the time, but you don’t have to be perfect with me. Charlie, we said we’d tell each other things. After you told me about your…eating thing…”
Eating thing. Nick is treading lightly. It’s understandable. Charlie’s never outed his disorder and people with eating disorders get defensive. They deny the problem, often heatedly, to make the intrusive person back down. It can be quite effective.
Charlie, however, neither denies nor takes on a label. Rather than admit to an eating disorder, he reveals he was a cutter in the past. Is this a mental health distraction, bringing up something he no longer does? “I just don’t want you to annoy you or burden you. I don’t want to think I’m some fragile, broken mess…and need to fix me.”
Nick asks Charlie to promise to tell him “if things get really bad again.” It’s a typical response. It’s what Nick needs to hear. It helps Nick feel reassured.
That kind of promise is rarely kept when it’s made by someone with an eating disorder. The behaviors associated with eating disorders are done in secret. The person covers up his habits and, in so doing, masks his pain, his conflicts, his imperfections. Indeed, everything must be fine, if not perfect. Or appear as such. This entire way of being is well-learned, well-practiced by the time it’s ever revealed. It’s entrenched.
It will be interesting to see if and how Charlie’s eating disorder plays out in the third season. It feels weird to be excited about the possibilities. I immediately think that many viewers would consider the continued storyline to be a downer. Can we please just let Charlie be happy? And that’s precisely how a person with an eating disorder views the world, thinking that being happy and “together” and, yes, perfect is the only way he’s allowed to be seen.
“Heartstopper” has been bold and bright in putting queer characters on screen—lesbian, gay, bi, trans, ace. Queer people continue to report a higher incidence of mental health struggles. May the show add more flesh to the eating disorder arc. Let Charlie open up. Show his struggles and, in the end, do what “Heartstopper” does so well: offer hope.
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