Image: Netflix
Over Christmas, audiences around the world went wild for Bridgerton, Shondaland s giddy new period drama based on Julia Quinn s book series of the same name. The Regency romp follows the exploits of the aristocracy during the London social season, which are exposed by an anonymous and seemingly omniscient scandal sheet writer voiced by Julie Andrews.
The show s flagrant disregard for historical accuracy is all part of the fun the camp one-liners, the refreshingly diverse cast, the string quartet Taylor Swift cover that accompanies one very protracted sex scene montage. But there s one aspect of Bridgerton that really tests our suspension of disbelief its depiction of early 19th century London.
The aquarium-style swimming pool installed floating ten storeys above ground in Vauxhall is just one indication that the huge area of industrial land beside the Thames is on the up. We have yet to hear Joe Biden's assessment of Nine Elms we expect it with bated breath some time after today's inauguration but we know full well that his predecessor Donald Trump was not a
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Bridgerton was the identity of the anonymous gossip who spilled the ton’s tea in a widely circulated leaflet, Lady Whistledown. But personally, I didn’t care all that much about who she was. What I wanted to know was: What’s her business model? Are we talking Substack, metered paywall, membership program, sponcon, data mining, what?
In early episodes of the show, the pamphlet was distributed, seemingly for free, by a newsboy. But as someone who works for, if I may, what could be considered a modern version of this sort of operation, I’m here to tell you: You can’t just give away that shit for free. Well, you kind of can, or could once upon a time, if you run ads. But there was not an ad to be seen in Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, and we all know the lady would be far too scrupulous to sneak in any undisclosed sponsored content.