I keep telling myself that I’m going to start watching more uplifting, feel-good shows and movies, but somehow, always end up gravitating toward stories with layered characters perfect for case studies in a psychology class. There’s something compelling about the complexities of human nature, trauma, and power dynamics. Netflix’s latest limited series, Sirens, is no exception. It’s outstanding. I don’t remember the last time I was so captivated by a show that I didn’t feel the urge to reach for my iPhone to scroll through TikTok.
Sirens held my attention from start to finish.
In an era obsessed with wealth and power, Sirens is the show we needed the most — a reminder of our society’s morally depravity. Siren is a haunting reflection of our time, when billionaires are treated like saviors, role models, and heroes while poor people who are fighting for justice are being silenced, ridiculed, and punished.
What initially drew me in wasn’t that it was trending at #1 on Netflix. It was the heart of the story: two sisters navigating trauma, loyalty, and survival. As someone very close to my own older sister, the show immediately struck a personal chord. Devon and Simone DeWitt (played by Meghann Fahy and Milly Alcock) are sisters from Buffalo, New York, and at the center of Sirens—a story about family ties, messy history, and all the dysfunction that comes with it.
Devon, the older sister, was a teenager when their mother died by suicide. Their alcoholic father couldn’t care for them, so Simone was placed in foster care. Devon eventually drops out of high school and works multiple jobs to support her younger sister, eventually helping her get into Yale.
Their relationship is challenging. The pain of abandonment permeates every choice they make. Simone, having survived a traumatic childhood, is drawn to people who make her feel safe, and that’s how she ends up under the influence of Michaela Kell, played brilliantly by Julianne Moore.
Michaela, a former lawyer who married a billionaire, now devotes herself to philanthropy—the kind that involves rescuing rare exotic birds and holding intimate funerals with thirty guests when one tragically dies after flying into a window in the middle of the night. Michaela is calm, soft and compassionate—a woman who effortlessly exudes wealth and privilege. Claiming to be from the Bay Area, but Michaela is actually from Fresno, California. (Funny side note: I lived in Fresno for a year after COVID. It’s probably the strangest place I’ve ever been—conservative, crime-ridden, poor, and agricultural. Knowing that Michaela is from Fresno makes perfect sense. The place is full weirdos. When you see the last episode it will make sense).
Michaela is the show’s “siren.” She has a supernatural manipulative ability to make broken people feel safe. She sees Simone’s pain and talent and offers her everything she’s ever wanted: a dream job, luxurious clothing tailored to her taste, and most importantly, stability. In Michaela’s world, Simone is finally seen, valued, and protected. For someone who fought tooth and nail to escape her past, Michaela represents salvation. Simone found her savior. But this salvation comes with a price.
Simone becomes so deeply loyal to Michaela that Devon fears her little sister has joined a cult. Devon tries to “rescue” her sister from Michaela’s isolated, privileged world—but fails to realize something crucial: Simone doesn’t want to be reminded of where she came from. She worked too hard to escape the generational dysfunction of their past. In Michaela’s world, she found purpose. She is living out her fantasy life.
Devon, the older sister, is left behind. She now cares for their father, who has dementia, while struggling with staying sober, sexual promiscuity, two DUIs, and an affair with her married boss, who owns a falafel sandwich shop. Devon is a walking mess with a heart of gold.
After a heated argument where Devon is trying to convince her little sister to leave her job. She reminds her that she wouldn’t be where she is without her. Simone finally bursts out in anger and shouts, “I’m alive because of me. I’m alive despite you.” And Devon, in a moment of bitter clarity, responds:
“I’ve spent my entire life taking care of you. If you don’t need my help, good f***ing luck.”
It’s a gut punch—but it’s also the moment Devon realizes that her sister no longer needs saving.
Sirens is more than a drama about two sisters. It’s a modern parable about power, class, and emotional manipulation. The billionaire couple in the show appear generous and grounded, just like us, we’re meant to think, but they’re not. They live in an entirely different reality. Wealth distorts empathy. People who have everything often lose the ability to care about those who have nothing—unless they see a way to use you for their own benefit. The ultra rich often save people from poverty to create loyal slaves for life. That’s what makes this show feel so relevant right now.
In an age of billionaire worship, where we idolize tech moguls, hedge fund managers, celebrities, and CEOs as geniuses or saviors, Sirens dares to ask: What if the people we admire most are quietly destroying us? What if their kindness is calculated? What if their “salvation” is just another form of control? The show also underscores how trauma shapes loyalty. People who’ve been deeply hurt will often cling to those who offer stability, even if it comes at the cost of their moral compass. When someone gives you everything you’ve ever wanted, especially after a lifetime of having nothing, it’s hard to say no, even when you know you should. You silence your conscience. You justify the compromises.
That’s the power of a siren. She gives you everything you crave, then traps you in a golden cage. The only escape is choosing integrity over comfort, no matter how painful that choice may be. Sirens is a beautifully constructed psychological thriller wrapped in the glitter of luxury and emotional manipulation. It challenges us to examine the cost of being rescued—and who benefits from our gratitude. In a time when billionaires are celebrated as visionaries and saviors, the show forces us to ask: Are we being led, or are we being lured?
Because that’s what sirens do. They sing to your wounds. They make you feel seen, safe, and chosen. But their world is not built to free you—it’s built to keep you. And the only way out is to choose truth, even when it costs everything you’ve been given.
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Fariza 