In the latest Episode of industry — HBO's drama that follows the often unbalanced, sometimes sinister, and always entertaining adventures of young financiers in the London offices of fictional American bank Pierpoint & Co. — where wealthy bankers have swapped their work clothes for costumes, in the name of raising money for children in need.
Chic kid Jasmine Cara Hanani (Marisa Abela) – whose publishing mogul father has suddenly disappeared, prompting tabloid paparazzi to track her every move – dons a wig and Harvard jacket to show off her best ’90s Princess Diana. Rishi Ramdani (Sagar Radia), a gruff slob whose workplace antics are still in the past, dresses up as Sacha Baron Cohen’s satirical character Ali G. Brave newbie Sweetpea Golightly (Miriam Peachey) – yes, that’s her name – embodies Geri Halliwell’s “Ginger Spice” in a red wig and Union Jack dress. And Eric Tao (Ken Leung), the increasingly erratic and ruthless team leader, is Henry VIII. Imagine that.
Each of these costumes is an indirect reference to the current status of these characters in industry UK. It’s a show that’s ostensibly about money – making money, to be precise. But really, it’s about where you stand in the pecking order – and for the British characters, that’s down to the UK’s brutal social class system, where it’s not just about having money, it’s about having the right to live. compassionate of (old) money and being right type From the person (elegant). industry This book is a series of subtle innuendos (and microaggressions) that explain how characters are either cursed or blessed by their proximity to the British elite. Don't let the financial jargon fool you: class is Industry This series forms a central tension and a common language. It is a gateway to understanding the series – and modern British life – on a completely different level.
Notably absent from Pierpoint’s Fashion Day is Robert Sperling (Harry Lottie), who instead chooses to wear a tie to an important meeting before a British government select committee. The charge is that Lumi—a green energy startup whose finances were (badly) managed by Pierpoint—has gone bankrupt, costing British taxpayers billions of dollars. Rob has been assigned to be a glorified babysitter for Lumi’s arrogant and stylish CEO, Henry Mook (Kit Harington), and Pierpoint has now offered him a position as its representative.
Shortly after the hearing began, an opposition politician began to ask Robb angry questions. The politicians quickly realised that Robb was not just an actor – he was a scapegoat. “A Lummi employee described you in a statement as ‘Sir Henry’s scapegoat’,” the committee member said. “I can tell you are Pierpoint’s scapegoat.”
From the first season of industryClass anxiety is central to Rob’s character. Having arrived at Pierpoint from working-class rural Wales via prestigious Oxford University, Rob initially believed the company would be meritocratic. But he gradually came to realize that he would never be the right fit for them. Instead, he found refuge in a variety of mentors, such as Nicole Craig, a sassy client from a similar background who he began sleeping with. In the opening episode of season three, he and Nicole sit together after sex. Rob tells her that he doesn’t need “CEO Henry Mok” to tell him “well done.” She laughs, “Yeah, that’s all you want! Validation from your superiors. We’re all just pieces in a hierarchy.”
Tensions between Rob and Henry have been building throughout the season. In the first episode, the pair get into a weird gay fight in the “adult soft play” area of Lumi’s millennial-inhabited office. Henry then gets in Rob’s face and says, “Why don’t you just call me a classy slut and get it over with? Two words instead of 30. It’ll be easier for you. Go ahead, say it. I bet that gives a guy like you a real thrill.”
Rob’s social class connotations are carefully considered. At one point, Nicole mocks a silver necklace his girlfriend has given him. “You look like a clubber from Zante,” she says. (Zante is a budget holiday destination in Greece, a jab that would embarrass any working-class person trying to rebrand themselves.) In episode five, after the parliamentary questioning, Henry jokes that Rob “looks like a TM Lewin worker,” referring to a UK brand of formalwear that the truly wealthy would never wear. Henry also tells Rob that he’s “amazed” that Rob is such a bad ass. “Isn’t that what the Oxford education system is supposed to teach us?” (British translation: We may have gone to the same university, but we’re clearly not from the same world.) In these moments we learn that Rob’s insecurities aren’t all in his head; those around him see his status as a weakness, too.
Rob wasn’t the only one who felt like he’d never fit in. Until this season, we hadn’t learned much about Rishi, the lovable, outspoken misogynist. But this season, he got his own episode, “White Mischief.” Here, Rishi moved his wife and young son to a wealthy village in Somerset, the rural county in southwest England where she grew up.
In his entourage of his wife’s posh family and friends, there is a clear racist undercurrent to the fact that Rishi feels unwelcome there. This is intertwined with classism: around a campfire, he is asked about the prime minister’s upcoming mini-budget, which is rumored to cut taxes on the highest earners. “If he announces half of the things they’re proposing tomorrow, we’ll have a few good years,” he says. “Well, at least people like me will be better off.” we “Anyway.” The comment is followed by an awkward silence, the implication being that the group doesn’t consider him like one of their own at all.
Abella enjoys Jasmine's luxurious life on the yacht
Nick Strasburg/HBO
Later in the episode, Rishi's wife jokes that if he were left to it, his house would be decorated in “Santorini white” and “silver Christmas decorations” – an insult to his ideas of taste that leaves him visibly embarrassed. The couple end up having a huge argument, with her saying she feels she is being used as a vehicle to explore his upper-class fantasies. “You love a damn English country rose! I don't want to be someone's country wife,” she says, “a boring, self-motivated breeding machine.” Once again, class is placed at the center of Rishi's character: his marriage, his place of residence, his ambitions. This opens up a more complex and vulnerable side of him.
If Rob and Rishi have been working hard to be accepted by the elite, Jasmine has taken the opposite path. Up until this point, she has been living a comfortable life as an heiress to her father's publishing fortune. But at the beginning of Season 3, her father disappears amid an embezzlement scandal. Jasmine's last title, which allowed her to float through life, is instantly toxic. Now, she must work to earn her place at the top of the ladder.
Jasmine seems to find solace in men like Henry, who are like her father—rich, corrupt, and weak-willed. At the Special Committee hearing, Henry is accused of sexual misconduct. When Jasmine later accuses him of “abuse of power,” Henry replies, “Everything is abuse of power to me! I can’t help but have sex with him.”
Jasmine and Henry seem equally miserable about their position in the ruling class, but they are determined to stay there anyway. They are both haunted by the shadows of the father figures who let them down and convinced them to give up. In the second episode, over dinner, Henry tells Jasmine something his father used to say to him before he committed suicide: “When you’re born with a silver spoon in your mouth, people assume you’re an idiot.” This is the thing about Jasmine and Henry: they seem like an odd couple, until you realize that, in each other, they see the potential to prove their parents wrong—and show everyone that they belong at the top.
monitoring industryIt’s easy to get distracted by the private jets, the endless cocaine queues, and all the gay sex. But we learn more from the little details. In fact, much of the show’s class commentary goes unmentioned, such as later in the series, when we’re shown a photo of Yasmine’s father from his time as part of the Bullington Club – the infamous men-only club at Oxford University, to which real-life prime ministers Boris Johnson and David Cameron belonged. (The stories of club members are endless, from showing up at restaurants in tuxedos and completely smashing them, to burning £50 notes in front of homeless people.) It’s a small, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment that tells us everything we need to know about Yasmine’s father. He’s not just a bad guy, he’s a rotten person.
In this week’s episode, at the Select Committee hearing, Rob is dramatically saved from being made a scapegoat for the Lomé disaster when Energy Minister Oroor Adekunle shows up. The rising Tory star takes responsibility and resigns. Then, as a mark of respect for putting himself in the line of fire, Henry invites Rob to a private members’ club to meet some of his “friends”. Rob finds himself in the room with Henry’s wealthy uncle Alexander – who owns several newspapers, including Daily Mail and The sunwho are among the most influential in the British establishment – and his godfather Otto, a shady billionaire who seems to enjoy pulling the strings at the highest levels of business and politics.
Suddenly, the supposedly disgraced Adekunle arrives at the club. She is offered a glass of champagne and declared “our future prime minister.” It turns out that the whole thing was a quid pro quo, in exchange for helping her advance her political career. Rob is both disturbed and bewildered by the way these people somehow profit from the scandal—in this case, the scandal that pushed him, a person he viewed as “expendable,” over the edge. He sees How the ruling class operates with impunity, where everything is a game.
At the end of episode five, a delighted Henry proposes a toast: “To friends old—” he says, before looking deliberately at Robb, “—and new.” In other words, the “whip boy” has moved up the pecking order, if only for a brief moment. Robb has finally been accepted into their circle—but his eyes have also been opened.
The presence of Henry Mock – a man of both repulsive and attractive stature – in industry-The verse seems to be a way for Jasmine and Rob to see what is important to them, and what they must do to achieve their ambitions. Which is why watching this show through the prism of their fallout or the volatile financial markets is a bit like watching sports without commentary. For the British characters, class is He is Commentary is the thing that helps us more than anything else understand their choices and behavior. The show, co-creators Mickey Down and Conrad Kay, is nowhere near a blatant attack on the rich. salt burn, But that's what makes it so effective. When it comes to capturing the specific brutality of how the class system permeates British society, industry It is in a class of its own.
