These seemingly perfect women, and their seemingly perfect lives.
Critical blasphemy, I know. But that’s the thing about Big Little Lies: It scratches a guilty little itch, allowing you to peer into the fabulous oceanside mansions of its wealthy protagonists.
You rifle through their underwear drawers, snoop through their phones, take a peek into their fridges.
It’s a thrill to find the ugliness buried under the costly beauty of this place.