Why Are the Women on The White Lotus So Disliked?

Being likable isn’t the same as being real—but women are taught to confuse the two

In the past couple of weeks, a few people I’ve talked to said the characters they disliked most on The White Lotus were the three women (referred to in the media as “the blond blob” or “the toxic trio”). I’ve also heard a few podcasts call them the worst—or most unlikeable—characters on the show: petty, difficult, backstabby. The three were actually inspired by real women Mike White observed — women who acted like friends but immediately talked behind each other’s backs the moment one of them left. So yes, they’re based on women who perform connection while avoiding any real vulnerability.

But still, they’re the ones we dislike the most?

In a show full of characters who have killed, stolen, lied, manipulated, threatened others — and even crossed sexual boundaries with their own family members — it’s the women — flawed, insecure, and passive-aggressive — who disgust us the most?

It feels like a hot take, and to me, it points to a deeper pattern: when we turn to our escapist shows, we seem to be more comfortable—or at least more used to and accepting of—a man who commits murder than a woman who gossips or masks her insecurity with passive aggression.

We’ll root for a guy with a God complex, but we can’t stand a woman with a fragile ego. We expect women to behave—to be soft and supportive. And when they crave validation while pretending not to care, shift alliances based on power, or judge others for chasing the same status they secretly want, we find them unbearable.

When male characters do the same things, we call them complicated—and we explore their depth. We give them backstories, nuance, and all the space in the world to be understood. Think Tony Soprano, Walter White, Don Draper, or any of the Roy sons. We study them. We find them fascinating.

But when women show similar patterns, they’re labeled “the worst.” Skyler White from Breaking Bad gets dragged for “nagging” and getting in Walter’s way, even though she’s the only one grounded in reality. Betty Draper from Mad Men gets dismissed as cold and selfish, even though she’s trapped by suffocating expectations and isolated in her own home. And Shiv Roy—smart and ambitious—is judged more harshly than any of her brothers for playing the exact same game.

We may feel something similar when watching The White Lotus. The show gives us a look at what happens when female friendships run on history—when connection is shaped by unspoken rules and mutual convenience. It’s not real closeness, but familiarity and expectation. A dynamic built on roles rather than genuine intimacy.

It’s not that these women don’t care about each other. In many ways, they do. But they’re struggling because they’ve forgotten how to show up as themselves inside the friendship.

They’re pretending—protecting an image, holding onto who they think they’re supposed to be, and avoiding the painful work of checking the situation by looking inward. That kind of pretending isn’t just personal—it’s cultural. They’ve been taught to smile when they’re hurting, to cheer on their friends while quietly feeling left out. They’ve been taught—or trained—to be likable at all costs, even if it means disappearing themselves.

Women are conditioned to perform—relationally, socially, emotionally. To be pleasing, to be chosen, to not be “too much.” And in that process, we learn to hide parts of ourselves. We learn to perform normalcy, to show up with a smile and say, “I’m fine!”—even when we’re not.

For many women, all of this is a survival strategy.

So many women—everywhere—are doing the work to unlearn this performative role. I can say this as a therapist, because I’ve worked with so many of them. We’re actively unraveling the conditioning that told us being agreeable was the same as being kind. We’re in therapy, book clubs, group chats—peeling back the false layers we’ve carried for most of our lives.

My book, Restoring Our Girls, is about starting this conversation early—with teen girls and young women—so they can begin questioning society’s script before it gets too embedded. It’s about helping them choose authenticity over performance, so there’s less to unlearn later.

Because what we’re seeing on the show isn’t something natural or innate about women—it’s something that was taught. Women are taught to be “good” and agreeable because it makes other people’s lives—especially men’s—a lot easier. So when we criticize these women, we’re criticizing the performance they were trained to give.

And I’ll be real: when I write, I definitely think about how to upset fewer people—how to create less conflict and more space for someone to actually hear what I’m trying to say and what’s most important. I try to make sure everyone feels seen and considered. I work hard to be myself and stay in my integrity, but also to be careful.

Because as a woman writing about uncomfortable truths, I’ve been taught culturally and through plenty of experience that if I don’t soften my words, I will be labeled harsh, difficult, or too much. And underneath that is the fear of being dismissed—or somehow prevented from sharing at all.

Again, it’s a survival strategy.

The women on The White Lotus are a heightened version of a familiar dynamic. They’re performing, downplaying, avoiding, adapting—trying to be good, trying to be careful, trying not to offend. And yes, they’re missing the humility and grounded integrity. They’re also missing the self-awareness and clarity it takes to make new choices.

At least for now, they are. There’s always the possibility that they’ll begin to recognize what they are doing through the experience they’re in. Maybe they are in the middle of some kind of evolution - or maybe not. This is The White Lotus, after all—redemption isn’t guaranteed.

Maybe, at the very least, we can understand why they’re doing what they’re doing—and where it came from. We don’t have to excuse their behavior, but we can start to see the full picture: the cultural conditioning, the survival strategies. Ourselves.

If not, then we stay oblivious, and we allow people to point and say, “See? That’s what women are like. Aren’t they the worst?”

No, they aren’t the worst. They’re stuck in an old, expected pattern—a pattern most women, at some point in their lives, begin to notice and try their best to break out of. But society doesn’t like it when women break out, either. When they have real things to say, when they speak up about what they need or how they’ve been hurt, or when they imagine something better and push for change—that makes people uncomfortable, too. And so it goes.

We still have a few more episodes to go, so who knows—maybe one of these women will end up pulling the trigger, dying, or getting tangled in someone else’s mess. The White Lotus is always full of twists.

But I hope at least one of them starts to see her performance for what it is—and lets it fall apart. Because as messy as that might be, it’s the first step toward something honest. And maybe that’s the real twist: the woman who lets go of being liked and chooses to be free.