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It made me want to whisper obscene gossip, pop Champagne, and run giddily through a hedge maze.
Jane Austen was literature; these were chintzy, mortifying knockoffs.
RhimessBridgertonseries has everything I was looking for back then.
(Mostly comings.)
It was the shock of cracking open a Faberge egg and finding it full of bodily fluids and betrayal.
Quinn and other Regency-romance novelists filled that world of politeness with the demands of lustful bodies.
The bodies were nearly all white.
The lust was universally straight.
Onscreen,Bridgertoncracks the Regency fantasy open a little wider.
Daphne Bridgerton, who is white, hates and then longs for the duke of Hastings, whos Black.
You could easily see this as dismissive hand-waving.
At a time when Im longing to escape the real world, few fantasies are more inviting.
