As someone who still considers *Pride and Prejudice* (2005) a favorite feel-good movie, I eagerly binged both seasons of Netflix’s *Bridgerton*. The show offers the lush romance and period drama lovers of Jane Austen’s England adore but with a crucial twist: a refreshingly diverse cast. Notably, *Bridgerton* avoids anchoring its BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and people of color) characters in historically accurate narratives of oppression—and that’s a good thing.

Kate Sharma: A New Kind of Period Drama Protagonist

In Season 2 of *Bridgerton*, British Indian actress Simone Ashley portrays Kate Sharma, a dark-skinned South Asian woman who arrives in Regency-era England seeking a suitable marriage match for her sister, Edwina (Charithra Chandran). Kate’s journey intersects with Viscount Anthony Bridgerton’s (Jonathan Bailey) journey, resulting in a complex and moving romance.

Kate is a groundbreaking character: a strong, dark-skinned immigrant woman navigating a predominantly White world. Instead of being defined by historical racism, her narrative centers on pleasure, happiness, and love. For viewers like me, a Southeast Asian woman, Kate’s story is deeply resonant. Watching her suppress her desires for the sake of familial duty while embracing joy and self-worth later feels intimately familiar—especially for first- and second-generation immigrants balancing cultural expectations and personal fulfillment.

A Scene That Resonates

One decisive moment in Episode 8 depicts Kate preparing to return to India rather than attending a grand ball. Her mother, Mary, approaches her, concerned about her decision. Kate tearfully explains her sense of indebtedness to her family. Mary responds, “You never had to earn your place in this family. Love is not something owed. You deserve all the love in the world.” This conversation reflects an emotional truth many children of immigrants long for—the assurance that love is unconditional.

The Challenges of Representation in Period Drama

While *Bridgerton* succeeds in offering a joyful portrayal of BIPOC characters, it has drawn criticism for sidestepping the realities of racial oppression. In *The Nation*, Gary Younge argues that the show creates a void in which racial identity becomes irrelevant: “It suggests that characters can either be themselves or have a racial identity—but not both.”

The show’s executive producer, Shonda Rhimes, de-emphasizes racial differences while introducing subtle nods. For example, in Season 1, a conversation occurs about King George III’s biracial marriage to Queen Charlotte, which united “two separate societies divided by color.” Critics like Younge note that this point is never revisited, highlighting the tension between colorblind storytelling and acknowledging historical realities.

Reimagining Period Drama

While historical accuracy is often emphasized, it need not always mean centering oppression. Mediums like film and television allow us to imagine worlds that do not yet exist—worlds where BIPOC are thriving, not merely surviving. Cathy Park Hong writes in *Minor Feelings*, “Patiently educating a clueless white person about race is draining… [b]ecause it’s more than a chat about race. It’s ontological. It’s like explaining to a person why you exist.”

This expectation unfairly burdens BIPOC creators and stories, demanding historical rigor that White-centered narratives rarely face. As Bayo Akomolafe argues in *These Wilds Beyond Our Fences*, framing representation solely through the lens of opposition to Whiteness reduces the richness of BIPOC experiences.

Moving Beyond Hollywood for Education

The demand for racially nuanced storytelling in entertainment reflects the failures of educational systems. In Germany, students study the horrors of the Holocaust, whereas in the U.S., 36 states have restricted the teaching of critical race theory. If education systems adequately addressed history, we wouldn’t depend on Hollywood for lessons on racism.

Centering Joy in BIPOC Narratives

Films like Steve McQueen’s 12 Years an Enslaved Person and Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari offer vital, historically grounded stories but often leave little room for joy. In contrast, Bridgerton and documentaries like Las Flores de la Noche focus on joy and community among marginalized groups, reframing how BIPOC lives can be depicted.

As Hooks, Audre Lorde, and Adrienne Maree Brown emphasize, choosing joy is an act of resistance. As Hooks writes in All About Love, “When we choose to love, we move against fear—against alienation and separation. The choice to love is to connect—to find ourselves in the other.”

Conclusion: Joy as Representation

It is no longer enough to see BIPOC merely surviving oppression onscreen. *Bridgerton* fills a gap by portraying characters like Kate Sharma as symbols of love and joy. Seeing her thrive in a world of beauty and romance reminds us that we belong and deserve happiness. Representation should include not only stories of struggle but also visions of a better world—one we can collectively build.