Let’s get something straight — if you’re watching The White Lotus for the scenery, the murder mystery, or the rich people being rich — you’re missing the point. You will enjoy WL if:

You enjoy intellectual depth with dark humor: You’re not into surface-level entertainment. You like shows that make you think, even squirm a little — that call out hypocrisy with a smirk. The White Lotus does exactly that.

You’re observant and psychologically tuned in: The show doesn’t spoon-feed you. It rewards those who notice micro-expressions, loaded silences, and passive-aggressive comments. You live for that kind of subtext.

You appreciate irony, ambiguity, and flawed characters: You’re not interested in tidy resolutions or perfect heroes. You understand that people are messy — and you find beauty (and humor) in that mess.

You’re reflective about class, identity, and social roles: Whether consciously or not, the show makes you reflect on power dynamics, privilege, and the absurdity of modern life — topics you naturally gravitate toward.

The soul of Season 1 isn’t on the beach or in the suites. It’s behind the reception desk, gritting his teeth through a smile. His name is Armond.

Armond isn’t just a character. He’s a slow-motion car crash of repressed rage, performative cheer, and pent-up chaos. And I loved every second of his descent.

He is the ultimate tragicomic figure — a man who has mastered the art of hospitality while quietly resenting every guest he serves. His life is a performance, and the role is killing him. You watch as he tries to hold it together with charm, pills, and passive aggression… until something in him snaps — and what emerges is part opera, part disaster, and all catharsis.

Why do I love him? Because Armond sees it all — the hypocrisy, the entitlement, the games people play — and he tries, foolishly and beautifully, to play along. Until he doesn’t. His downfall is hilarious and devastating. You can’t root for him, but you can’t look away either.

He’s a mirror for anyone who’s ever smiled through gritted teeth, maintained composure while screaming inside, or felt like the only sane person in an insane system.

Armond is the hotel manager, the host, the jester, and the final punchline.
And in the theatre of quiet desperation disguised as luxury, he is the one who dares to fall loudly.

That’s my kind of character.