It was tragic, really. Sex Education spent two seasons bringing together Adam and Eric, the series’ iconic slow-burn power couple, only to suddenly break them up before they had even begun. The massive stanbase was furiously grieving — how could Eric reject his abuser-turned-lover just because an epiphanous trip to Nigeria left him craving more? I am here to tell you: it’s okay. More than that, the break-up is the best thing that could’ve happened for everyone.
To preface this, I want to say how much I adore Adam. The bully-turned-queer trope is largely overplayed, but Adam’s character arc had depth and nuance to compensate for this. Sex Education does an incredible job at balancing his red flags (of which there are plenty) by giving him a unique charm that is impossible to resist. Rarely have I related more to a character than when Adam succumbed to the intrusive thought of sticking product labels to his entire face, or when he blew everyone’s mind with his hot take on the Kardashians. His love and talent with dogs, especially with his crusty white dog Madam, will forever melt my heart. Conor Swindells’ performance is silent but deadly and has brought me tears of joy and sadness more than once. Still, what I’m about to say might sting a bit.
Adam and Eric’s relationship was always centred around White dominance and overrepresentation.
Although Sex Education never painted Adam as being openly racist, there’s still something off about the White principal’s son picking on the only Black gay kid in school. Later in the show, when the two are together as a couple, Adam’s take on Eric’s visit to Nigeria is well-intentioned at best, or depressingly tone-deaf at worst. A White Brit trying to convince a second-generation immigrant not to visit his family overseas because of perceived danger; that’s a no from me. Citing safety as a reason to police someone’s self-expression; that’s another no from me whilst also being a slippery slope into victim-blaming.
I’m not criticising the writers here, as all this feels perfectly in scope for Adam’s character. If anything, the writing expertly showcases the unreconcilable rift between the two. As a feminine gay Black immigrant, Eric’s identity is complex, but the show does a great job at portraying the pride as well as the hardships that come with an intersectionally marginalised identity like his. There’s an unshakable intimacy and confidence in the way that Eric expresses himself. Compared to this, Adam’s understanding of sexuality and race is very underwhelming.
Throughout Season Two, Eric puts in emotional work to help Adam understand himself. One line really stuck with me here. Eric pours his heart out and tells Adam: “You’re full of shame, man, and I can’t be in that place anymore”. Adam’s reply is achingly egocentric: “I’m scared. And I think I’m bisexual.” It’s quite telling how many ‘I’s you can find in his answer. Adam is so caught up in trying to understand himself that he has no space to listen or empathise with Eric. As much as I am here for Adam’s baby queer storyline, Eric deserves so much more.
With his omnipresent struggles, Adam overpowers and silences Eric’s voice. There’s a reason why Season Two lacks a storyline that doesn’t have Eric as someone’s love interest; he’s busy fostering Adam’s metamorphosis from a repressed bully into the lovable bi icon we now know. While I loved watching this, it wasn’t worth the sacrifice of Eric’s individual development. This is what I mean by White dominance: Eric had to put exploring his queer Black identity on hold because Adam needed him to be a queer mentor.
Before I watched Season Three, I was worried the show didn’t share my sentiment and would trap Eric in this supporting role to allow everyone’s favourite ship to reach safe haven. The Nigeria storyline then exceeded my expectations in the best of ways (which sadly seems to be quite the unpopular opinion).
Before heading south in the second half of the season, Eric plays mentor for a few more episodes but this time in an actual relationship so at least he gets some love and affection as a reward for his efforts. Let it be known, I cherished these episodes so much. Seeing Adam and Eric be happy together was all my weak little heart needed. When the show then separated the two, first geographically and then romantically, my brain was satisfied, too.
Eric comes to Nigeria not expecting much. Heteronormativity is as abundant as expected and we see him struggling to just shrug it off. Then, he meets wedding photographer Oba and, within no time at all, the two are flirting and Oba invites him to see ‘the rest of Lagos’. Eric considers his mum’s and Adam’s safety warning for a bit, but his curiosity wins.
The two leave the wedding and seemingly bid adieu to straight people for the night. The following taxi ride sees Eric bring his best ‘no cishets allowed’-attitude, but Oba quickly stares him silent. Only at the destination and out of sight of the uber-hetero Uber driver may Eric bring out the gay. The following underground rave is more than Eric could’ve ever imagined, with people of all genders and sexualities welcoming him and inviting him to share this incredibly free and intimate space. Overjoyed and filled with a sense of homecoming, he falls into a deep kiss with Oba. Sex Education presents a masterly balanced image of what it means to be queer in Nigeria: dangers and marginalisation are very real, but so is a thriving underground community far beyond Western understandings of queerness.
Eric returns from Nigeria a changed man. He’s inspired and shares his newfound hunger to get out there with Adam. Adam immediately slams on the brakes and expresses his discomfort, but Eric has run out of patience. He torpedoes his relationship by telling Adam about the kiss and after some discussions and the odd tear, the two break up. Eric sums up their situation: “I’m ready to fly and you’re just learning to walk.”
This had me screaming with happiness at my laptop, because I’m getting the best of both worlds. I will cheer on Adam on his way to become the bisexual dog-trainer to end all bisexual dog-trainers. I won’t feel guilty about this anymore, because I will also cheer on Eric as he gets to fly wherever his wings take him – and that probably means pretty far. The hopeless romantic in me is crying aimlessly because there’s no romantic happy ending, but that’s fine – he’s used to it.
In every way but romantic, Adam and Eric’s break up is more than a happy ending — it’s a happy beginning.
Words by Luis Teschner