A Show About an Ambiguous Straight Man Ambiguously Set in the 2010s: Overcompensating

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Benito Skinner’s debut TV series, Overcompensating, isn’t that it’s a lifeline for those who are still in the closet and afraid to come out, but that it seems to exist in a vague alternate timeline that’s neither quite present nor past. On the one hand, it seems like a clearly-set-in-the-2010s narrative and, yet, on the other, it’s described as being “set in a modern-day, Gen Z, TikTok-laden college campus” (per USA Today). And yet, there’s no sign of much in the way of TikTok anywhere. It’s all strictly Instagram selfies and taggings, indicating that the stage is set in the early 10s (after all, Instagram first burst onto the scene at the end of 2010, establishing a different social media tone in the new decade as millennials entered their twenties). As for the initial attempt at establishing a concrete timeline, it begins during the very first scene in episode one, “Lucky,” named, of course, as a tribute to the Britney Spears single that gets plenty of play/love throughout. 

That Skinner himself would have been six/seven years old in 2000, the time when the video for “Lucky” was all over MTV, seems like it would be an obvious indicator that he is, in the present-day of the show, eighteen in 2011. As does his fixation on a DVD of George of the Jungle—featuring a bare-chested Brendan Fraser—which was released in theaters in 1997. This, too, being an indication of some “Bizarro World” timeline in Overcompensating, since DVDs didn’t really catch on at full tilt until 2003, when VHS sales were finally surpassed by this new medium. Then again, Benny (Skinner) is clearly from an affluent family, so it wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibility that his parents, John (Kyle MacLachlan) and Kathryn (Connie Britton), were already shelling out for DVDs. And, for a time, Skinner and his cohorts in crafting and writing the narrative seem committed enough to saying it’s the mid-2010s without saying it’s the mid-2010s (there is no mention of a year verbally or in title card form at any point). This achieved through a slew of references that would have been far more relevant in that specific era.

Take, for example, the entire first episode being centered around the lore that if you don’t fuck by the end of the first major party, you’ll be damned to a virginal existence (complete with joining the improv group) for the rest of your college years. For a start, not only could Gen Z give far less of a shit about fucking than millennials, but they certainly wouldn’t take it as some kind of “bad omen” if they didn’t do it by a certain deadline. And then there is the very idea that being gay would still be so taboo (barring America’s takeover by an ultra-conservative regime). Oh sure, Benny is obviously from the same kind of repressed town that made it so even a Gen Zer like Chappell Roan couldn’t come out until years after knowing full well she was gay. But still, his fear of being “known” is a check mark under the column favoring “mid-2010s.” This is further cemented not only by Benny’s hyper-intense phobia of being “outed,” but also how homophobic everyone else around him seems to be, including use of the word “gay” to mean “stupid,” a decidedly 00s affectation (pervasive enough to prompt Hilary Duff to make a “Don’t Say Gay” ad). This rampant homophobia compounded by Benny’s social ties to the jock crowd. A conceit that, again, signals a period of yore, back when social groupings were much more cliché and pronounced (as Mean Girls delineates in the cafeteria scene). 

The nebulousness of what era Benny is supposed to be in continues at the party where he’s meant to “seal the deal” with someone so that his mojo isn’t damaged for the rest of the year. That someone he’s homed in on—and vice versa—is Carmen (Wally Baram, in a breakout role), a fellow freshman he’s taken an immediate platonic shine to. Their connection stems from Carmen being an obvious “outsider type,” which is something that Benny can relate to internally. In any case, while sitting on the couch together, the self-appointed DJ starts playing Lorde’s “Team,” inciting Carmen to say, “I love this song.” Benny responds that Lorde is “one of the great songwriters of our time.” Though, again, what time is he really referring to. “Team” was released in 2013 as the third single from Lorde’s debut, Pure Heroine. Was he already speaking so highly of her then, or is this meant to be at least after Melodrama came out? 

When Carmen says, “I’ve never met a guy that likes Lorde,” it seems to indicate that Lorde’s oeuvre is still rather scant.” “I think she’s sexy,” Benny adds by way of trying to make it “less gay.” “You think Lorde is sexy?” Carmen asks incredulously, which feels a bit like shade on Benny and Charli XCX’s part—for it’s the latter who executive produced the show and handled the music (which is very obvious based on her highly specific taste)—though she didn’t compose for it the same way she did for Bottoms, yet another project that revealed Charli’s staunch allyship. As for choosing “Team” for this specific scene, the lyric, “Dancin’ around the lies we tell” is highly applicable. 

Benny will continue to dance around those lies about his true self in the second episode, with a title that is once more a dead giveaway of millennial-leaning predilections. For it’s called “Who’s That Girl.” Not named in honor of the Madonna song (which would have also fit in after an episode titled in honor of a Britney single), but rather, Eve’s 2001 hit. Throughout this episode, too, are odd “Easter eggs” signaling that it could be the early to mid-2010s. Minor details like the barista at “The Nest” coffee shop being puzzled when Carmen asks what their milk alternatives are. Maybe because milk alternatives weren’t as big as they are now. 

Or how Hailee (Holmes), Carmen’s ditzy, “loose” roommate, is at one point in the midst of doing an Ice Bucket-esque Challenge called the “Speak Up Bitch Challenge” (Hailee nominates Blake Lively, another nebulous clue about what era we’re supposed to be in). Or what about the pre-game party before going to Rockbar, when Benny finds himself trapped listening to “Like A G6” by Far East Movement, a big hit in 2011? As was Nicki Minaj’s “Super Bass,” which Benny insists on rapping to change the vibe of the party, telling Chris (Elias Azimi), the poncho-wearing bro who’s DJing, to put it on.

Somewhat reluctantly, he agrees, allowing for an awkward effect to permeate the room. When Benny later tells Carmen about it as they sit on a curb outside the Domino’s parking lot, she laughs, “Whenever I hear that song, I think of the—” Here Benny chimes in to say at the same time, “Glee version.” Carmen then asks, “Oh my god, you watched Glee?” Implying that the show has already ended in this timeline, which would mean that Overcompensating has to take place sometime after 2015. Even 2017, in fact; this because one of the most “current” pop culture references is when Hailee alludes to Taylor Swift’s “Look What You Made Me Do” by telling Carmen, “Old Hailee can’t come to the phone right now.” Either way, a person who watched Glee at the time of its airing is no Gen Zer of a college age at present. Nor is someone who would cite Taylor’s Reputation era so off-handedly. 

The third episode indicates another millennial pop culture moment with its title, “Black and Yellow,” named for Wiz Khalifa’s 2010 single repping Pittsburgh (and his Dodge Challenger—showing love for a car long before Kendrick with his GNX). It’s also right at the beginning of this episode that Benny confesses to Miles (Rish Shah) that he lied in film class: his favorite movie isn’t The Godfather at all, but Jennifer’s Body. A.k.a. Diablo Cody’s 2009 cult classic that only became truly appreciated in more recent years. Which is also a confusing detail indicating that Overcompensating actually is as contemporary as some might claim. But then, in the next instant, Charli XCX’s “Boys” plays over a montage, indicating, yet again, that 2017 seems to be as far as Overcompensating can get in terms of its references. Granted, there are other instances of non-diegetic music that are as current as Charli’s “party 4 u.” But that doesn’t really count since the characters themselves never seem to hear any music past 2017. 

In another confusing “what the fuck year are we in?” moment in “Black and Yellow” (which also refers to the secret society Benny is trying to rush, Flesh & Gold), Kreayshawn’s “Gucci Gucci” is bumped and sung along to like it’s brand new. This being yet another sign of Charli XCX’s influence over the soundtrack (along with Uffie’s “Pop the Glock” and Sky Ferreira’s “Love In Stereo” and “Everything Is Embarrassing”—for no one is a more devoted Uffie or Sky fan than Charli). And then there is the millennial nod to both Dawson’s Creek and Varsity Blues with the cameo role of James Van Der Beek as a Yates alumnus/finance bro named Charlie. And yes, Skinner told Entertainment Tonight that Varsity Blues was a fixture of his youth (admitting that he watched such movies at far too young of an age, including Cruel Intentions). 

Just as Spice Girls were a fixture of Charli XCX’s, who is considered part of what has once been called none other than “the Spice Girls generation” a.k.a. millennials. And her appearance in the fourth episode, “Boom Clap,” attests to her twenty-something era as a millennial when her sophomore album, Sucker, was unleashed in 2014, boosted by the singles “Boom Clap” and “Break the Rules.” And, speaking of the Spice Girls, one of the tours in support of Charli’s Sucker album was called the Girl Power North America Tour. What’s more, per Benny, there was a point when Charli actually did come to his college to perform, though there appears to be no digital evidence of that anywhere. 

As for Benny’s continued quest to figure out whether Miles is gay or not, it sounds like he might be the former for sure when he tells Benny he has an extra ticket to her show. “You like Charli?” Benny asks disbelievingly. He shrugs, “Yeah. I thought her early mixtape stuff was really cool and she’s from Essex” (side note: Miles is a London boy). A very convenient answer to explain away why a potentially straight man in the potential 2010s would be so earnest about Charli. Even so, very few could realistically lay claim to listening to her early mixtapes, a mention which only adds to the confusion of the timeline, for why bring them up if 2012 hadn’t just happened (with Heartbreaks and Earthquakes and Super Ultra being released during that year)? 

And then there is Charli’s curious set list during her performance to consider: “I Love It,” “Boys” and “Boom Clap”—though, as for the latter, she now famously seethes before taking the stage, “You think I wanna play fucking ‘Boom Clap’ in a fucking college? Are you joking?” But would it be any safer to perform her Brat material, known to make crowds go far more apeshit at this point? A point at which she wouldn’t, in fact, deign to set foot in a college unless it was to receive an honorary degree. The absence of Brat material, of course, also seems to infer that it’s still “just” the 2010s, no further into the future than that. Yet, then, at the end of the episode, “party 4 u” plays during the credits, which counts as non-diegetic sound, therefore not a concrete indication that the narrative itself takes place at least in 2020. Instead, only yet another flex on Charli’s part that she has plenty in her discography to make the Overcompensating Soundtrack slap. 

But she also has the power to include other “Brat-coded” songs. As she does in episode five, “Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites,” a title that further emphasizes a millennial pop culture knowledge, with said title referencing the Spring Breakers Soundtrack, composed by Skrillex (at the peak of his powers when said movie came out in 2012) and Cliff Martinez. And, lest anyone forget, Charli included an homage to that film with a song called, what else, “Spring Breakers,” on the deluxe edition of Brat. In this scenario, the phrase “Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites” comes into play because it’s the Halloween episode. Yet, overall, there are no truly specific “on-trend” pop culture costumes that would help the show declare a certain year, with Skinner playing it safe by choosing Gatsby and Daisy (this also angling more toward the 2010s era since Baz Luhrmann’s film adaptation came out in 2013) for Benny’s sister, Grace (Mary Beth Barone), and her boyfriend, Peter (Adam DiMarco), and Lewis and Clark for Benny and Miles. Though there is a brief suggestion, yet again, that the 2010s are still fresh when Grace shows up to her ex-friend Mimi’s (Julia Shiplett) apartment dressed as Alice Cullen from Twilight. This done as a result of briefly wanting to return to her more emo roots before college changed her…along with molding herself to fit in with Peter and his douchier crew from Flesh & Gold.

Granted, Hailee dresses as “Dirrty” video Xtina, but that’s about the extent of pop culture-specific costumes that might clue viewers into a year (those who enjoyed Xtina’s 00s “heyday” would thus be in college in the 10s). Meanwhile, Carmen puts on her Tatiana costume, a character from the Slutslayer video game she loves so much (fictional, of course, and yet another illustration of millennial humor, for Gen Z doesn’t much care for words that demean sex work—oh yeah, and speaking of millennial-era insults, there’s also Kaia Gerber as a Flesh & Gold mean girl named Esther who bandies the word “retard”). 

It’s also in this episode that Benny gets his second pep talk from Megan Fox doing her best Jennifer Check drag as she coaches him from inside the poster (on a related note: a poster of Charli XCX’s “Vroom Vroom” also makes itself known in Carmen’s room, though it doesn’t talk). That Fox is, of course, in her current, plastic surgery-fueled iteration only adds to the sense of “timeline whiplash.” As the credits roll to this one, Charli’s “Claws” (another one from How I’m Feeling Now, but the show never dares to go full Brat) heightens the emotional conclusion, wherein Carmen sees Peter running back into the arms of Grace and Benny realizes Miles doesn’t swing “that way” at all (this fully understood when he asks Benny if he can use his room to take a girl back there). 

In the following episode, “Edge of Glory,” this title, too, suggests a leaning toward the 2010s, with said Lady Gaga single appearing on her 2011 album, Born This Way. And yet, in the opening scene, it appears as though Benny is reenacting a scene out of 2023’s Saltburn when he crawls toward the trash in his dorm room to examine the filled-up condom Miles left behind after banging the abovementioned girl in Benny’s bed. 

Other “fuzziness” is added to the time period when Carmen proceeds to instruct Benny on “how to be gay” (starting with telling him he’s a “gayby”) based on her extensive internet research. What’s more, she even downloads Grindr for him and eases him into it with the incognito mode option (this done after he matched with George [Owen Thiele], one of the “leads” of the LGBTQIA+ community on campus. Instantly freaked out, Benny tells her to delete the app). To further assist in giving him a crash course in gaydom, Carmen shows him “key pop culture pieces” to clue him in. This includes Brokeback Mountain, which isn’t very Gen Z at all. Nor is it to be capable of watching an entire movie.

At the end of the episode, Peter deliberately leaks a PowerPoint presentation detailing a number of things about various Yates students, namely the cuntier ones he added into the cons section about why those students aren’t “worthy” of being admitted into Flesh & Gold. In effect, he pulls a Burn Book maneuver. But unlike, Cady Heron, who gets pinned with all the blame in Mean Girls, Peter actually doesn’t get in trouble in the next episode. Which is led into with the credits of “Sorry If I Hurt You,” a song that marks the most current non-diegetic track (from the deluxe edition of Charli XCX’s Crash) played thus far. After which “Welcome to the Black Parade,” the penultimate episode, begins. And yes, long before Beyoncé had “Black Parade,” My Chemical Romance had this 2006 emo anthem. Which Grace (or “Disgrace,” as her high school nickname goes) was a huge fan of before her post-college transformation, both physical and personality-wise.

However, upon returning to Idaho (as Skinner himself is from Boise) for Thanksgiving (for, logically, a Thanksgiving episode had to follow a Halloween one), Grace can’t help but eventually retreat into the comfort of this song—better known as the song that comforted many a junior high and high school-going millennial—by karaokeing it shamelessly at the bar where everyone from her and Benny’s high school are congregating. But if Grace was in junior high and high school around the mid-00s, when “Welcome to the Black Parade” would have most affected her, then she couldn’t be in college in the present era. So what gives? Viewers are just supposed to buy that Gen Z knows shit about shit when it comes to millennial pop culture? Apart from Britney being a mental health talisman and Paris being an “icon.” It just doesn’t compute. Especially not vis-à-vis the last episode’s title reference: Sleigh Bells’ “Crown on the Ground” (released, you guessed it, in 2010).

And others have noticed the discombobulation caused by this “non-committal” timeline as well. For example, Jackson McHenry, in an article for Vulture called, aptly, “When Is Overcompensating?,” remarked that “the vagueness about time becomes all the more frustrating [because] if a character’s experience in the closet is so defined by the culture he’s absorbing, then that experience will transform depending on the moment in which the character exists. The college kid in the 2010s hiding his love of Nicki and Glee in the second Obama era is different from the college kid of today queening out over Charli among the zoomers; the post-Obergefell optimism and corporate ‘love is love’ platitudes of a decade ago [do] not slot neatly into the present’s chaotic mix of nihilism and traditionalism. You can imagine the experience of the closeted college football star in either. Both of those guys exist, and both are interesting figures, but they’re also very different figures, working through very different socially encoded programming. Can you please tell me which one this show is about?”

It would seem that, no, Skinner cannot quite do that. For to do so might lose one audience on either generational side. Or maybe because Gen Z has so often tried to emulate millennials while frequently mocking them, perhaps they’ve forgotten that most of the shit they enjoy is ripped straight from the millennial preteen and teen years. Not to mention Charli XCX herself being a millennial. Or maybe part of Overcompensating’s, well, overcompensating “in-between-ness” is a result of Skinner himself being a “cusper,” stuck somewhere in the middle of being full-on Gen Z and full-on millennial, this constituting its own sort of “sub-generation,” like “xennial.” 

Then there’s the likelihood that one of the key reasons Skinner and co. appear to use these more specific monoculture references from the 2010s is because many of them have only just now caught on with Gen Z thanks to, ugh, TikTok. This includes Charli XCX and Lady Gaga, both of whom have episodes named after them. The same goes for RuPaul’s Drag Race, which feels like the ultimate “corporate gay” medium through which Benny might learn more about himself and “how to be gay.” This ties into the aforementioned cringe-y “gay tutelage” sequence where Carmen, among other things, shows Benny how to do poppers (a Charli staple when it comes to displaying her allyship). 

While Overcompensating doesn’t want to fully admit what decade it’s in (just as its protagonist doesn’t want to fully admit what sexuality he is), maybe the leaning-into-2010s-pop-culture thing is yet another sign of how pop culture of the present has devolved so spectacularly as a result of “TikTok supremacy.” There’s no uniting force behind some influencer that could be well-known to one person and totally random to another. But start bandying the names of female pop stars begat in the early 2010s and suddenly every millennial-and-afterward gay man can speak your language. Or maybe the “reason” for “subtly” favoring this era really boils down to the fact that the last time anyone in the gay community felt even slightly like they were in a “safe space,” American politics-wise, was post-2008/pre-2016.