During high school, my role models were a bunch of fucked up pill-popping teenage sex fiends from that magical far-off land called the United Kingdom- (the little industrial city of Bristol, England to be exact). From what I could tell, Bristol was a marvelously hedonistic place whose gritty urban landscape acted as a backdrop for endless drug-fueled, clothing-optional raves. Welcome to British television.
Skins was unlike anything I had ever seen. I spent my formative years following tame American teen soaps like The O.C. and Gossip Girl- (Overdosing in a Tijuana alleyway? A hot love triangle involving three impeccably-groomed Manhattanite besties? Boring!) I knew I needed more, and the internet – as it tends to – had the answer to my prayers. I became enthralled with the impossibly exciting lives of Tony, Michelle, Sid, Chris, Jal, Maxxie, Anwar and, above all, Cassie. I watched as they hooked up, broke up, and got (frequently) fucked up, all with the most adorable British accents. And then, after only two seasons, they were robbed from me, retired from the Skins universe. But I didn’t have too much time to nurse my broken heart, as I was soon swept up in the emotional windstorm that was Effy and co. for another precious two seasons. Then the unthinkable happened.
Yet another new cast was introduced, but my heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Yes, they were just as good-looking as the previous cast members, they partied just as hard, they had just as many problems – but something was off. Was I simply too emotionally worn out after four very difficult seasons? Was I now too fragile after having been abandoned by two separate casts, thus unable to open my heart again for fear of being hurt once more? I wanted to like them, I wanted to care, and so I watched each episode of the fifth season diligently. But for some reason, I was just never sucked in. And I wasn’t alone – it seemed as though everyone I spoke to had given up on the once-almighty series. But never fear, friends- if you’re missing the once great glory days of Skins, I’m here to say that those days have returned.
The first episode of the sixth season, (or six “series” as it is confusingly referred to in the UK), opens with the gang on “holiday”- (more silly British speak)- in Morocco. Now, I don’t know about you, but if I’m going on vacay with my ‘crew,’ then it’s no doubt going to go down in Cancun or on a Bahamian island, but cool British kids don’t roll that way. The rest of the episode is an exotic trip, (in both senses), through Morocco’s sybaritic underworld, where our favourite teenage hedonists get into real trouble after getting mixed up with a scary drug ring. The episode ends with a bang, and episode two, which aired this week, ends even more shockingly. If this is any indication of the direction in which the rest of the season is headed, then I think it’s safe to say that Skins is back. Let’s all live vicariously through this group of pretty, well-dressed young Brits, just as we used to.