Hacks Season 4

I originally thought that by Season 4, they’d finally move things forward and stop tiptoeing around whether the two of them are in love. But nope—Season 4 completely fell apart. So here I am again, retracing the romance arc…

A lot of people were moved by Deb’s gaze during the first taping, but that look was a callback. So let’s rewind to that final gaze at the end of Season 2.

That night, when Deb was surrounded by a crowd, bathed in stardust, the center of everyone’s attention—in that moment, the only person she could see was Ava.

She wasn’t even especially happy about the success of her special. What she noticed instead was that Ava, in chasing her own career so intently, had let her own ambitions fall by the wayside. So, in the middle of all that noise, Deb walked up to the rooftop alone, looked out over the “great lands” of Los Angeles, and made the painful decision to “send her away.”

And Ava—well, that really is how she was. Before Deb, she’d lost her job over calling out a closeted homophobic senator by recklessly attacking everyone. Then she shamelessly asked for help from people who clearly didn’t care for her.

But after meeting Deb, all she could see was Deb. She completely ignored the advocacy and voice she used to be so passionate about.

These two are basically a couple already—except they haven’t had sex.

She stares at her through fire. She runs to her at the edge of a cliff.

If that’s not love, then what is?

Season 3 had so many moments like this. No matter how chaotic the crowd, Deb always notices Ava. And even though Ava has so many better career options, she always chooses to come back to Deb.

Especially the ending!

Because Season 4 opens with them popping champagne together, we can confirm that in the Season 3 finale, Ava staying to compete for the head writer position was not out of revenge. The best revenge would’ve been to leave and watch Deb’s career crash and burn.

So the true ending of Season 3 is this: Ava, heartbroken and ready to leave, suddenly realizes—while picking up that champagne in the convenience store—that Deb is deeply, deeply lonely. And she decides to stay. Even if it would upset Deb, she chooses to stay and protect her.

To protect the Deb who was left opening a bottle of champagne all by herself. That’s why she held onto that bottle—waiting for the chance to open it with Deb.

Even if we ignore all the other details—just the moment of that shared champagne and the gaze during the first taping—that kind of persistent tenderness, that single-minded focus on healing the other’s wounds… if that’s not love, then what is?

Their story is not about "you are me" conflicts—it’s about how two strangers, through inevitable friction, come to understand, trust, and protect each other. (Underline that.)

In short: this is exactly how romantic love typically develops.

Now, if some people insist that if they haven’t had sex, it’s not love—that love must involve sexual attraction—I suppose I can understand that. Everyone’s different. Mutual respect and all.

But even if you step way back and say: okay, let’s call this Platonic—between two unrelated people with no pure benefit-driven relationship—such deep understanding and protection? That still makes perfect sense.

So can we please stop with the “it’s not love, it’s just a mentorship” or “that interpretation is so basic/cheesy” takes?

Two women with a large age gap being automatically reduced to mentor-mentee or mother-daughter is what’s actually tired, actually clichéd.

(Personally, I feel like people who can’t stand others reading love into this dynamic— in this show specifically —are either homophobic, or more likely, lesbophobic. And that’s honestly just heartbreaking.)

I shed tears in every episode for the great love between Ava and Deb, but the ninth episode truly broke me down—because everything that happened in it felt like a mirror of my recent life: fatigue, anxiety, struggle, and a lack of respect. Even Jimmy, the only "normal" person, had a breakdown and launched into a politely furious outburst. I want to lose my temper too, but I don't even have the time for that.

"What will they ask of me next? Where is the line?" "I’m not naive. In this industry, you always have to make certain sacrifices, because this is a business. And I get that."

I often wonder how close I’ve come to the reality of this world. How would Ava survive in the real world? Would there be someone like Deb willing to give up everything to defend her? Can anyone drive change, and at what cost? Are there good people? I desperately wish someone would keep telling me that you can choose—even if it’s hard, you have a choice. But then I wonder, would someone instead keep telling me that society is cruel, that I should abandon my ideals because it’s easier that way?

I don’t know. But seeing what Ava and Deb have done, I think: even if this kind of relationship doesn’t exist yet, the fact that we can imagine it means it’s possible. I believe that—deeply.

After Ava became head writer, she wanted to be a good leader—she even used her own salary to subsidize the team. But her goodwill was ignored.

Jimmy had always been the nice guy, yet he was underestimated by both employees and clients, even targeted by other companies trying to poach him.

The workplace isn’t inherently hostile to good people, but you can’t keep playing the same role forever.

By contrast, D spent the first three seasons mastering the art of managing up. She was willing to drop Ava for the sake of the show, whitewash a predator to boost ratings, and even pull strings to remove a superior who was holding her back. That’s D’s survival rule in the industry—just like when she erased her friend’s name to grab a performance opportunity for herself when she was younger.

But—“Where is the line?”

Ava asked the core question: where is the line when it comes to managing up?

And this time, the show doesn’t sidestep the issue with last season’s excuse of “friendship and forgiveness.”

At the end of episode 9, D stands on the stage she loves most, points to the floor, and says, “The line is here.” That line isn’t just an answer to Ava’s question—it mirrors the moment in episode 1, when Ava forced D to become head writer.

Now, D has become the Ava of episode 1. She chooses to confront her superior in an extremely risky way—and ends up facing an 18-month performance ban. Because this isn’t a feel-good TV drama or Hollywood fantasy—reality is much harsher.

But when you have the courage to push back upward, at the very least, you earn the chance to negotiate from a place of equality:

“Look in my eyes. I’m not some spineless loser you can push around.”

Reactions to episode 10 were clearly polarized. To be honest, after the brilliance of episode 9, I was a little worried about how episode 10 could possibly follow up on that emotional high. But for me, episode 10 was absolutely perfect.

First of all, the emotional transitions were incredibly smooth. For D, giving up the late-night show for A was by no means an easy decision. Although on the show she fiercely criticized the higher-ups and defended justice with unwavering righteousness, I imagine the little devil in her heart must have occasionally challenged the authority of the angel. After all, it was only after meeting A that D became more human, more likable. So, after playing the hero, when faced with the reality of an 18-month performance ban, she needed time to process everything—her decision, and how she should relate to A moving forward.

That’s why she went through a period of depression, followed by her trip to Singapore. Then came the emotional slump from being stuck in a situation she couldn't change. A’s constant presence and nagging reminders that she had to "snap out of it" only made her feel worse, not better, which led her to send A back to the States. Then a piece of fake news acted like a shot of adrenaline, reigniting her fighting spirit. End of season four. All these emotional shifts were laid out with clarity and fluidity in the final episode—entirely in line with who D is: charismatic, ambitious, sometimes ruthless, but ultimately driven by her better angels. That’s why the plot works.

Second, after the confession in episode 9, wasn't a romantic escapade between D and A exactly what fans wanted? The two of them drinking and dancing on a cruise in a foreign country, having a romantic dinner in an underwater restaurant like a couple, singing hilariously off-key Cantonese songs in a karaoke room, D snapping at A with “Don’t you have any other friends besides me?”, and then that embrace after the fake news was debunked—every moment felt like a dream. With “Dream Lover” playing in the background, the dreamy vibe was fully realized. I know what they have isn’t romance in the traditional sense, but aside from not sleeping together, they’ve done everything a couple does—and done it all at a very high level.

It doesn’t take a pair of supermodels sitting side by side to make a beautiful scene.

I really, really loved episode 10. It was like a dream—absurd on the surface, but incredibly romantic. The fake news about D’s death acted like a transfer station between dream and reality. A’s sprint to find D was the bridge between those two realms. That final “R” word was the last checkpoint separating dream from waking life. Then—bam—D got pissed, packed her bags, and returned to reality.

Because of the high ratings in season four, I started watching the show from season one and binge-watched it all in one go. Absolutely exhilarating!

The idealized notion of female solidarity is not about unconditional sacrifice or saintly selflessness where “you’re good, I’m good, everyone’s good.” Such a relationship is nearly impossible to sustain in reality.

Women never exist solely as a singular “gender” identity. The interplay of different social identities and personal traits creates the complexity of relationships. The dynamic between Debbie and Ava is built precisely on multi-dimensional similarities and contradictions—identity, personality, class, gender, and more:

They’re work partners on the same wavelength (sharing laughs, mutually empowering each other), Natural gender allies (empathizing over sexual harassment), Classic labor-management roles (Debbie’s workplace bullying and exploitation of labor are enough to deserve a hundred rounds of online backlash), Friends who give and depend on each other (Debbie jumping into a dumpster to help Ava find her father’s ashes), Two generations with gaps yet partly bridged (Debbie influenced by Ava to refuse telling discriminatory jokes), Rivals who stab each other in the back (“If you’re ruthless, so am I”), Ambitious high-energy workaholics cut from the same cloth... It’s this fully dimensional character construction that shapes such a tension-filled, complex relationship. They hurt each other and make up, support each other, and no one can predict what might cause their next fallout. The relationship flows with ups and downs, deepening through repeated adjustments.

A female perspective isn’t limited to anger or lament over women’s predicaments. Comedy transforms this into a lighter, more universally relatable human experience. Every character in the show—especially the female and male agents whom I initially disliked but came to love—tells the audience: this is how people live, this is how life really is.