【egon schiele and and unveiled eroticism】

Welcome to Fix It,egon schiele and and unveiled eroticism our series examining projects we love — save for one tiny change we wish we could make.

Emily in Paris Season 2, episode 4, minute 16: That is when The Sip occurs. It is at this precise moment I fell out of love with series regular Gabriel and had my experience of Netflix's French fantasy forever changed. I'll regale you of the revolting incident that led to our unceremonious split, but be warned: You cannot unknow this. 

I remember fawning over the TV hottie (played by actor Lucas Bravo) like it was yesterday. Gabriel is designed to inspire audience crushes, of course. The hunky restaurateur, known for his coy smile, sexy hair, and refined taste in cast iron skillets, enchanted many as the flirty friend of the titular Emily (Lily Collins) throughout Emily in Paris Season 1. But more than filling a trope, Gabriel is the exact type of lovable himbo that butters my personal favorite flavor of rom-com croissant. He's charming, but not intimidating; sweet, but not saccharine; a leading love interest who knows just how over-the-top wonderful to be before shit gets unbelievable. His and Emily's secret first kiss? I mean, come on.

Still, Gabriel's perfectly-imperfect-perfectness passed the point of acceptability for me when he went to apologize to Camille (Camille Razat) in the Season 2 episode "Jules and Em." I take no issue with the impetus for the visit; Gabriel betrayed Camille by hooking up with Emily and an apology was overdue. Rather, it's what he did on his way to make the apology that shook me to my core — and seriously turned my stomach.

At the 16:29 time stamp, we see Gabriel walk into an art gallery to meet Camille. There are visitors holding glasses of white wine as far as the eye can see. Approaching the room where Camille is, Gabriel stops in front of a waiter holding a tray of three identical, wine-filled glasses. Silently, Gabriel takes one. He sips it, steeling himself against the confrontation to come. Then, as if possessed by some supernaturally unsanitary force, he puts itback. Behold:

It's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of moment, but miss it I did not. Immediately upon seeing this horror play out in the middle of my Emily in Paris binge, I rewound. Over and over, I watched Gabriel taint the rim of this perfectly good wine glass. And over and over, I watched the waiter holding the tray do nothing about it. The glass just sits there, a sleeper cell of tannins and someone else's spit. What's worse, Gabriel seems to know what he's done is revolting — making long, confusing eye contact with the unfazed server before wandering away.

There are a million reasons this troubles me within the universe of Emily in Paris. For starters, it's nasty and could get someone sick. (The show doesn't acknowledge the IRL pandemic, but other germs exist!) It's also utterly incongruous with who Gabriel is as a character. This man is a culinary expert, presumably well-versed in not just the preparation of food but the polite consumption of it. He would know not to do this. (For reference, if you ever find yourself at a cocktail hour with a glass you would like to get rid of, the broadly accepted etiquette is to leave it politely on an emptyservingtray or at an unoccupied seating area.) 

Outside of the world of Emily in Paris, it just plain old annoys me. I'm nitpicking, yes. But this show, the glorious trash fire that it is, sucks me in every time I cue it up, and thoughtless moments like this make me feel silly for caring about its story and characters. Ensuring actors' blocking makes sense is essential to selling any scene, yet here no one could be bothered. So I got totally sucked out of the story. Let Gabriel take the glass with him or skip the wine altogether. Just, for the love of France, don't make him put it back.

Emily in Paris is now streaming on Netflix.