Killing Everything, From Fashion to Fanbase
by Lauren Dillow for Affection Magazine
Even if you haven’t watched BBC’s hit crime drama Killing Eve, it’s likely you’ve heard of it if you’re a fashion fanatic. Since it aired in 2018, it’s been lauded for being one of the most fashion forward contemporary television shows as well as garnering praise for its fresh perspective on the cat-and-mouse spy thriller. Runway looks and ravenous desire between two dangerous women - what more could you possibly want? If you haven’t caught up on the fourth and final season, proceed with caution. There’s been no shortage of scathing reviews. This is going to be another one.
Killing Eve follows Eve Polastri, an MI5 agent and Villanelle, a fashion conscious Russian assassin. The first two seasons feature a myriad of looks that are to kill for: the infamous pink Molly Goddard tulle dress, a floor length black Alexander McQueen couture gown, a Chloé horse printed blazer paired with a lavender blouse and metallic leather pants by Isabel Marant. My forever favorite: the pink Rosie Assoulin silk blouse paired with a billowing fuchsia skirt and vintage Christian Lacroix earrings.
In the third season, the decline in the costume budget becomes very apparent. Villanelle’s wardrobe remains filled with color, but it’s haphazard. The iconic looks are far less frequent. Notable mentions are the Halpern Studios printed suit worn as Villanelle murdered a coworker in a London subway, and a plaid Charlotte Knowles bomber adorned along the arms and collar with bright green (lovingly nicknamed by fandom the “Grinch” suit). Other lovely looks from the season include an embellished Simone Rocha dress and a black-and-white polka dot tie-neck blouse and satin yellow trousers. It seemed as though the costume designers were attempting to recreate the audacity in Villanelle’s wardrobe of the previous seasons, but their choices lacked the edge and intention that made the looks of the prior seasons so unforgettable.
Despite the fourth season’s costuming including pieces from Bottega Veneta and Rick Owens, it’s hard to cite any moments that were eye-catching or memorable. The fifth episode featured an orange and yellow butterfly printed set by Loewe, which would have been stunning if someone on set had thought to steam it. A brief excursion for Villanelle in Cuba featured her wearing an embroidered linen kaftan from Gucci and a 1970s geometric red and blue dress by Hilton of London.
And as the season draws to a close, most of the color vanishes from her wardrobe. I suppose you could consider this a metaphor for the spiritual reckoning Villanelle embarks on: one of coming to terms with her identity as a killer and seeking a better path in life. It could possibly represent her rebirth as a purified, redeemed woman. Except this is not how the fourth season goes at all.
Villanelle has just determined that she desires more than to merely be a weapon (a beautiful monster, a title bestowed upon her in the third season). She finds herself craving love, acceptance and understanding (from Eve, of course). She does set out on a journey of rebirth, seeking redemption in Jesus and the church. So there begins the final season, with Villanelle baking cakes for charity and reciting bible verses before her baptism with hopes that she may become good enough in the eyes of her love interest (who is, in fact, reviled by this denial of the dark parts of herself — those that Eve Polastri came to love).
Spoiler alert: Murder is still very much in Villanelle’s nature. But still wanting to be more than merely used, Villanelle spends the season on a mission to destroy the people who groomed her into becoming the killer and pawn she is. She succeeds in getting her revenge and, along the way, reconciles with Eve. She gets the girl. She’s the villain turned hero. Her true rebirth lay not in rejecting the darkness within her and turning to God, but using her homicidal talents to defeat those oppressing the less powerful.
And then they kill her. She’s shot in the back in the middle of her and Eve’s victory embrace, sending the two retreating over the side of a boat into the Thames River. Several more shots are fired, and the assassin is bathed in golden light and framed within the vague outline of bloody angel wings as she floats out of her lover’s reach.
It look all of five minutes for one of the most enthralling and subversive stories in media to become another victim on the long list of “Bury Your Gays” disappointments. Fans were perplexed at the religious motifs introduced into the series that had never really had a place in it before. And following the third season’s finale, most people were under the impression that Eve and Villanelle had come to an understanding with one another. After three long seasons of infatuation and obsession, the two women determined that they were two sides of the same coin. Villanelle provoked the darkness in Eve, whereas Eve’s presence introduced to Villanelle the first ever desire to love and care for something, rather than to manipulate and control.
Showrunner Laura Neal defended the finale with the statement that Villanelle’s death set Eve free, that their symbolic baptism in the Thames River was actually her rebirth. “It felt really important to us, that moment, because it signals Eve’s rebirth, and we really wanted a sense of her washing off everything that had happened in the past four seasons and being able to begin again, but take everything that she has learnt and everything that Villanelle has given her into a new life,” said Neal in an interview with Decider, referencing the final scene, during which Eve emerges from beneath the water and lets out what just about everyone interprets as a cry of defeat. This death was intended to feel “transcendent,” Neal insists, and not like another queer woman on television murdered after finally being accepted by her female love interest. She’s supposed to represent a martyr, and not another villanized queer woman in television who is punished for her deviance.
And there it ends, with no glamour to either her wardrobe or her death. Laura Neal successfully butchered the character dynamics and aesthetics that originally made Killing Eve so different and captivating, and was homophobic about it, no less.