When Bridgerton launched on Netflix, it presented itself as a rupture. For decades, period romance had been dominated by overwhelmingly white worlds, from Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility to television staples like Downton Abbey. These stories remain widely loved across demographics, but their visual language rarely makes room for anyone outside whiteness.
Bridgerton promised something different. Its early marketing suggested a new format where people of colour would not exist at the margins, but lead the romances themselves. Women of colour, in particular, were positioned as central figures in a genre long shaped by stars such as Keira Knightley, Emma Thompson, and Lily James. In a landscape already crowded with celebrated white heroines, Bridgerton appeared to offer women of colour their own space at the centre of period romance.
That promise helped the series build cultural momentum quickly. But as Season 4 promotion unfolds, the gap between that vision and the show’s actual priorities has become harder to ignore. Fans are not reacting to a single post or image. They are responding to a pattern that has repeated across seasons, marketing cycles, and the treatment of its leads.
Season 4 Promotion Repeats an Old Pattern
In December, Netflix began promoting Season 4 through its annual Twelve Days of Bridgerton campaign. The new season introduces Sophie Beckett, played by Yerin Ha, as the romantic lead opposite Benedict Bridgerton. Sophie is a woman of colour and a brand-new character, portrayed by Australian actress of Korean descent Yerin Ha, arriving late in a series that releases just eight episodes per season. That structure leaves little room for narrative grounding. Promotion therefore, plays an outsized role in establishing her presence and importance.
Yet the campaign placed images of Penelope Featherington ahead of Sophie on key promotional days. Penelope, portrayed by Nicola Coughlan, has appeared since Season 1 and already led Season 3 alongside Colin Bridgerton. Shondaland reinforced the hierarchy by reposting Penelope first on its own social channels. Press coverage followed suit. Outlets such as British Vogue followed the same sequencing. Although Sophie has been introduced elsewhere, promotion in the run-up to her season should centre her first, ensuring audiences clearly understand who the new lead is.
This choice matters because Bridgerton no longer centres a single romance per season. Since Season 1, the show has filled its eight-episode runs with multiple secondary plots that compete with the central love story. When promotion then focuses on extending the visibility of one established white legacy couple instead introducing Sophie and her family, it shifts attention away from the season’s actual leads. That imbalance makes it harder for new characters, particularly women of colour, to establish narrative importance before the season even begins.
For long-time viewers, the pattern feels familiar. During Season 2, Kate Sharma, played by Simone Ashley, entered as the female lead, yet received limited standalone promotion as Lady Whistledown and other white characters dominated marketing. The concern now is not hypothetical. Sophie arrives with none of the runway Penelope and Colin enjoyed, having benefited from two full seasons of narrative setup before becoming central. The imbalance is stark, and for many fans, it reads less like coincidence and more like favouritism at work.
The Baby Announcement that Escalated the Backlash
The tension escalated days later when the official Bridgerton account announced the birth of Lord Elliot Featherington. Netflix styled the post as a Lady Whistledown society paper, complete with period design and celebratory language. The announcement marked the first time the show had formally named and promoted a newborn tied to a central couple.
It is with great pleasure this author brings to you the official announcement of the Bridgerton family’s latest addition. pic.twitter.com/pjzS9KmFAh
— Bridgerton (@bridgerton) December 21, 2025
The reaction was swift. Fans quickly noted that no comparable announcements existed for the children of earlier leading couples. Played by Jonathan Bailey, Anthony Bridgerton’s son with Kate has never been named or formally acknowledged on screen or through official promotion, despite being the heir to the Bridgerton title. The same silence surrounds the children of Simon and Daphne, portrayed by Regé-Jean Page and Phoebe Dynevor, whose family life has largely disappeared from the show’s public narrative.
The pattern extends beyond babies. Characters such as John and Michaela Stirling, played by Black actors Victor Alli and Masali Baduza, have also received no comparable recognition or promotional investment. Taken together, these omissions sharpen the perception that visibility and legacy within Bridgerton remain unevenly distributed. Time that could develop the season’s leads is often diverted to extended subplots, including legacy characters and celebratory content for a non-central couple’s baby.
The contrast sharpened perceptions of favouritism. The issue was not the baby itself. It was the choice to elevate one couple’s legacy while erasing others tied to characters of colour. In a series where lineage and inheritance carry symbolic weight, selective recognition sends a message about whose stories count as canon.
A Documented History of Unequal Promotion
This is not the first time Bridgerton’s marketing has drawn criticism. Previous seasons show a consistent gap between inclusive branding and actual support for actors of colour. Season 2 remains the only season without a major joint magazine cover for its romantic leads. Simone Ashley and Jonathan Bailey received significantly less press than later white-led seasons. They even funded their own wrap celebration.
Marketing missteps compounded the issue. A Netflix-approved Redbubble advertisement depicted Kate Sharma, a dark-skinned Indian woman, as an animal while portraying white couples as soft and romantic. Netflix India promoted Penelope and Colin dressed in Indian attire while offering no comparable visibility to Simone Ashley during her season. These were not minor oversights. They reflected a hierarchy embedded in promotion choices.
The imbalance extended beyond marketing. When Black actors associated with the show faced racist abuse, Netflix and Shondaland offered little public support. Ruby Barker, who portrayed Marina Thompson in Bridgerton, later said that no one from Netflix or Shondaland contacted her after she experienced two psychotic breaks following sustained online harassment. Regé-Jean Page has spoken positively about other productions that publicly defended actors of colour from racist abuse, a response that differed from the support shown during his time on Bridgerton. By contrast, Shonda Rhimes publicly defended Nicola Coughlan against online abuse years earlier. The disparity in response was widely noted and continues to inform criticism of how the production supports its POC cast.
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Final Thoughts
Bridgerton rose to prominence by presenting itself as inclusive. That framing makes its current decisions harder to excuse. For many viewers, inclusion meant placing people of colour at the centre of the romance and sustaining that visibility beyond a single season. Instead, the show has repeatedly prioritised white characters in promotion, legacy storytelling, and institutional support, recreating the very hierarchies it claimed to disrupt.
Those choices carry consequences. When uneven care is built into the production, it shapes how audiences behave. Bias does not stop at marketing posts or press coverage. It spills into fandom spaces, where actors and characters of colour absorb the backlash while the show distances itself from responsibility. Calls to condemn fan behaviour feel incomplete when the series itself reinforces unequal value.
Season 4 did not introduce this tension. It brought it back into focus. In a franchise shaped by years of uneven visibility, promotion determines whose stories feel permanent and whose feel disposable. Media coverage follows those signals, and audience attachment follows in turn.
If Bridgerton wants to sustain its standing as a diverse period romance, representation must operate at every level. Casting alone cannot carry that weight. Promotion, narrative investment, and protection of actors must align with the values the show claims to hold. As Season 4 approaches, viewers will be watching closely to see whether Sophie, a woman of color, is finally given the visibility and narrative care that previous female leads of color, most notably Kate, were denied.
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