Mike White is bored again. That’s usually how this starts. Another group of miserable, wealthy people is being packed off to a luxury resort to complain about the quality of the thread count while the locals contemplate a revolution. This time, the casting directors have raided the "edgy 90s icons" and "British cringe masters" bins to fill the roster.

Sandra Bernhard, Steve Coogan, and Ari Graynor are the newest additions to The White Lotus Season 4. It’s a lineup that feels like a fever dream from a 1996 Sundance afterparty. Bernhard brings that acidic, cigarette-stunt brand of sarcasm that feels almost nostalgic. Coogan, the man who perfected the art of being deeply uncomfortable in his own skin, is a natural fit for a show that runs on social awkwardness. And Graynor? She’s the secret weapon. She’s been doing heavy lifting in prestige television for years, usually playing the smartest person in a room full of idiots.

The algorithm is salivating. You can already see the TikTok edits.

We don’t even know where they’re going yet. Season 3 hasn't even hit our screens, still simmering in the humid heat of Thailand. But HBO—or Max, or whatever the hell David Zaslav is calling the app this week—needs to keep the churn going. That’s the game. You announce a cast for a season that won't exist for two years because the stock price needs a hit of dopamine. It’s a press release masquerading as a cultural event.

Bernhard is the most interesting play here. She hasn’t had a role this high-profile in a minute, but her entire career has been a rehearsal for this. She’s built a brand on looking at people like they’re something she stepped in. In White’s universe, that’s a superpower. Put her in a kaftan, hand her a gin and tonic, and let her destroy a mid-level tech executive’s self-esteem. It’s what we’re paying $16.99 a month for.

Then there’s Coogan. If he’s not playing a version of Alan Partridge who has stumbled into a private equity windfall, what are we even doing? He represents a very specific kind of European malaise. The kind that thinks it’s worldly but is really just worried about the exchange rate and whether the bidet has enough pressure. He’s the avatar for every "cultured" traveler who spends their entire vacation looking at their phone and complaining about the Wi-Fi.

But there’s a friction point here that no one wants to talk about. These shows are becoming the very thing they’re satirizing. The White Lotus started as a sharp, claustrophobic look at how wealth rots the soul. Now, it’s a travel brochure. It’s a lifestyle brand. Every time a new season is announced, tourism in that region spikes. Real estate prices go up. The locals get pushed out. The show mocks the "ugly tourist" while simultaneously acting as a high-end GPS for the next wave of them.

The production cost is another sticking point. Prestige TV isn't getting cheaper, and the "tax incentive" shell game these studios play is getting more complex. They’ll shoot in whatever country offers the biggest kickback, regardless of whether the story actually fits the setting. We’re watching rich people suffer in 4K, filmed in a location that’s being gentrified by the very presence of the camera crew. It’s a closed loop of irony.

Ari Graynor will likely be the one to ground it. She’s always been good at playing the person who realizes the house is on fire while everyone else is arguing about the wine list. You need that. You need one person the audience can stand, or the whole thing becomes a nihilistic slog. Without a "normal" person to tether the madness, it’s just a bunch of theater kids doing "rich person" voices for an hour.

The cycle is predictable. First, the casting news. Then, the grainy set photos. Then, the inevitable "official" teaser that tells us nothing but features a haunting choral version of a pop song. By the time the episodes actually drop, we’ve already exhausted the discourse. We’ve theorized about who dies in the first five minutes. We’ve picked our favorite villain.

We’re all just waiting to see who gets to be the most miserable in paradise. It’s a strange way to spend a Sunday night, watching actors pretend to be inconvenienced by luxury. But as long as Mike White keeps finding new ways to make the 1% look pathetic, we’ll keep our subscriptions active. We’ll complain about the price hike, sure. We’ll roll our eyes at the "Discover" tab on the Max home screen. But we’ll be there.

Do we actually like these people, or do we just enjoy watching them fail in better lighting than we have at home?