In most queer TV shows, the performance of straightness is merely a phase. A queer character might be in denial about their sexuality or reluctant to share details about their sexuality with others. They hide parts of themselves, presenting themselves in ways they think will be acceptable, and eventually come out—a moment of revelation framed as liberation.
Overcompensating, the new queer comedy on Prime Video, refuses that neat resolution. It dismantles the idea that coming out marks an end to performance, instead emphasizing that performance can permeate every aspect of a queer person’s life—extending far beyond just their sexuality. It makes it clear that overcompensating is not exclusive to queer experiences.
The show centers around Benny Scanlon (Benito Skinner), whom we first see hauling his belongings into his new dorm room at Yates University. His sister, Grace (Mary Beth Barone)—an upperclassman at Yates—has already gained a strong social foothold and resents Benny for choosing the same college as her. We’re also introduced to Grace’s boyfriend, Peter (Adam DiMarco)—a self–proclaimed campus alpha who seems to only ever think about sex or parties, and Carmen (Wally Baram), a slightly nerdy classmate who spent high school in the shadow of her now–deceased brother and whom Benny quickly befriends on his first day of school. Imitating the macho personalities of the other guys at his college that he desperately wants to be like, such as Peter, Benny tries to hook up with her. Unsurprisingly, the hookup flops but initiates their beautiful friendship.
Overcompensating is the brainchild of Skinner—best known for his Instagram account @bennydrama7—where he built a strong following by performing caricatures of celebrities and pop–culture archetypes. The first version of Overcompensating debuted in 2018 at the New York Comedy Festival as a stand–up comedy skit about his efforts to remain in the closet while at Georgetown University—Yates’ real–life counterpart.
Like Skinner’s online Instagram persona, the world of the show is replete with caricatures. Every character is a familiar archetype lodged in Gen Z’s collective consciousness—turned up to the max. The joke is in the exaggeration, but the exaggeration also becomes the show’s scaffolding; within the world of Overcompensating, characters become legible to one another through these known stereotypes, just as we, the audience, use those stereotypes to make sense of what we’re seeing.
These sorts of exaggerations give way to the concept of overcompensation as the central node of the show, especially for Benny, who masks his queerness by performing hyper–straightness—throwing parties, tossing out “no homo” jokes, and calling every man he sees a “dude” or “bro.” He brags to his new college crew about hooking up with Carmen, lies to his parents about joining the rowing team so they’ll still see him as the athlete he was in high school, and constantly shapes himself to match an idealized perception others may hold. Skinner even plays Benny’s overcompensating moments with a deliberate stiffness to drive the point home—that Benny is bad at pretending.
The repetition of the exaggeration can, quite frankly, be annoying to watch. There are only so many times we can hear the word “dude,” phrases like “seal the deal” (in reference to sex), or sentences like “I … fucked her” (I will leave the blank to your imagination) in domino–like succession.
But it’s that very exaggeration that makes the moments when Benny breaks through his mask all the more incisive. These moments form the core of Benny’s friendship with Carmen—like when Benny apologizes to Carmen for lying to other people about hooking up with her, and when Carmen comforts Benny after his heart is crushed by his first male crush in college. Each scene momentarily punctures the relentless performance that Benny had tried so hard to keep up, and they stand among the show’s most meaningful moments.
In many queer coming–of–age shows, the main character often follows a familiar arc. Cracks in their performance of straightness keep deepening until their mask finally drops for good. The entire show generates momentum toward the moment of coming out, treating it as the central point of the plot, and the following episodes or further seasons may cover the aftermath of the revelation: the liberation of having come out, the exploration of different romantic relationships, the navigation of new dynamics with friends and family, and the satisfaction of being able to settle into a more open, authentic sense of self. Heartstopper, the 2022 Netflix breakout hit, is a textbook example. Its first season is anchored in Charlie’s journey of self–acceptance and Nick’s journey of coming out, and its latter two seasons are devoted to the joys and challenges of life after coming out.
But Overcompensating makes a sharp break from most queer coming–out narratives. Even after Benny comes out to Carmen and a few others, he still doesn’t stop performing. Before coming out, he had overcompensated for his queerness by mimicking the behavior of an uber–straight jock. After coming out, he overcompensates in the opposite direction by leaning into the role that Carmen assigns to him as her gay best friend, or “GBF.” He curates his behavior to match his new role as a GBF by going on Grindr dates, watching RuPaul’s Drag Race with Carmen, and letting her teach him about queer history.
However, Benny’s adoption of this new role does not indicate that he is done hiding. He continues to conceal other details about his life to project the most idealized version of himself to other people. He lies to Carmen about having left Flesh and Gold—Yates’ elite secret society they were both invited to rush but from which she was rejected—even though he hasn’t, protecting both his fraternity boy persona and Carmen’s feelings. Around other Flesh and Gold members, he acts as if he isn’t friends with George—a queer activist at Yates whom Benny had befriended when he was struggling to understand his sexuality. Coming out doesn’t free Benny from the need to shape himself for others; rather, coming out creates a new set of expectations that Benny feels the need to fulfill.
This concept of overcompensating doesn’t just apply to Benny; it applies to every character in the show. And that is perhaps the most important critique made by the show—that queer or not, everyone is always putting on a performance of whom they think they should be. While rushing Flesh and Gold, Carmen flattens her personality around the members and even lies about not being lactose intolerant to attend a dinner with them. Grace used to be a grungy girl in high school who loved My Chemical Romance, but she shifted her personality to that of a stereotypical, straight white girl after dating Peter. Peter acts like he owns everything in the world in front of Grace and his friends, but deep down, he is insecure about his socioeconomic status and lack of job prospects. In each case, the gap between their private selves and public performance is vast, and every character is sculpting a version of themselves for others just to fit in. By pushing these personas to absurd extremes, Skinner shows just how much effort it takes to keep them intact.
Sometimes, though, these performances do slip. When Carmen visits Benny and Grace’s home over Thanksgiving break, we see flashes of Grace’s old self. With Carmen’s encouragement, she sings “Welcome to the Black Parade”—a song by My Chemical Romance—at a gathering in front of all the boys who made fun of her in high school. Grace’s reversal into her past self is not a coming out in the traditional sense, but it functions quite similarly, as she exposes a hidden part of herself that she had been working to keep sheltered away from the world. By showing that these moments of self–revelation happen across all types of people, Skinner frames “coming out” as a universal concept—one that isn’t just about sexuality, but also about the ongoing negotiations that everyone might have with their own identities.
By the end of the show, Benny catches Carmen betraying him in the worst of ways (no spoilers). A verbal war breaks out between them, and the fight continues escalating until Carmen pointedly accuses Benny of wanting to sleep with everyone’s boyfriend. Grace walks in at the pivotal moment, and the show ends. We’re tragically left on a cliffhanger. This scene, however, is not the triumphant, cathartic moment of truth that is often promised in queer narratives. Rather, it is a reminder that coming out can be abrupt, messy, and even imposed by others. Benny is now out to his sister, but not on his own terms; he is stripped of every bit of control that he had maintained throughout the season. Along with cliffhangers, we’re also left with lingering questions that drive home Overcompensating’s thesis: What new expectations will Benny have to grapple with in the upcoming season, now that his sister knows that he is gay? In what new ways will Benny be overcompensating or performing a different version of himself now that more people know about his sexuality?
In the turbulence and chaos of college, perhaps everyone performs a fake version of themselves—feigning interest in clubs or classes that they secretly dislike, exaggerating how happy they are in a relationship, or pretending to do well when they’re not. All the world, as William Shakespeare says, is just a stage—except in Skinner’s fictional world of over–the–top characters, no one seems to want to step off. But maybe the most honest, most refreshing thing is for a comedy to admit that—that maybe performance isn’t just a temporary act on the way to an “authentic” self. Maybe the performance is never just a phase. It’s the whole point.
