Exploring the Complexities of Identity and Consent in "Severance"

Innie sexual liberation has arrived! The series Severance isn’t known for its sultry atmosphere, as the sterile environment of Lumon Industries hardly inspires romance, with its cold florescent lighting and constant surveillance. But this week’s episode, “Attila,” transforms the severed floor into a newfound space of sexuality. For Helly R. (Britt Lower), an innie with no recollection of life beyond her job, it signifies the loss of her virginity—in a way. The same milestone occurs for Mark S. (Adam Scott), who experienced this personal threshold during a recent team-building getaway.

However, things take a complicated turn for Mark in “Woe’s Hollow” when he learns the woman he slept with wasn’t who he thought she’d been in the first season. Though it was the same “vessel,” another consciousness had shared that intimate moment with him. Despite parallels between Helly and Helena’s personalities, innies are unique individuals, just like every severed employee, regardless of their outie’s characteristics.

This predicament mirrors the concept of rape by deception, though it’s not a situation we encounter in real life. The term “tricking someone into a sexual act” may sound broad, and it is unevenly applied in rape law. However, it serves as a catchall for less discussed forms of assault, including “stealthing”—the non-consensual removal of a condom during intercourse. In rarer instances, it involves deceit about one’s identity—beyond feigning wealth to entice a date, it encompasses convincing someone they’re with a person they are not.

Classic literary instances involve deceitful impersonation, such as a man tricking his twin’s wife into bed or, as infamously depicted in Revenge of the Nerds, someone masquerading at a costume party to sleep with someone else’s partner. This trope proliferates through fiction—tracing back to Arthurian legend, where Uther Pendragon assumes another’s form to assault Igraine, setting the stage for the legendary King Arthur.

Fiction, particularly in science fiction and fantasy, revels in the pliability of identities via technology or magic. Doppelgängers frequently appear in genre narratives, often within horror. The idea of an imposter replacing you and deceiving others while you’re powerless to alert them taps into profound fears of losing control and personal autonomy.

The first doppelgänger-related sexual misconduct I noticed was in Fringe’s third season, where an alternate-universe Olivia—“Fauxlivia”—assumes our protagonist’s role just as she embarks on a relationship with Peter. Such scenarios appear across various narratives. Faith assumes Buffy’s identity to seduce her boyfriend Riley, and Barry Allen unknowingly marries a Mirrorverse version of Iris on The Flash, continuing their relationship as usual. In The Boys, a shape-shifter imprisons Annie, usurping her position to go as far as proposing to her boyfriend, Hughie, accompanied by numerous sexual encounters.

Similar plotlines unfold in Once Upon a Time, Pretty Little Liars, and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., amongst others. Portraying these assaults isn’t inherently problematic; “rape by deception” tends not to induce the visceral reactions associated with graphic depictions seen in shows like 13 Reasons Why. Nevertheless, these narratives sidestep the victim’s psychological journey and refrain from labeling the acts as rape or assault.

It’s noteworthy that many recent examples involve female doppelgängers with male victims. Perhaps creators perceive deceit as more evidently malevolent with gender reversal, as depicted in Revenge of the Nerds. Crimes against men are often diminished in societal discourse, and media mirrors this disparity.

The aftermath of doppelgänger assaults often spotlights the anger of female victims betrayed by partners not recognizing the imposter. Consequently, male victims feel compelled to comfort their real partners, having their trauma sidelined as they apologize for an experience they didn’t choose.

A glaring instance is in The Boys, where Annie verbally attacks Hughie after learning the truth. Despite his insistence he believed she was the real Annie, she accuses him of superficiality, hinting that her ideal persona fuels his desires. This narrative angle primarily delves into Annie’s insecurities while leaving Hughie grappling with guilt and remorse over circumstances out of his control. Showrunner Eric Kripke exacerbates this by downplaying related trauma, like the comedic portrayal of Hughie’s earlier sexual assault.

Despite the compelling storytelling in many doppelgänger scenarios—season three of Fringe stands out for its narrative mastery, with the Fauxlivia twist magnifying the intrigue—these stories often falter in exploring male victim repercussions. Severance avoids the worst with its commendable “Attila” episode, including the Helly-Mark subplot, albeit continuing the trend of narrative missteps regarding male trauma representation.

The series still veers away from allowing Mark to truly process his discomfort, emphasizing Helly’s reaction to her impersonation ordeal instead. Her perspective offers satisfaction through reclaiming her body and sexuality with Mark genuinely, beyond her justified unease with Helena’s manipulation.

But Mark isn’t free from victimhood, even if Helly’s indignation is justified regarding her body’s misuse. Such dynamics are inherent in all innie-outie relationships; for instance, Outie-Dylan engages with his wife, yet the show does not victimize his innie persona.

The dehumanization of innies, forced to toil while their outies enjoy freedom, is central to the show’s narrative. An earlier episode features Helena recording a message to Helly asserting her non-personhood, while derogatory language likens innies to animals. This demeaning treatment juxtaposes Helena commandeering Helly to violate Mark, echoing historical exploitation inherent in power imbalances.

This scenario could unravel the intricate dynamics of innie-outie hierarchy, surfacing through Mark’s gradual reintegration and resurfacing memories. Science fiction and fantasy often shy away from addressing the nuanced impacts of sexual assault, dismissing them as secondary to plot developments. Ignoring male victims’ importance misses an opportunity to speak to innie trauma, abuse, and Mark’s broader emotional landscape.

Helly’s hallway query to Mark, “Was it different with me?”, incites reflection: Mark, under the illusion of authenticity, intertwines feelings for Helly and her doppelgänger, Helena. While speculation posits an equivalency in experiences with both, the tent’s memory distorts post-revelation. Yet the narrative leaves Mark offering a non-verbal response, opting for a kiss, showcasing Severance’s proclivity for raising questions rather than resolving them.