When he runs into one of the founders, Angela, at a party later, she tells him that they turned down his investment due to the toxicity of his family’s brand, something that Kendall struggles to understand as he chases after her and publicly berates her. The earliest sign of this behavior is in season one, when Kendall considers investing in an app run by some young female artists. In fact, since the show’s premiere, Kendall has been turning to women for approval and attention when he can’t get it from Logan, only to talk over them, ignore them, or get visibly (and sometimes audibly) upset with them when they don’t do exactly what he wants. He’s like the guy on the dating app who says he’s looking for a “strong woman,” then calls you a misogynistic slur if you say you’re not interested-if that guy had millions of dollars at his behest. Regardless of which it is, this hubris allows him to believe he is acting in the best interests of the survivors, and women writ large, as long as it’s convenient for him. It’s hard to tell if Kendall’s perception of himself is totally distorted, or if he truly holds the beliefs he tries to espouse but his natural tendencies and own self-interest get in his way. Nicholas Braun and Jeremy Strong in HBO’s Succession. As the son of a media scion, Kendall knows the importance of creating a public narrative, so positioning himself as the white knight is a savvy move. So Kendall takes the only option available to him: exposing his father’s actions (or inaction) related to the sexual assault allegations. If he goes down for the events that happened at cruises, his future is basically over.
(The same can be said of his sister Shiv, to a degree.) When his father, Logan, informs him that he will be the scapegoat for sexual assault allegations within the cruise division of the family firm Waystar-Royco, Kendall moves into survival mode. The thing about Kendall is that he believes that he is a good person who does the right things for the right reasons.
If you’ve ever been lectured about privilege by a white man who won’t let you get a word in edgewise, it might feel a little too familiar. Cousin Greg is the one viewers typically peg as the show’s relatable King with his charming fish-out-of-water act, but it’s actually Kendall Roy whose traits are most often found out in the real world-most notably his faux feminism, which is proudly on display in season three. And perhaps it is, on its face, but deep down, the characters are hyperbolic manifestations of our own worst impulses. To a non-viewer, the world of Succession-a world of oligarchs, private jets, potential political interference, $40,000 watches, and having a favorite champagne (no sparkling wine here!)-can feel entirely unrelatable.
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