The Buccaneers Season 1 brings a refreshing energy to the period-drama world — think Bridgerton’s wild, American cousin who talks back at the dinner table. It’s sharp, romantic, and surprisingly modern beneath all the lace and etiquette. The cast delivers charm and bite in equal measure, and the show balances its glossy visuals with themes of independence, identity, and ambition.
When The Buccaneers premiered, it was quickly compared to Bridgerton — and understandably so. Both shows explore the lives of young women navigating love, power, and expectation within rigid social systems. But while Bridgerton lives in fantasy, The Buccaneers feels grounded in tension. It trades the polished perfection of Shondaland’s Regency dreamscape for something looser, more human, and ultimately more revealing.
Set in 1870s London, the series follows a group of wealthy American girls sent abroad to marry into British aristocracy. The premise sounds familiar, but the tone isn’t. Where Bridgerton thrives on idealized romance, The Buccaneers leans into cultural friction — the clash between American bluntness and British restraint. The dialogue is modern without feeling forced, and the pacing allows emotion to sit in quieter moments rather than sweeping montages. It’s less a fairytale and more a coming-of-age story set against the expectations of class and gender.
Visually, the differences are just as striking. Bridgerton is all symmetry, color, and polish — a world where every gown and garden is designed to dazzle. The Buccaneers moves in the opposite direction, opting for candlelit warmth and lived-in rooms that reflect its characters’ growing discomfort. The costumes carry story weight too; fabrics feel heavier, the color palette darker, more reflective of the social limitations its women face. You can sense when a character is trying to blend in or when she’s quietly refusing to.
As a film and media major, I find The Buccaneers more interested in realism than romance. It doesn’t hide the awkwardness of status or the loneliness of privilege. Its camera work lingers longer on emotional isolation than on spectacle, and that choice makes it feel refreshingly contemporary. Even when the pacing falters — which it occasionally does — the emotional honesty remains intact.
Where Bridgerton celebrates fantasy, The Buccaneers questions it. The first asks us to believe in love above all else; the second reminds us that love alone doesn’t erase social hierarchy. Both tell stories of women searching for agency within confinement, but The Buccaneers does so with less gloss and more grit.
It might not be as instantly addictive, but it lingers longer. It’s the kind of series that invites you to sit with the discomfort beneath the lace — and that’s what makes it worth watching.
Screen Siren 