Disc 1 doesn’t answer that. It just has the courage to admit that we don’t know yet. And that’s a more honest place to start than any perfectly wrapped season finale.

So pour a cosmo if you must. But don’t drink it ironically. Drink it to the mess. To the first awkward steps before you learn to walk in heels. To the disc before the brand.

That question haunts Disc 1. Every date, every one-night stand, every awkward morning-after is a variation on the same theme: How much of myself do I have to hide to be loved?

Before we all became experts on love, back when we were still brave enough to be bad at it.

“Why are we so obsessed with the ones who hurt us?”

And that’s the gift of the first disc. It’s not aspirational. It’s not a lifestyle. It’s a document of confusion.

You forget how raw it was.