Innie rights and humanity made for a stronger show

If you think about it, Severance‘s “innies” — the people trapped in an endless cycle of office work — should genuinely hate their “outies” — their other halves who exist everywhere else. While outies are free to live a seemingly carefree existence, unburdened by the labor, boredom and indignities of office life, innies have no escape. Every time they enter the elevator at the end of their shifts, which triggers the switch to their outie persona, innies just blink and return to the sterile hallways of nefarious biotechnology firm Lumon Industries. There are no weekends or holidays, there isn’t even time to sleep.

Spoilers ahead for Severance season 2. No spoilers for the finale, “Cold Harbor.”

Severance‘s first season arrived as we were all reeling from the initial onslaught of the COVID pandemic and many of us were dealing with our own work-life balance issues. It introduced the show’s core concept — that Lumon pioneered the ability to completely separate work and life experiences — and it made the terms “innie” and “outie” a new cultural shorthand. But the debut season also leaned heavily on the outie perspective, sometimes to a fault. In its second season, Severance became even stronger by focusing more on the innie perspective. Do they deserve whole lives, or just the labor their outies don’t want to deal with? Are they allowed to fall in love? Are they even real people?

These are all concepts the show previously touched on, but the innie experience became all the more tragic as season two went on. We watched as Adam Scott’s Mark S. wrestled with the dueling desires to rescue Lumon’s wellness counselor, Ms. Casey, who was revealed to be his outie’s supposedly dead wife, and also nurture a budding romance with fellow innie Hellie R. (Britt Lower). John Turturro’s Irving B. spent the entire season nursing a broken heart, after the innie he fell in love with disappeared. And Zach Cherry’s Dylan G. ended up falling in love with his outie’s wife (Merritt Wever), who saw the best aspects of her floundering husband through his innie.

Innies owe their lives to their outies, but lead a tortured existence that basically just makes everything easier for outies. Season two made it clear that the process of severance, which involves a brain injection that splits the innie and outie personas, essentially creates an adult child who only exists to work. Innies have no understanding of science, history or the greater world beyond what Lumon tells them. And naturally, the company’s messaging to innies is purely focused on efficiency, output and the cult-like adoration of its founder, Kier Eagan. (It’s as if Apple based its entire internal culture on worshipping Steve Jobs as a god, complete with archaic rituals and holy texts.)

While we spent less time with outies in this season, the show still had a sharper take on their side of the severed experience. There’s a funny nod to the “return to office” phenomenon, where Tramell Tillman’s Milchick practically had to beg the outies to come back to Lumon, following their innie revolt at the end of season one. In our world, RTO is mostly a phenomenon where executives are eager to witness their employees toiling away, rather than allowing them to potentially slack off while working at home.

We also get a sense of what outies lose by giving up their work life to their innies. When Dylan G.’s outie, Dylan George, is turned down for a basic job outside of Lumon, he learns he can’t count his innie’s work time, since he didn’t actually experience it. (In some ways it feels reminiscent of what we could lose by outsourcing work to AI tools.) Severance isn’t just a trap for the innies stuck in Lumon’s offices, their outies will also have a tough time landing a job anywhere else. The only choice is to stay loyal to Lumon, and its dear founder Kier, until you retire. Or die.

According to Dan Erickson, the creator and showrunner of Severance, this season was partially inspired by the recent Hollywood writer’s strike. “We were all talking to our guilds and having conversations about workers rights and what we owe our employers and what we should reasonably expect back in return… And how much of ourselves and our lives and our energy we should be willing to give up for the sake of a job,” he said in an interview on episode 252 of the Engadget Podcast.

While much of the second season was written before the strike, “consciously or unconsciously, I think that the tone of that, of those conversations made their way into the story,” Erickson said. “And certainly I think that they’ll be on people’s minds as they’re watching the show. Because at the end of the day… it is a show about the rights of workers and what they deserve as human beings.”

As I watched this season of Severance, and processed the events of its explosive finale, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Kazuo Ishiguro’s heartbreaking novel Never Let Me Go. It’s set in a strict boarding school where students are raised to serve one specific purpose, and their own lives are devalued in the process. But they still love, learn and dream. They have hopes and desires. Every innie should be so lucky.