Finding Myself in the Fiction: A Love Letter to Schitt’s Creek

I didn’t jump on the Schitt’s Creek bandwagon right away. I’m a proud late-adopter. If everyone’s obsessed with something, my inner contrarian rolls her eyes and walks the other way. But during lockdown in 2020, alone and unraveling from personal turmoil, I caved. I hit play. And I fell hard.

Within days, I devoured the entire series. Then I restarted it. And I’ve kept it on rotation ever since — not just because it’s funny, but because it feels like home. In the sitcom "Schitt's Creek," a wealthy family whos lead by video store magnate Johnny and his soap opera star wife Moira, suddenly find themselves completely broke after being screwed over by a business partner. The government repossessed everything but one remaining asset, a small town called Schitt's Creek, which the Roses bought years earlier as a joke. With their two spoiled and estranged children in tow, the Rose family is forced to face their newfound poverty head-on and come together as a family to survive.

“Over the course of five seasons, the Rose family has not only adapted to the town and the two room motel-suite they call home, but in a way they’ve thrived. It’s in Schitt’s Creek that they’ve learned to love each other and the people around them—people they never would have interacted with otherwise.” - Esquire

Between Couture and Cow Pastures

Growing up, I moved constantly — Kentucky, Colorado, Virginia, Texas. Always “the new girl.” Always slightly out of sync with the local culture. One year, we lived in a high-income D.C. suburb. The next, a tiny Texas town with more cows than people. We bounced between high-income cities and rural towns, code-switching and shapeshifting to survive. That feeling of being a guest in your own life? I know it well. That tension — between appearing polished and feeling like a total outsider — lives inside me.

It’s the same tension that defines Schitt’s Creek. Watching the Roses land in this offbeat small town, overdressed and overwhelmed, felt eerily familiar. Like me, they were technically “fine”… but not at home. Not yet.

After my parents divorced, my mom and I moved to a tiny Texas town: population 2,000. More cows than people. A town where everyone knew everyone, with a church on every corner, one local diner with a giant menu — where being gay was dangerous. Openly queer people? Nonexistent. After graduation, several classmates came out. The stories they told? Brutal. Quiet. Shameful.

I have a beloved family member who came out later in life. I think of her — and others we grew up with — every time I watch Schitt’s Creek. What if that town had been like this town?

That’s why Schitt’s Creek was more than a show to me — it was a reimagining. A small town that chooses love over fear. That made space for people to become their best, truest selves.

The Small-Town Truth

I loved the town of Schitt’s Creek. Because I knew that town. The multi-hyphenate Ray reminded me of my own cousin, who was the school photographer, the newspaper editor, and my English/history/journalism teacher all in one. In small towns, everyone wears ten hats — because you have to. Because that’s how you hold up a community.

The moment that gutted me most? When Johnny stands up to his old friends — the ones who mocked the town that took him in when no one else would. “These people showed up for us,” he says. “And that means something.” Yes. It does.

Falling in love- without the trauma

Schitt’s Creek was one of the first mainstream comedies to portray a queer relationship not as a plot twist or teaching moment—but simply as love. David and Patrick’s romance unfolds without tragedy, trauma, or tokenism, which was revolutionary in a media landscape where gay couples were often sidelined or sensationalized. Creator Dan Levy, who is gay himself, made it clear: “This is a gay couple on TV; they’re going to kiss like any straight couple would.” And they did—tenderly, joyfully, and without apology. One of the most iconic moments comes when David describes his sexuality using wine as a metaphor: “I like the wine, not the label.” That simple line became a defining moment for pansexual visibility and an elegant rejection of outdated norms. The impact was so profound that a billboard featuring David and Patrick kissing was displayed in Times Square—a bold, beautiful symbol of queer love, front and center, without explanation. The show didn’t just include a queer love story—it celebrated it.

Watching David and Patrick fall in love — slowly, awkwardly, beautifully — changed something in me. Patrick’s coming out scene is a masterstroke in emotional rewriting. His parents don’t cry because he’s gay. They cry because they wish he’d felt safe enough to tell them sooner. That nuance? That reframing of grief into compassion? I felt it in my bones.

“A lot of the stories I see representing my community are cautionary tales or lessons to be learned or something that’s kind of heavy-handed and waterlogged with messaging,” Levy said. “Very rarely do members of the LGBTQIA+ community get to see themselves represented in really hopeful and happy ways. It’s about presenting people for who they are and allowing people to see those people and warm to those people and love those people.” - The Pink News

I love that David doesn’t “tone it down.” He doesn’t shrink to be loved. Patrick meets him where he is. He sees him — couture and all — and loves him without flinching. Their love story is tender, hilarious, and gloriously devoid of stereotypes.

But creating the beloved series wasn’t all smooth sailing for Dan Levy. By the final sixth season, he said the pressure from co-creating the series got so bad he had to wear a neck brace because the anxiety in his neck was so bad he couldn’t move it.

“It’s an incredibly emotional experience to know that I’ve done something that has helped, you know, lighten the load, or helped change the conversation within a family, or made someone feel empowered, because growing up that’s all I feel like I hoped for,” he said.

I See Myself in These People

I see myself in David — the entrepreneur who doesn’t fit the mold. The one who’s brimming with ideas but can’t quite articulate them. (“It’s a general store… but also a very specific store.” I cackled. I cried.) At the time I watched, I was living in a small town with no branding jobs in sight, but plenty of grocery store openings. It was too real.

I see myself in Alexis too. A little tone-deaf. A little out of touch. Glamorous, but longing for meaning. Her journey from party girl to publicist, from dropout to graduate, from chaos to groundedness — it moved me. Her breakup with Ted? Real, respectful, deeply loving. A rare portrayal of emotional maturity between two people who simply want different things.

And then there’s Stevie. Introverted, sharp, a little guarded — but capable of huge things. Her growth from motel clerk to co-owner to actress showed that reinvention doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.

Even Moira, with all her theatricality and wigs and “bébés,” showed us what it means to embrace eccentricity without apology — and still care deeply for your community.

Alexis and the Art of Reinvention

I see so much of myself in Alexis. Not just in her love of getting dolled up (guilty), but in her hilarious, casually chaotic life story. One second she’s at Café Tropical, the next she’s dropping “I once had a threesome with Jared Leto in Ibiza” like it’s a weather update.

A few of my favorite lines from her formative life…

“Oh my God. Ever since David left, you two have been so dramatic. Do I have to remind you of the time that I was taken hostage on David Geffen’s yacht by Somali pirates for a week and nobody answered my texts?” -Season 2, Episode One

“I didn’t go missing, David. The FBI knew where I was the entire time.” -Season 2, Episode One

“Like, have you ever had to negotiate in Arabic? It’s very difficult. And try getting into Kiss Kiss in Tokyo without a lock of human hair.” -Season 2, Episode Four

Like Alexis, my story is random, though far less scandalous. I’ve owned a farm. I’ve designed a speakeasy. I’ve shot a wedding in a literal castle in Ireland. I’m now a brand designer and once worked at an art gallery — just like David. My life doesn’t always make sense to other people. But to me, it’s just Tuesday.

And like Alexis, I’ve been underestimated. Misread as shallow or scatterbrained when, in reality, I’ve always been building something — learning, evolving, quietly becoming. Her transformation from a self-involved socialite to a compassionate, capable publicist with a college degree? I sobbed. Because we don’t often see women like her get to be whole. To be fashionable and smart. Romantic and self-aware. A little delusional, but also deeply tender.

Her breakup with Ted — kind, mature, rooted in mutual respect — was one of the healthiest depictions of love I’ve seen on television. And watching Ted grow? From nerdy vet to confident motorcycle-riding hunk who knows his worth? Chef’s kiss.

”Murphy revealed in an interview (via KCRW) that Goldie Hawn’s effervescent quality allowed her to ensure Alexis didn’t come off as a one-note, despicably ditzy socialite. With this as a baseline, she took to watching clips of the Olsens, Lohan, Hilton, and the Kardashians to scavenge their characteristic accouterement. The major commonality she found and adopted for Alexis was their way of speaking: that lazy, airy vocal fry with plenty of upspeak to make every sentence sound almost like a question. She also noted the universal way they carried their handbags, which Murphy modified to create Alexis’s unceasingly limp wrists.” -Screenrant

“It’s a General Store… But It’s Also a Very Specific Store”

And then there’s David. Oh, David.

From his inability to articulate his business idea (“It’s a general store… but also a very specific store”) to his high-fashion-meets-small-town breakdowns, I saw myself everywhere. I, too, have been the branding expert in a town with no branding jobs — but plenty of grocery bagging ones. I’ve felt misunderstood, too much, not enough, all the things. Watching David create Rose Apothecary, build something real, and find love without compromise — it cracked me open.

Patrick didn’t want to fix him. He just got him. Loved him exactly as he was. And showed up for him in the most quietly romantic ways — like buying him the vintage house he adored. As someone who loves old homes and slow, steady love… that was it for me. I was gone.

Behind the Wigs and Wigs and Wigs

Part of what made Schitt’s Creek so special was its intimacy — on screen and behind it. The show was famously low-budget in the beginning. Dan Levy thrifted many of the costumes himself. Those iconic Rose family outfits? His real-life finds. Moira’s wigs? Catherine O’Hara’s idea entirely — along with her mind-bending, vaguely Eastern-European-meets-Katharine-Hepburn accent. Twyla, the eternally chipper waitress? That’s Sarah Levy — Dan’s real-life sister, and Eugene’s daughter.

“Moira Rose is my favorite creation on all of television at the moment. I can’t believe I slept on her, and the lovely show that houses her, for so long.” - Richard Lawson, Vanity Fair

Awards and Accolades , yes, But More Than That, Impact

By the final season, the world had caught on. Schitt’s Creek swept the 2020 Emmys — winning nine awards and setting the record for the most wins by a comedy in a single season. Dan Levy alone took home trophies for writing, directing, and acting.

“At the Emmys, Schitt's Creek won the award for outstanding comedy series, making it the first family sitcom to do so since Modern Family in 2014. The entire Rose family — Eugene Levy, Dan Levy, Annie Murphy, and Catherine O'Hara — also took home Emmys for their performances. Schitt's Creek managed to set the Emmy record, with their nine wins, for number of awards won by a comedy in a single season.” - PopSugar

Vanity Fair called it “a landmark in LGBTQ+ television,” praising its ability to “normalize queer love without reducing it to an educational PSA.” They highlighted its revolutionary optimism — “a soft place to land in hard times.” And that’s exactly what it was for me.

I wasn’t just watching a show. I was being held. Reminded of what love can look like. What community can be. What healing might sound like — usually set to a slow, acoustic version of Tina Turner.

Contrast without Cruelty

One of the show’s quietest triumphs? The way it created contrast without cruelty. Moira and Jocelyn. Johnny and Roland. Alexis and Twyla. David and the owner of the Barns & Blouse shop. Opposites in every way, but never used as the butt of the joke. The show never mocked the “small-town” characters for being different — it honored them. And in doing so, it offered a model for mutual respect across lifestyles, class, and culture.

More Than a Show… A Blueprint

What Schitt’s Creek gave me — and so many others — was a window into the world as it could be. A place where queerness is normal, where love doesn’t have to be tragic, where growth isn’t punishment, and where people don’t have to betray themselves to be accepted.

It made me feel understood. It made me feel hopeful. And it made me believe that somewhere out there, someone might love me the way Patrick loves David — thoughtfully, without conditions, maybe even by buying me a historic house in need of a little renovation.

World-class writing. Deep character arcs. Endless heart. This show didn’t just entertain me — it healed something I didn’t know was broken.

And like Moira once said, with flair and finality: “You know who you are. I don’t know who I am from one moment to the next.” Same, Moira. Same.

But thanks to Schitt’s Creek, I’m learning.

Schitt’s Creek didn’t lecture. It didn’t preach. It simply showed.

A world where difference is met with curiosity, not fear. Where love is love is love. Where people grow not by being broken, but by being seen.

It gave us complex, layered, hilarious characters who were allowed to evolve. It showed breakups without blame. Fashion without shame. Growth without losing your sparkle.

It showed us a town that, like me, once felt too small — but turned out to be just the right size for becoming who you really are. That’s the quiet brilliance of Schitt’s Creek: it dares to ask what if none of this had to be traumatic? What if queer love was met with love? What if marriages survived? What if you could reinvent yourself without burning down your past?

That’s why this show is, quite simply, the best.