HBO doesn't just make TV shows; they build cultural ecosystems. If you look at the DNA of the modern prestige drama, you'll find a weird, specific lineage that connects the corporate brutality of Succession, the frat-boy wish fulfillment of Entourage, and the neon-soaked trauma of Euphoria. It’s a trio that defines a specific kind of "vibe" television. We’re talking about the Succession Entourage Euphoria trifecta—three shows that, on the surface, have absolutely nothing in common, yet somehow share the exact same soul when it comes to capturing the American obsession with power, excess, and the absolute messiness of being alive.
Think about it.
You’ve got the Roys screaming about stock prices in a helicopter. You’ve got Vince and the boys cruising down Sunset Boulevard in a Lincoln Continental. Then you’ve got Rue wandering through a glitter-dusted fever dream. They’re all the same. Honestly. They are all shows about "The Circle." The insular, toxic, deeply enviable, and simultaneously horrific bubbles that most of us will never step foot in but can’t stop watching through our cracked iPhone screens.
Why the Succession Entourage Euphoria Connection Actually Makes Sense
People usually get this wrong. They think Succession is a serious Shakespearean tragedy while Entourage is just a shallow relic of the mid-2000s. And Euphoria? Most critics just call it "trauma porn" for Gen Z. But that’s a surface-level take. If you dig into the mechanics of how these shows function, they’re all playing the same game of "Access and Consequence."
The Architecture of the Inner Circle
Every one of these shows relies on the concept of the "entourage." In Entourage, it’s literal. You have the talent (Vince), the manager (E), the brother (Drama), and the... whatever Turtle was. They are a unit. They move together. In Succession, the family is the entourage. Kendall, Roman, and Shiv aren't just siblings; they are satellites orbiting the dying sun that is Logan Roy. They can’t escape the gravity. Even when they try to break away, the gravitational pull of the Waystar Royco private jet brings them right back to the tarmac.
Euphoria does this with social currency. Maddy, Cassie, Nate—they aren't colleagues or family in the legal sense, but they are bound by a shared proximity to power, beauty, and devastation. When Nate Jacobs walks down a hallway, it feels exactly like Logan Roy walking into a board meeting. The air changes. The stakes skyrocket. It’s the "Succession Entourage Euphoria" effect: the feeling that everything happening inside this specific group is the only thing that matters in the entire world.
The Aesthetics of Excess
Let’s talk about the look.
Money looks different in 2004 than it does in 2024. Entourage was all about "loud" luxury. Yellow Hummers, oversized suits, and those Von Dutch hats that we all collectively agreed to forget about. It was aspirational in a very "nouveau riche" way. Fast forward to Succession, and we hit the era of "quiet luxury." The Loro Piana baseball caps that cost $600 but have no logo. The drab beige interiors of a townhouse that costs $40 million. It’s the evolution of the same impulse.
Then you have Euphoria. It takes the "Succession Entourage Euphoria" lineage and turns it into a sensory overload. The excess here isn't necessarily monetary—though these kids seem to have suspiciously large bedrooms—it's emotional and aesthetic. The makeup, the lighting, the cinematography. It’s a different kind of wealth. It’s the wealth of youth and the indulgence of feeling everything at a 10.
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The "Ari Gold" Archetype Lives On
You cannot talk about these shows without talking about the monsters who run them. Jeremy Piven’s Ari Gold was a revelation in the 2000s. He was the fast-talking, phone-throwing agent who represented the peak of Hollywood aggression. He was a terrible person, but he was our terrible person.
Now, look at Logan Roy.
Brian Cox played Logan as a more refined, more lethal version of that same energy. If Ari Gold is a chainsaw, Logan Roy is a guillotine. Both characters serve the same narrative purpose: they are the "God" of their respective universes. Everything the other characters do is a reaction to them.
In Euphoria, that role is fractured. It’s Nate’s dad, Cal Jacobs. It’s the looming threat of the drug supplier, Laurie. It’s that same terrifying authority that keeps the protagonists trapped in their cycles of behavior. The "Succession Entourage Euphoria" bridge is built on the backs of these terrifying patriarchs and power brokers.
What Most People Get Wrong About the "Vibe"
There is a common misconception that these shows are "guilty pleasures." That's a lazy way of looking at it.
Actually, these shows are deeply cynical explorations of the American Dream. Entourage showed us that even if you "make it," you’re still just a kid from Queens who’s terrified of being irrelevant. Succession showed us that even if you own the world, you’re still a terrified child begging for a father’s love that will never come. Euphoria shows us that the freedom of modern life often just feels like a different kind of cage.
The "Succession Entourage Euphoria" connection is about the loneliness of the peak.
Think about the scenes where these characters are most honest. It’s rarely when they’re in the middle of a party or a deal. It’s the quiet moments. Kendall Roy sitting alone in the back of a car. Vince staring at the water after a movie flops. Rue sitting in her room in the dark. These shows are surprisingly lonely. That’s why they resonate. We see the sparkle, but we stay for the hollowness.
The Cultural Pivot: From "I Want That" to "I’m Glad I’m Not That"
We’ve seen a massive shift in how audiences consume the Succession Entourage Euphoria style of content.
In the mid-2000s, people genuinely wanted to be Vince Chase. They wanted the house in the hills and the constant parties. There was a sincerity to the aspiration. By the time we got to the Roys, the mood had soured. We didn't want to be them; we wanted to watch them fail. We became "hate-watchers" in a way that didn't really exist during the Entourage era.
Euphoria sits somewhere in the middle. It’s aspirational in its beauty but cautionary in its plot. You might want Maddy’s wardrobe, but you definitely don't want her life. This transition reflects a broader cultural skepticism toward the elite. We are obsessed with the "inner circle," but we’re also waiting for it to implode.
The Role of Music and Rhythm
Sound matters.
The Entourage theme song ("Superhero" by Jane’s Addiction) was a literal anthem for the era. It was upbeat, aggressive, and confident. Contrast that with the Succession theme by Nicholas Britell—a discordant, haunting mix of hip-hop beats and classical piano. It sounds like a panic attack in a palace.
Then you have Labrinth’s score for Euphoria. It’s ethereal, gospel-infused, and modern.
Each of these musical identities tells the story of its show. The "Succession Entourage Euphoria" progression is a move from confidence to anxiety to total sensory overwhelm. You can trace the heartbeat of the last twenty years just by listening to the opening credits of these three shows.
The Real-World Impact: The "Trend" Pipeline
TV doesn't stay on the screen anymore. It leaks.
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The Succession effect gave us the rise of "Old Money" aesthetic on TikTok. Suddenly, everyone wanted to wear cashmere sweaters and look like they’ve never seen a sale rack in their life. Euphoria basically reinvented the makeup industry for a few years. If you went to a festival between 2019 and 2023 and didn't see someone with rhinestones on their eyelids, did the festival even happen?
Entourage was more about lifestyle. It popularized the idea of the "squad." It changed how young men talked to each other. It birthed a whole generation of "hustle culture" that eventually evolved into the tech-bro energy we see being satirized in current prestige dramas.
Where Does the "Succession Entourage Euphoria" Vibe Go Next?
We’re starting to see the next evolution of this lineage. Shows like The White Lotus or Industry are the clear descendants. They take the corporate cynicism of Succession, the group dynamics of Entourage, and the stylistic flair of Euphoria and mash them together.
The formula is pretty clear now:
- Find an ultra-exclusive setting (a hedge fund, a luxury resort, a high-stakes film set).
- Populate it with people who are incredibly talented and incredibly broken.
- Make it look expensive.
- Add a soundtrack that makes the audience feel like they’re on something.
- Let them destroy each other.
It’s a winning recipe because it plays on our dual nature. We love to look at pretty things, and we love to watch those pretty things break.
Actionable Takeaways for the Modern Viewer
If you’re looking to dive back into these worlds or understand why they’ve taken over your social media feeds, here is how to navigate the "Succession Entourage Euphoria" landscape:
- Watch for the "Power Dynamics" rather than the plot. In all three shows, what people say is rarely what they mean. The real story is in who sits where, who looks at who, and who stays silent.
- Observe the "Style Evolution." Watch an episode of Entourage from 2005 followed by Succession Season 4. It is a masterclass in how society’s perception of "status" has shifted from flashy to invisible.
- Analyze the "Mentor/Tormentor" relationship. Look at Ari/Vince, Logan/Kendall, and Cal/Nate. These shows argue that the people who help us "succeed" are often the ones who damage us the most.
- Follow the creators. If you liked the pacing of Succession, look into Jesse Armstrong’s earlier work like Peep Show. If you loved the visual language of Euphoria, check out Sam Levinson’s film Assassination Nation.
The "Succession Entourage Euphoria" era isn't just about entertainment. It's a mirror. It shows us our own weird relationship with power, the people we keep around us, and the lengths we’ll go to to feel like we belong to something "exclusive." Whether it’s a boardroom in Manhattan, a red carpet in LA, or a high school party in the suburbs, the game is exactly the same.
The faces change. The clothes get more expensive (or more sheer). The drugs get stronger. But the desire to be "in" remains the most powerful force in television. And as long as we keep watching, HBO will keep building these beautiful, terrible worlds for us to live in for an hour every Sunday night.