A week before its Season 3 premiere, Outer Banks was already sitting pretty on Netflix’s list of the top 10 TV shows in the U.S. That could be due to the series’ mega popularity. It could be because Netflix can literally do whatever it wants with its little algorithms, and what it wants is for me to watch a show that finds new and inventive ways to keep all the world’s best treasure-hunting clues in the coastal Carolinas. Or it could be due to the very legitimate reason that people who watched Seasons 1 and 2 of Outer Banks—alternate title: All Dads Go to Hell—were just trying to remember what the hell happened in Seasons 1 and 2 of Outer Banks. I’ve watched a lot of funny television this year, but my TV has heard no louder guffaw than when teenage miscreant John B happened upon his father—who he thought was dead until he found him banging on a bell in Barbados—and was forced to confess: “I’m married, Dad.”
Hey, did you guys remember that John B and Sarah got BANDANA MARRIED while stranded at sea in Season 2, shortly after Sarah survived sepsis through nothing but the power of teenage love but before they discovered their second half a billion dollars’ worth of lost gold? Well, it’s fine if you forgot—Sarah Cameron forgot she was married this season too. (Burn.) But mostly, this show burns through plot like JJ burns through stolen guns. If we all have the same 24 hours in a day as Beyoncé, then the Pogues have at least three times that, because the sun never sets on the Outer Banks, and in Season 3, the writers simply said: “Fuck the plot—we’re going to steal the Declaration of Independence.” Or as John B’s terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad father later explains it: “JOHN B, CHARLESTON LEADS TO EL DORADO!” Sure it does, man.
The Ringer’s Streaming Guide
There’s a lot of TV out there. We want to help: Every week, we’ll tell you the best and most urgent shows to stream so you can stay on top of the ever-expanding heap of Peak TV.
Over the course of what I calculate to be no more than two weeks’ worth of searching for the lost city of El Dorado, the adult children of Outer Banks traverse three different countries and two different continents; they cross borders on stolen boats, stow away on drug planes, and simply ask around for a travel guide named Jose; and they rob a train, briefly transport drugs in a U-Haul, and unsuccessfully attempt to mug an elderly museum archivist. (Hey, Big John, I say this with all my heart: Stay dead.) They get abducted by billionaires and placed in wilderness therapy camps, and they survive a house fire …
And yet, all of this pales in comparison to how absolutely, unbelievably filthy they remain, because during those same two weeks (and the month before them spent on a deserted island), there is no concrete evidence that one single Pogue has taken one single shower. They are never not covered in motor oil, beach sand, and the dust of parental neglect. Do they all still look gorgeous? Yeah, of course they do. They’re constantly slathered in that bronzer Bradley Cooper wore in A Star Is Born, and their faces are chiseled by whatever genetic combination provides the perfect amount of buccal fat.
It’s simply that … if you scraped your fingernail down any one of these Pogues’ arms during this Season 3 quest, their outer layer of grime would unfurl like candle wax. Between falling down elevator shafts, mostly being homeless, and being constantly exposed to Big John Routledge, the filthiness of Season 3’s characters reaches near mythical proportions. The teens do not eat, do not sleep, and do not brush their teeth—it’s just hunting treasure and vibes. The closest anyone gets to bathing is when Sarah Cameron very briefly pats ancient pond water onto her neck before losing focus and discovering the lost city of El Dorado. Surely, after quantifying the magnitude of filth present in Season 2 for this very website, I could have assumed that it would simply keep building in Season 3. I mean, I watched John B wash his face in a birdbath … I guess I just thought (hoped?) that after the Pogues were marooned on a deserted island for 30 days, they would have gained a newfound appreciation for occasional access to running water back in the OBX. But alas, I’m not a teenager—I’m simply an adult within the age range to play a teenager on Netflix’s Outer Banks—so these hopes of improved cleanliness were in vain.
That month on “Poguelandia” did change these teens: Yes, it showed them a shower-free world without judgment. It offered them a place where they could weave palm fronds and go fishing and revel in one another’s scalp smell in a way that parents and public schools would simply never allow. It’s on Poguelandia that they discover the true meaning of P4L: accumulating a thin layer of scum along your chiseled collarbone until you reach euphoria or die from a bacterial infection. And so help me if I didn’t find that youthful freedom a little beautiful at times. Have you ever seen a teenager’s T-zone glisten under the ancient moonlight of Tres Rocas, completely devoid of a 10-step TikTok skin care regimen?
Of course, at other times, when you watch two best friends finally admit their feelings for one another and lean in for a kiss, your adult mind can only ask: Where might one possibly fit a portable toothbrush in a pair of denim shorts that tight? And you know that the answer is, unfortunately, nowhere. So, without further ado, it’s time to calculate which Outer Banks teen has gone the longest without showering in Season 3, with the understanding that, like rings on a tree, the dirty neck creases on a teenager remind us of the passing of time, and that each Pogue has already not showered in at least 30 days when we find them on Poguelandia in Episode 1.
Rafe
Evidentiary showers: none documented; several—almost an alarming amount—assumed
Listen, if this show wanted me to be disgusted by Rafe in every conceivable way, they should not have given Drew Starkey that buzz cut, nor made Rafe the single cleanest character in this cast. I assume that Rafe actually got that buzz cut in an attempt to make cleanup easier whenever he’s forced (by the labyrinth of his unfortunate mind) to do a murder or an attempted drowning or a rage-blackout beating. Rafe is one clean motherfucker. He showers and changes to plot his crimes, to melt his stolen gold, to sell his stolen gold, and to hire assassins to kill his own father. Rafe is the only person we see wake up in, or near, an indoor bed the entire season.
The only time all season that Rafe isn’t freshly showered is when he’s briefly abducted alongside Kiara. And while she refuses the offer by her abductor to get cleaned up for the first time in a month, I feel like Rafe was like, “Ooooh, they have Aesop in here!” before proceeding with his regularly scheduled shower. I think Rafe probably keeps floss in his wallet; I think Rafe’s razor costs more than my computer; I think Rafe has killed and will kill again.
Time without showering: zero to one days
Cleo
Evidentiary showers: none documented; several assumed
Cleo has been on her own since she was 14, sure, but she also hasn’t been crashing on dusty porch couches her whole life and therefore seems to have a certain level of respect—perhaps even a desire!—for hygiene. While Cleo is going through all the same dirty group activities—sleeping in the abandoned ruin of a hotel in Barbados and stealing the clothes of a dead man to wear out of the island—there’s no evidence of her being personally disgusting on her own. Cleo actually has a lot in common with JJ when it comes to her resourcefulness and natural charisma—it’s just that she also understands she can use that charisma to commandeer the top bedroom with a window unit and an en suite bathroom from the boy who has a crush on her, and if and when they share their first kiss, they can keep it closed-mouth until some Listerine strips become readily available.
Time without showering: 34 days
Pope
Evidentiary showers: none documented; a few assumed
Pope somehow maintains a gorgeous set of sideburns on Poguelandia, but other than that, he adheres to the regular Pogue handbook regarding grooming (mostly licking your palms and running your hands over your hair like Danny Zuko). We know that Pope shows up for at least one day of school while the Pogues are back on the island (yes, one day of school in the last six weeks—still holding out for that merit scholarship, bud!), for which I assume he finally showered the Poguelandia sand out of his toes. But I don’t want to give Pope too much credit; I did spend most of the scene where he’s hanging onto the side of a moving train not worried for his safety but simply hoping that the night air might move quickly enough over his skin to possibly mimic the effect of water and soap. Because treasure hunting is simply a dirty sport, even when you have parents that attend to your hygiene practices and semi-regular access to running water. Just look at Pope’s hands covered in ancient dust as he shuffles through the many, many documents in his parents’ basement that continue to provide his friends with access to—I think?—billions of dollars.
Time without showering: 36 days
Kiara
Evidentiary showers: none documented; one to two assumed
I firmly believe that Kiara is the Pogue most resistant to showering because she is the Pogue with the most to prove. When the crew is stranded on Poguelandia, they make a little show of saying how maybe they’d go back to OBX for the chance at a shower (absolute lol), to which Kie says, “Yeah, I could use a fat shower right now.” And, for me, the most surefire way to indicate that you’ve maybe never taken a shower, but want people to think you’re interested in one, is to call it “a fat shower”—as though it is a hamburger that can grow in size and tenderness. Oh yeah, I could use a MEGA teeth brushing right now. How about some HELLA deodorant? Can a sister get AN EXTRA SIDE OF CONDITIONER, please?
I know that Kiara didn’t shower at Carlos Singh’s house when offered because none of her 800 cloth bracelets dripped onto her provided satin dress or her satin pajamas that she ultimately wore while fleeing in a hay truck the next day. And truly, can you imagine anything grosser than sweating in satin while sitting in hay? Once home in the Outer Banks, Kiara puts several tiny braids in the front of her hair, another surefire sign that she’s refusing to shower to declare her Pogue-ness. But as she continues to repair bonds with her parents, I do believe that she finally showers for their anniversary party … a party that her friends ultimately ruin via teen adultery and one brutal beating.
Time without showering: at least 38 days
Sarah
Evidentiary showers: none documented; one to two assumed
My heart breaks for Sarah Cameron. How many times has she watched her own father die? How many of her own family members have betrayed her? Attempted to murder her? Withheld showers from her? Still … I find myself wishing that she’d lean into the dirty side of Pogue life just a smidge less. When it comes to being slathered in foundation 12 shades too dark in order to emulate teenage treasure-hunting filth, no face bears an oranger fate than Madelyn Cline’s.
It is absolutely absurd to hear Sarah assure Topper that if he lets her and the Pogues borrow his dad’s truck to steal a priceless gold cross from a train, they will be “totally anal” about taking care of it, all while she is covered in weeks’ and countries’ worth of dirt and grime.
And who should find Sarah at her lowest point—with the condensation of a White Claw pressed to her forehead, doing what a La Mer face wash in some long-abandoned childhood bathroom cannot, after being refused shelter by her friends’ families—but Topper, ready and willing to sweep Sarah back into that squeaky clean, morally corrupt Kook life? Sarah will always find a way to change into a cute gingham top; I’ll give her that. But in Season 3, she’s unable to find a shower until Ward finally shows back up, tricks her into seeing him, and then gives her the keys to their condo. The great equalizer of Kooks and Pogues is dads who are sure they’re martyrs but are mostly just manipulative and murderous. Well, that and arson, which is what Topper ultimately does when Sarah won’t just be his perfect girlfriend, ugh!
Time without showering: at least 40 days
JJ
Evidentiary showers: none documented; one assumed
While I am extremely concerned with how rank JJ must smell at any given moment, I am most concerned with why everyone inexplicably started calling him “Jayj” this season. JJ is already an abbreviation—it did not need to be abbreviated further! Did JJ express a desire for an updated nickname? Did something happen on Poguelandia that made this change necessary? Did he seem to need more moniker-related affection? That last one would actually be reasonable, considering that JJ is the most neglected teen of all the neglected teens (Heyward is innocent!) in the Outer Banks. And while JJ definitely seems to revel in being particularly sweat stained, perhaps on account of some undiagnosed self-sabotaging tendencies, it’s impossible to know how JJ might operate if he actually had access to a modern shower.
We do know that when JJ finds an eviction notice on his childhood home, he goes inside and immediately picks up an open beer and drinks it. We know that JJ loved Poguelandia the most and that, at rest, his hair naturally falls into a mullet; we absolutely know there’s no chance JJ took a shower anytime between arriving back on the Outer Banks and departing for the Venezuelan jungle. But we can give our guy the benefit of the doubt that he will approach being rich with the same cheekiness he approached having nothing but an unlimited supply of cutoff muscle tees, and that with all the running water millions of dollars’ worth of ancient gold can provide, JJ took his first shower in months the moment he returned to the Outer Banks (and repaid Barracuda Mike, the drug dealer who benevolently chose not to kill him).
Time without showering: 44 days
John B
Evidentiary showers: none documented; none assumed
It is not only entirely possible that John B has not showered since Season 1 of Outer Banks, but that it’s entirely intentional. John B was abandoned by his father in the name of treasure hunting, and when Big John returns, it turns out that he’s an even worse influence on John B’s hygiene than when the kid was on his own. John B is somehow dirtier than ever in Season 3. It looks like he actually has been bathing but exclusively in that water that potters dip their hands in before they spin clay bowls. A few episodes in, John B’s hair reaches full Ronald McDonald flow and never really goes back, because he never so much as dunks his head underwater until he’s forced to do so in El Dorado.
He is wearing the same nasty bandana around his neck that he’s been wearing since Season 1—yes, the marital bandana!—and no amount of Tide could clean the three short-sleeve button-ups he owns. His dad keeps making him attend to dead bodies, and they are constantly sweating all over each other. At one point, he crashes a Kook party to get Sarah to come to South America with him, and while they are once again wearing his-and-hers ocher outfits, this time, Sarah has finally showered, and John B looks like he took a turn in a dryer with a particularly filthy Ruggable.
And that, my friends, is symbolism. Eventually, however, John B and Sarah make up and head to South America in the Cameron jet—and I’ve never actually seen someone emerge from a private plane dirtier than when they got on. John B is briefly cleansed by the waters of El Dorado (oh yeah, you guys, they found it—they’re rich!), but down to the bitter end, he is committed to the grime life, doing a little “on-three” hand pile with Sarah, his dad, and his dad’s oozing blood.
When the season unexpectedly ends in an 18-months-later epilogue, the Pogues look distinctly cleaner at a function honoring their El Dorado findings, and even John B looks like he finally bathed for the occasion. But rest assured, he is not happy about it. Though he now owns a “killer surf shop” with Sarah, John B seems unfulfilled by a life of showers and non-treasure-related entrepreneurship. Luckily, there’s a man at this event with some old documents, a little tale about a man named Blackbeard, and a surefire route back to the life of dirt under John B’s fingernails and the threat of a staph infection at every turn.
Here’s my final math on this: If John B was showering to go to school right before Season 1 started, and each season of Outer Banks takes place over the course of about two weeks, with one month of Poguelandia time in between Seasons 2 and 3 and an 18-month time jump in the finale episode, then John B’s total time without a shower is: at least 620 days. And the clock restarts with Outer Banks Season 4: Ye best start believing in pirate stories, Mr. Routledge. ... Yer in one!
