‘Sex Education’ Taught Me as Much About Housing as It Did About Sex

It also made me feel poor.

Lasting four seasons and featuring characters with almost cult status, Sex Education taught the viewing public about what it means to have sex in the 21st century. Yet, it also taught me about something else — housing.

Put aside the fantasies, fashion, friendships, and therapy; the characters’ houses are where it’s really at. Let me explain…

Except for the flamboyant and openly queer Eric, all the characters are either the only child in the household or might as well be (e.g. Maeve, whose brother pops in when it suits him but is mostly AWOL, acts like an only child for most of the series). Even Eric’s sisters are nothing more than accessories in pivotal scenes.

The result? Every main character gets a bedroom all to themselves, and it’s usually a sizeable one at that.

A room of one’s own

When the viewer sees the front of Eric’s house, it appears to be a decent three-bedroom semi-detached. This was the type of house I grew up in with my parents and two sisters.

The difference is that Eric has a double bed, a decent-sized wardrobe, and enough space to dance around to his soundtrack. Great, but where are his sisters sleeping?

These types of UK houses usually have two double bedrooms and a box room with a window, at best. The master bedroom goes to the parents, the other double would go to the siblings who have to share, and the eldest usually gets the tiny cupboard room (because they demand more privacy).

In my tiny cupboard room (as the eldest), my bed had to go under the window so it would fit and I could open my equally tiny wardrobe by stretching my arm out while lying on my single bed. Room to dance, have sleepovers, complete homework? As if! I barely had room to breathe.

Another character who gets an impossibly large room is Lily, who even has enough ‘space’ (excuse the pun) to have a mini artist’s studio. But she’s an only child, so it makes more sense. Then again, most of the characters are the only children in the family. Cal also gets their own room and a huge one at that, as do Roman, Adam, and Jackson, to name a few.

The OMG mansions

Let’s now turn our attention to the breathtaking ‘mansions’ that grace the Sex Education landscape. Most of the characters attend Moordale Secondary School during the first three seasons, which is presented as a school for those with either money or smarts (or both). So it’s no surprise that some of the leading characters have affluent families behind them.

From Otis’ huge country digs to Amy’s sprawling estate, there’s a lot of money flowing through the area. Add to this Jackson’s fancy residence and you’ve got some ‘diverse’ representation of how the other half live. Yet the headteacher of this prestigious school, who is likely pulling upward of £70,000 a year on average, lives in a modest semi-detached.

Wait, what?

To be honest, this is perhaps the most realistic of all the housing scenarios in Sex Education. Careers within the UK education sector are severely underpaid. Ok, a salary of 70k a year isn’t exactly small, but it won’t get you a £2.5 million barn conversion. In fact, most young teachers are lucky if they can get on the property ladder at all. (I’ve worked in education and seen many teachers surviving within insecure accommodation).

So, while the mansions make great TV, they also highlight problems surrounding the distribution of wealth in the UK and how vocational sectors are severely underpaid (and I’m not even factoring in health workers, although the UK government certainly should).

Swing low, sweet abode

Thank goodness for Ruby and her modest(ish) pad, because between her bungalow and Adam’s semi (pun intended), they prop up the housing integrity of the whole show. But what of Maeve’s caravan, I hear you say?

Ah, yes, 17-year-old Maeve livin’ la vida loco in her caravan. There’s an entire Reddit dedicated to the discrepancies of how Maeve manages to afford food, school, clothing, cigarettes, rent(!), and other sundries on her cash for homework/sex advice franchise. But the glaringly obvious issue is, how is it ok that she’s left to her own devices as a minor?

Sadly, this is all too common in the UK. She has a mother and brother who are both adults (although shockingly irresponsible) and are probably on the rental agreement, and the neighbours turn a blind eye because they’re still getting paid. Maeve, therefore, can remain a lone wolf.

Instead of getting social services involved (who would likely place her in a hostel or other form of shared housing for young people), Maeve strives to go it alone. However, how she would manage to scrape up enough money for food, let alone her rent, is beyond me.

Thank goodness she teams up with Otis to make extra cash doing the Sex Therapy bit, because the options for 16/17 year olds in the UK are slim to none. For example, the minimum wage for a 16–17-year-old in the UK is £5.28. Thats not going to get Maeve much eyeliner, let alone essential supplies.

Plus, she’s attending school and wants to pursue further education, meaning any extra time would have to be spent doing paid work and not homework (either for herself or others) and she’d definitely not have much time for hook-ups, that’s for damn sure.

Rachel Palmąka Mace is a literary fiction and creative non-fiction writer, singer, artist, spoken word performer, lapsed academic, and feminist. She is the editor of the feminist-led magazine Subtle Sledgehammer and her new project ‘Around the World with 80 Women’ (AW80W) — which shares the narratives of women from Somalia to Scotland — will be published in the autumn of 2023.