I think in order to be a satire, you need to actually have elements of 80s slasher horror to satirize. But with no bloody climax between a killer/Final Girl, the killer's backstory/motive revealed only to the audience and not a group of stunned survivors, and barely any chases or "trapped in a basement" suspense, I…

Eeesh, maybe? I think you're giving Ryan Murphy too much credit, but I hope you're right. To me it smacked of unearned character development and the fact that the show hasn't yet been able to nail down Chanel's characterization, either as a redeemable quasi-villainess or an unrepentant bitch-queen extraordinaire.

What's so frustrating about this show is that if I turned it on at any given moment and watched for 30 seconds, I'd think, there's a show with visual flair, memorable wit, and unique style. There's a show with inspired camera-work, twisted and ironic imagery, and juicy monologues galore. There's a show I'm doomed to…

I'm like, Gracie, you're a tall skinny pretty white girl in a newsboy cap wearing a surely-too-warm sweater for early fall in California, ordering coffee at your prestigious college's coffee shop on your way to pledge a sorority. YOU ARE PUMPKIN SPICE PERSONIFIED.

Pretty sure there's one poor Standards & Practices censor frantically crossing out c-words from the script and replacing them with "gash." I'm hoping "quim" comes into rotation next.

The Newsie hat coupled with her "call me Senorita Awesome, I hate pumpkin spice lattes I just like regular ol' coffee, aw shucks" shtick from the pilot may have done irreparable damage to my giving a crap about Grace.

Not sure if puberty makes you act stiff, but getting spit-roasted by hot golf frat twins probably does.