2025/12/01 by Rachael Mulvihill · 1 voice
Business, Management and Accounting · Social Sciences · #Dehumanization #Digital Economy and Work Transformation #Emotional Labor in Professions #Entertainment industry #Honor #Identity (music) #Irony #Job interview #Layoff #Management and Organizational Studies #Maroon #Severance #White (mutation)
paper · doi:10.1215/15476715-11978114
openalex publication_date 2025/12/01 · openalex created_date 2025/12/21 · openalex updated_date 2026/02/20
Severance, an original series created by Dan Erickson and Ben Stiller, has struck a nerve with audiences by encapsulating what it is like to be a worker under late-stage capitalism. Set against the backdrop of a sci-fi mystery and sleek visuals, Severance feels shockingly familiar to anyone who’s ever felt trapped in a job, alienated by corporate jargon, or reduced to a title on an org chart. Surpassing Ted Lasso as Apple TV+’s most watched series,1Severance “secured 681 million streaming minutes”2 by the fifth episode of season 2, suggesting that its portrayal of office life resonated, even within a fictional frame. Fans have flooded Reddit with theories, memes, and personal reflections, recognizing in the severed floor’s sterile cubicles a mirror of their own workplaces.3 And ironically, the show’s corporate critique is being promoted by Apple itself—a company that’s synonymous with the kind of workplace optimization that Severance condemns. As Dan Erickson recently told El País, “I wondered when we started whether we would be discouraged [by Apple] from getting too deep into critiques of the capitalist structure. That’s never happened.”4 The irony of a show that skewers corporate dehumanization being sponsored by a trillion-dollar company only underscores the strange entrapment of contemporary labor: Even our critiques are packaged by the system we’re trying to resist.Shows like The Office (2005–13), Parks and Recreation (2009–15), Brooklyn Nine-Nine (2013–21), Superstore (2015–21), and Mad Men (2007–15) saturate twenty-first-century media. And, more recently, Succession (2018–23) and The White Lotus (2021–25) signal a continued interest in the workplace but shift from using a comedic tone to dramatize workplace experiences and focus more on satirical drama to represent the idiocrasies of the elite. What is new about Severance is the way it transforms working-class office culture into a psychological thriller, making the mundane feel sinister and the routine feel otherworldly. The show’s premise—employees undergoing a procedure that separates their work memories from their personal ones—serves as a chilling metaphor for contemporary labor conditions, where employees are expected to leave personal struggles at the door and devote themselves entirely to their jobs. Workers who are literally unable to leave work, called “innies,” resonate with working-class audiences because they reflect the emotional and psychological toll of capitalism. Trapped in monotonous, soul-draining jobs, innies prompt the audience to ask, “When so much of life is spent working, what remains of the person beyond the job?” Or, to use Severance’s words from the start of the series, “Who are you?”5This essay examines how the discourse of Severance masterfully mirrors the dehumanizing language of corporate culture, distilling the working-class experience into a sterile, unsettling vocabulary that reflects both control and compliance. I analyze three components of the show: the training manual that Mark S. attempts to use to onboard Helly R.; the performance review for the innies’ supervisor, Mr. Milchick (Tramell Tillman); and the real-life corporate jargon that is used repeatedly throughout the series. Framing labor through this controlled language reveals how Severance critiques the ways that corporations strip workers of autonomy, reduce them to cogs in a machine, and demand unwavering obedience under the guise of purpose and fulfillment. Connecting this critique to the mass audience that Severance has obtained, I argue that viewers are drawn to Severance because of its unsettling depiction of workplace exploitation. The show validates their real-life frustrations about sterile offices, oppressive hierarchies, and rigid corporate control. By exaggerating these conditions to a dystopian extreme, Severance transforms everyday workplace struggles into a surreal, suspenseful narrative, making it both cathartic and compelling to watch. It also offers a sense of community via the internet frenzy it inspires as viewers connect online to share personal stories, dissect themes, and find solidarity in their individual experiences with corporate America.6At Lumon Industries, the people who work there are constantly subjected to disorientation and corporate detachment. In the opening episode of season 1, Helly R. (Britt Lower) finds herself splayed on a conference room table, confused and panicked, only to be met with a disembodied voice attempting to orient her to Lumon Industries. We soon learn that the voice belongs to Mark S. (Adam Scott), who admits to Helly R. that he has “gotten ahead of [himself]” by skipping the preamble of the training module. Mark S. starts over: “Hi there, you on the table. I wonder if you’d mind taking a brief survey . . . Five questions. Now I know you’re sleepy, but I just bet it’ll make you feel right as rain . . . I’d be just thrilled to chat once we’ve run the survey. Shall we begin with question 1?”7Interrupted by Helly R.’s confused responses of “Who is that? . . . Who is speaking?” and her panicked attempts to get Mark S. to open the door, Mark S. has an emotionless demeanor that immediately sets up the eerie dynamic of Lumon’s severed floor, where personal identity is erased and replaced with a sterile, corporate existence. Helly’s desperate attempts to grasp who she is, met with Mark’s procedural questioning, mirror the alienation many workers feel in dehumanizing jobs, where individuality is secondary to productivity. This scene introduces the unsettling reality of the severed procedure and critiques how real-world companies tell employees to “leave it at the door,” replacing individual emotions with workplace compliance. In the real world, this impersonal, overly scripted onboarding experience is mirrored by companies like Amazon, Walmart, and tech startups that use videos promising “growth journeys” and a “culture of excellence”8 while never actually addressing the reality of the job. For example, Amazon has long been criticized for its high-pressure warehouse environments, strict productivity quotas, and constant surveillance.9 Similarly, Walmart’s training materials, previously marketed as empowering, came under fire in 2015 when a leaked training video revealed that workers were being persuaded against unionization.10 By emphasizing vague cultural ideals like innovation, hustle, and passion, issues like burnout and financial instability are buried under corporate jargon. Echoing these real-world practices, Severance draws attention to the ways corporate culture demands emotional detachment under the guise of professionalism and efficiency.In addition, the show deploys a deliberately euphemistic lexicon to obscure the true nature of Lumon’s operations, in much the same way that real-world corporations use jargon to dehumanize labor. Similar to “Leave it at the door,” phrases like “Let’s take this offline” and “Let’s circle back” and words like synergy and deliverables are rampant in corporate America.11Severance “jumps on the bandwagon,” with Ms. Cobel (Patricia Arquette) repeatedly telling Mark S. to make quota despite numerous intraoffice conflicts, including an attempted suicide. The only thing that matters to Lumon is the numbers. This blind prioritization of productivity over well-being is not far removed from the real world. Returning to Amazon supervisors for a moment, they have reportedly penalized warehouse workers for “time off task,” even in situations where employees were dealing with health issues or basic human needs. Internal reports revealed that Amazon tracked employees using minute-by-minute performance metrics, creating a high-pressure environment where maintaining productivity took precedence over safety or emotional health. In one report from a Staten Island lawsuit against Amazon, workers state that the corporation “discourages [them] from performing basic hygiene, like washing or sanitizing their hands, when doing so would require them to step away, even for a moment from their bustling workstations.”12 Mimicking Google’s infamous “Don’t be evil” mantra, which once masked a sprawling surveillance infrastructure, Amazon and other tech giants veil exploitative practices behind utopian branding.13 Corporate language becomes a smokescreen for dehumanization, reinforcing hierarchies while discouraging dissent.A similar case occurred at Wells Fargo, where intense sales quotas and euphemistic phrases like “cross-selling opportunities” masked a toxic workplace culture. In an effort to meet impossible targets, thousands of employees opened unauthorized accounts after being told to “meet your solutions” at all costs.14 Employees who failed to meet daily goals were often written up, publicly shamed, or even fired,15 while corporate leadership continued to promote a narrative of transparency and efficiency.16 Just like Lumon’s fixation on quotas, Wells Fargo’s sanitized language obscured unethical practices and placed the burden of success entirely on individual employees. When Ms. Cobel tells Mark S. to “make quota” or uses “team reintegration exercises,” we’re hearing echoes of actual workplaces where feedback is filtered through acronyms and policies like OKRs (Objectives and Key Results), KPIs (Key Performance Indicators), and “culture fit” assessments.17 And when Ms. Cobel throws her coffee mug at Mark S. after he fails to settle into his new role as department head, then calmly proclaims, “What I just did was something I knew that you could handle and grow from. It was very painful for me. I hope that you’ll let it help you,”18 the moment lands as absurd but not unfamiliar. Her forced warmth, cloaked in managerial language, mimics the patronizing tone many workers experience from real-life supervisors. It’s a slightly exaggerated version of the condescension found in everyday office culture, where aggressive behavior is often reframed as coaching or professional development. In more polite settings, the same dynamic plays out in passive-aggressive phrases like “as per my last email,” which hide frustration behind a veneer of professionalism. Rather than offering genuine support, these phrases become tools of passive control, urging workers to accept their conditions with a smile. With Severance only slightly exaggerating the everyday corporate hellscape many Americans know too well, it’s no surprise that some of the show’s most chilling moments come not from the science fiction but from the language we’ve already absorbed.As the series progresses, it becomes clear that Lumon’s control extends far beyond the severed floor. Viewers get a taste of this briefly in season 1 through the use of the Overtime Contingency Clause (OTC). Through this control procedure masked as a safety precaution, Lumon executives can forcibly “awaken” an employee’s innie outside of work. In the language of corporate discourse, the OTC reflects the unspoken expectations that workers must always be available, even beyond their designated hours. This reality is familiar to many in the gig economy, remote work culture, and salaried positions where overtime is often unpaid and implicit. A 2020 survey of 2,800 workers by a Los Angeles–based staffing firm found that 70 percent of remote employees reported working on weekends, and almost half admitted to logging hours outside of the traditional 9-to-5 without additional compensation.19 A similar culture of always-on labor is seen in the video game industry, where “crunch time” has become normalized. Developers at studios like Rockstar and CD Projekt Red are reported to clock sixty- to one-hundred-hour weeks leading up to launches.20 Furthermore, the legal profession witnesses junior associates receiving client emails and partner requests at all hours, creating a culture where responsiveness becomes a badge of loyalty regardless of burnout or personal boundaries.21 While not as insidious as a microchip in your brain, things like video conferencing, made popular by COVID, and instant access to emails are real-life examples that tether us to our employers, even when off the clock.Season 2 of Severance builds on this framework with the Outdoor Retreat and Team-Building Occurrence (ORTBO). Framed as a reward, this strange wintry outing is meant to foster unity among the severed employees, yet it functions more as a performative exercise in corporate loyalty. When Helly R. and Mark S. jokingly critique the story about Kier that is read to them, Milchick orders their marshmallow reward to be dumped into the fire because “marshmallows are [only] for team players.”22 By turning something as organic as outdoor relaxation into a meticulously structured corporate event, Severance critiques how workplaces appropriate social bonding as a means of control—a satirical portrayal that isn’t far from reality. In 2018, WeWork’s “Summer Camp” retreat invited employees to a remote field in the English countryside, where employees were flown out to sleep in tents, attend EDM (electronic dance music) concerts, and participate in self-improvement workshops.23 While marketed as a celebration of company culture and community building, the retreat blurred the line between work and leisure, demanding constant performative enthusiasm from employees already overworked and underpaid. Reports described inadequate accommodations, long schedules, and a bizarre blend of festival vibes and corporate messaging.24 Rather than relaxation, it became a space where workers were encouraged to bond not through trust but through exhaustion and overstimulation.More aggressively, Panda Express’s 2019 “self-improvement” seminar was presented as a team-building exercise but devolved into a psychologically abusive experience. Employees were compelled to participate in emotionally intense activities, including being stripped of their cell phones, confined in rooms with blacked-out windows, and subjected to verbal abuse by seminar leaders who told them they amounted to “nothing.” Attendance, while technically optional, was tied to promotion eligibility, making participation a test of loyalty disguised as growth.25 Like the Panda Express seminar, ORTBO is designed less to support personal development and more to enforce obedience through forced vulnerability, ritualized humiliation, and emotional manipulation. In both cases, the promise of advancement or reintegration is contingent on one’s willingness to perform a specific version of growth that prioritizes loyalty and compliance.This leads me to my final example: Milchick’s performance review, a fascinating moment that flips the power dynamics of corporate oversight. During this scene Milchick, the enforcer of Lumon’s rigid control over severed employees, is himself subjected to the same cold, bureaucratic scrutiny from higher-ups. Not only does Milchick’s review take longer than four hours; he is also chastised for three infractions, two of which are ridiculous. The review is carried out by Mr. Drummond (Ólafur Darri Ólafsson), who announces, “Alternatively, and sadly, there have been three contentions reported anonymously which have been investigated and confirmed. One: Uses too many big words. . . . Two: On several of your daily logs, the paper clip was installed back to front, which led to a confusion as to where in the document to begin reading.”26 The final incident entails the retaliation that took place at the end of the ORTBO, but what’s important here is that Milchick, who so often wields power over the severed employees, is reminded that he, too, is replaceable, reinforcing the unsettling theme that no one in the system is truly free.27 This ridiculousness highlights how corporate language can strip away individuality, making it difficult for employees to voice their genuine concerns or dissent. Instead of fostering a culture of transparency and growth, the review becomes a tool for intimidation and compliance, reinforcing the idea that workers must conform to an arbitrary set of standards that often bear little relation to their actual contributions. Through this exaggerated portrayal, Severance critiques how corporate environments manipulate language to maintain control, leaving employees feeling alienated and powerless in a system designed to prioritize efficiency over humanity.28Severance provides a profound commentary on the emotional and psychological toll of contemporary labor. As Karolina Kozmana writes in “Severance is a Marxist Show and It’s About Us,” the series “is not an imagined dystopia, but our reality . . . our reality of workers alienated in capitalism.”29 The severed employees’ fight to reclaim their memories and emotions mirrors the real-world desire to feel whole in an environment that often demands we split ourselves in two: the “work self” and the “real self.” Their rebellion is not just against Lumon but against a broader system that reduces people to functions and erodes personal identity in favor of productivity. This disconnect resonates with many workers and gives the show its emotional depth. Through its depiction of severed employees, the series highlights the struggle for individuality amid an environment that seeks to erase personal histories and desires. The characters’ experiences reflect the broader anxieties faced by the working class, including alienation, exploitation, and the relentless pursuit of corporate conformity. As the story unfolds, it emphasizes the importance of connection, solidarity, and the quest for self-identity in the face of dehumanizing labor practices. The tension between rebellion and compliance in the story into a desire for autonomy, making the of from corporate control In this Severance functions as a mirror and a of offering viewers the of recognizing their own while also the of