"Anyone can reinvent themselves."

These are the words of menacing Euphoria Season 3 newcomer Alamo (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje). He speaks them to Rue (Zendaya) as she comes to a crossroads on her winding journey to redemption, but he might as well be describing series creator Sam Levinson's thought process coming into Season 3. This time around, reinvention is the name of the game, as Euphoria moves from gritty teen drama to seedy neo-Western.

On the one hand, some form of reinvention is necessary. Euphoria's Season 2 finale aired four years ago. After that hiatus, it would be ridiculous to return to high school as if nothing had changed, especially since, during that time away, cast members like Zendaya, Jacob Elordi, and Sydney Sweeney blossomed into megawatt movie stars through decidedly non-high school roles. On the other hand, the path Levinson chooses for Euphoria Season 3 opens the show up to its worst impulses, marring its technical splendor and strong performances with exploitative storylines that feel primed for internet outrage.

Euphoria Season 3 doesn't feel like the Euphoria you know.

A five-year time jump between Euphoria Seasons 2 and 3 shakes the show up in a major way. The show's core cast of characters has scattered to the winds in their new adulthood. Some, like Nate (Elordi) and Cassie (Sweeney), are settling down and getting married. Others, like Lexi (Maude Apatow) and Maddy (Alexa Demie), are hustling for success in Hollywood.

Rue's life has taken a much more dangerous turn. Her debts to drug dealer Laurie (Martha Kelly) have caught up with her, and she's now a drug mule. The season's exhilarating opening catches her tearing across the Chihuahuan Desert on the way back to the U.S., complete with a tense pit stop at the border wall. Zendaya sinks right back into Rue's live-wire energy, making it feel as if we've never left her.

However, most of the other aspects of Euphoria surrounding her have changed. Gone are the neon-soaked school hallways and city streets, replaced by wide-open Western vistas saturated with stunning color. The layered vocals of Labrinth's score are nowhere to be heard either. Instead, Hans Zimmer takes the reins with a more orchestral sound (that at one point sounds eerily close to his work on Dune). Even the show's title appears in a different font: a blocky yellow that recalls Western film titles. This season accompanies its first title card drop with the screech of a hawk, an extra bit of Western pastiche that hammers home the show's new direction.

All the changes serve Levinson's thesis that these characters' early 20s are the Wild Wests of their lives. (For Rue, caught in a standoff between Laurie and strip club kingpin Alamo, that lawless Western element is a lot more literal.) Yet in making all these changes, Euphoria also loses the parts of its identity that set it apart from its teen drama counterparts in the first place. Now it feels more like a familiar crime drama. A prestige crime drama with an HBO budget, but still a recognizable one.

Euphoria Season 3 is an exercise in humiliation and fetishization.

One element of Euphoria that carries over to Season 3 is its gleeful pushing of the envelope, particularly when it comes to sex. In Season 3, Levinson is focused on sex work, a subject he's already explored in part (but with very little sensitivity) in Kat's (Barbie Ferreira) Season 1 cam girl storyline. This time around, sex work takes center stage in multiple storylines. Rue helps run one of Alamo's strip clubs. Jules (Hunter Schafer) becomes a sugar baby. Cassie makes forays into OnlyFans, all in the hopes of earning enough money so she can pay for her dream flowers at her and Nate's wedding.

Euphoria Season 1 portrayed Kat's cam girl journey as primarily empowering, with very little consideration to the fact that she was underage at the time. Season 3 flips the script, turning a now-adult Cassie's OnlyFans ambitions into an over-sexualized humiliation gauntlet. If you thought Season 2's embarrassment of her was relentless, her Season 3 introduction alone blows that out of the water. Dressed as a dog, she perches atop a mini dog house and laps water from a bowl, desperate for validation online. Between this and "Wuthering Heights," it's a big year for Elordi characters dominating women through pet play. Fitting, as both Emerald Fennell and Levinson thrive on the empty provocation of throwing taboos at the wall and seeing what sticks.

Cassie's sex work has no depth to it, and in her "right-wing suburban bubble," everyone heaps shame on her, from her fiancé to her friends. Euphoria doesn't interrogate these biases or examine the intricacies of sex work further. Instead, it's happy to keep the shame coming, using Cassie's aspirations as a springboard from which it can launch suggestive images designed to stir up the most controversy: Cassie draped in a sopping wet American flag shirt, or posing as a baby. That it's Sweeney — herself a cultural lightning rod — in these tableaus makes Euphoria's desire for outrage even more clear. And while I clearly feel some of that outrage the show is gunning for, what I feel more is exasperation. Exasperation that a show with such incredible potential, and such undeniable talent in front of and behind the camera, keeps opting for lazy shocks.

These shocks even spill into Rue's storyline, which has usually been Euphoria at its best and most introspective. In Season 3, Rue experiments with religion and surrendering herself to a higher power, a quest that stems from a diner conversation with Ali (Colman Domingo). Euphoria wisely knows that when it sticks Zendaya and Domingo in a booth and lets them play off one another, it gets magic. That's why Rue's special episode, "Trouble Don’t Last Always," is a series highlight. Yet in the first three episodes of Season 3 sent to critics, Rue's journey to fulfillment often falls to the wayside to make more room for what Euphoria knows will get people talking most: mess and controversy. In Rue's case, those manifest in her work at a strip club, which is populated less by fully-formed characters and more by tragic sex worker archetypes.

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But even in non-overtly sexual situations, Euphoria finds a way to ogle its cast. An early sequence sees Rue and her co-conspirator Faye (Chloe Cherry) swallow golf-ball sized bags of drugs to smuggle out of Mexico. The camera lingers on their throats and their spit, while their gulps ring out loud and desperate. It's a needlessly suggestive spectacle, and the same goes for what happens when the drugs need to come out the other end.

Unfortunately, it's scenes like these that linger in the brain and get immortalized thanks to the meme treatment. Euphoria knows this, which is why it's all too happy to keep humiliating Cassie and providing surface-level looks at controversial topics in Season 3.

There's a great show lurking in here somewhere. So much of Rue's journey proves it. Yet Euphoria keeps smothering that greatness with something far grosser, and that's something no amount of reinvention can hide.

Euphoria Season 3 premieres Apr. 12 at 9 p.m. ET on HBO and HBO Max.