The Brief

Netflix’s Sex Education was coming to a close. Season 4 would be the final act in a show defined by its fearless vulnerability, coming-of-age chaos, and equal-parts smut-and-sincerity tone. Our task was deceptively simple: land one great line.

The key art was already cooking by our talented creative team, an ensemble choir visual that would double as both a euphoric climax gag and a nostalgic goodbye. Each character would be holding a bespoke booklet, a visual summary of their arc, identity, or internal conflict.

The visual gag is simple, a choir of characters mid-climax... or are they just singing?

It was joyful, filthy, and quietly moving. Basically, the show in one image.

My brief was to explore lines that would marry the cheek of Sex Ed’s earliest campaigns with the maturity and character resolution of its last. It had to be euphemistic without being cheap, emotional without being earnest, and instantly memorable.

A line that could sit proudly above a sex face on a bus stop poster and make someone feel something unexpected at the same time.

Netflix gave us early access to the scripts and I quickly devoured them like I was cramming for a GCSE.

It helped to better understand key narrative beats, emotional tone, and opportunities for visual or verbal callback. That gave me a deeper foundation to write from, ensuring that any line I contributed wasn’t just cheeky or clever, but rooted in the emotional architecture of the season.

I also rewatched the series (not that anyone asked) and I noted the subtle shift from “sex is weird” to “sex is part of healing.”

From revisiting Otis’s evolution from amateur therapist to reluctant adult, to the way Eric’s story threads faith and identity with such nuance, it became clear that the tagline couldn’t just reflect the surface joke. It needed to feel like something that would sit comfortably next to their faces as we say goodbye.

In essence, this campaign needed a line that could:

• Make people laugh immediately

• Make them feel something quietly

• Stick in the mind like a great lyric, a punchline, or a yearbook quote

It couldn’t try too hard. It couldn’t be generic. And it couldn’t miss the harmony between innuendo and intimacy.

The Research & Context

To write for this show is to understand its tonal tightrope: part filthy, part heartfelt, all character.

Audience Profile

• Global Gen Z and millennial audiences fluent in meme culture, queer identity, emotional literacy, and deeply online language.

• Fans who’ve grown up with the characters, and now expect something that acknowledges their maturity without losing the absurdity.

• Viewers who value inclusivity, vulnerability, intersectional representation, and characters that feel lived-in.

Tonal DNA

• Raunch meets reflection: Sex jokes with emotional stakes.

• British awkwardness: A cultural flavour of embarrassment, deflection, and deeply unsexy teen realism.

• Visual humour meets sincerity: Bold colour palettes, heightened acting, but real emotional beats.

• Meta self-awareness: A show that knows what it is and plays with it, always one wink away from parody, one tear away from sincerity.

Key Themes of Season 4

• Departure & Finality: This is the end. The characters are moving on. University, adulthood, relationships that shift rather than resolve.

• Sex as Growth: No longer just first times and awkward moments, now it’s about communication, confidence, trauma, recovery.

• Queer Joy & Complexity: Not just coming out. Staying out. Staying safe. Navigating faith, fear, labels, love.

• Community vs. Individuality: Everyone holds their own "script", but they’re part of the same songbook. Harmony, dissonance, resolution.

The Copy

If you’ve ever tried to write a line that’s both emotionally resonant and a sex pun, you’ll know it’s a high-wire act over a pool of cringe.

The final line, Finish Together, felt inevitable in hindsight, but it took the TEA team weeks of pushing, reworking, and collective deep-diving to get there. Before it landed, I contributed ideas exploring the tension between emotional release, group identity, awkward goodbye, and, of course, climax.

Some lines:

• Harmony is hard.

• Everyone’s coming.

• Sing it loud. Feel it harder.

• Get ready your tissues ready.

• One last bang.

• Harder to leave than it looks.

• Please moan responsibly.

• Graduation’s hard.

• Tissues recommended.

• It’s not over till everyone finishes.

• It’s hard. They finish anyway.

• Tears, sweat, and whatever that third thing is.

• No one fakes it in the finale.

• One final release.

• Get ready to feel… everything.

• Let’s all come to the same conclusion.

• More vocal than ever.

• Graduation face: activated.

• Their final chorus. With full body expression.

• We laughed. We cried. We climaxed.

• The climax? Still group work.

• A full body goodbye.

• Endings are rarely quiet.

• No solos. Just one final climax.

• All mouths. No words.

• Hold the note. Hit the feeling.

• Together, at last.

• The end of an era. Sung from the gut.

The Result

This poster became an instant standout. It straddled sentiment and smut with impeccable balance, a line-up of expressive, awkward, glorious weirdos, each mid-orgasm (or choir solo?), surrounded by Easter eggs that reward die-hard fans.

It landed across social, press, and streets with the perfect mix of gasp-and-grin. Fans loved it. Critics got it. Nobody missed the joke, but everyone stayed for the meaning.

It’s rare to work on something that can make you laugh and get a little lump in your throat in the same breath. This was one of those jobs.

• Sexy: Classic Sex Ed cheekiness, group climax imagery.

• Narratively: They’re graduating, evolving, parting ways. But still doing it together.

• Thematically: The show was always about connectedness, vulnerability, and figuring life out alongside others. The tagline is both punchline and promise.

Sex Education always reminded me of being seventeen and saying things you didn't mean in bedrooms you didn’t quiteee feel safe in. Of friends who stayed too long, and others who slipped away and I still miss today. Of the feeling that everyone knew what they were doing except you.

This job reminded me that great writing isn’t always about big gestures. Sometimes it’s a goodbye wrapped up like a sex joke.

One last bang.

Then silence.