Episode 1-2 – The Hypocrisy of Plastic Empowerment
When Honour premiered, it tried to sell itself as a bold manifesto for female empowerment. The marketing promised complex women fighting a corrupt system and defending victims.
But even in the premiere, the cracks were obvious.
The show introduced three supposedly “independent” women, yet their independence quickly revealed itself to be either financially supported by others or morally shielded by the script itself. What was framed as empowerment often looked more like hypocrisy protected by plot armor.
Unfortunately, the finale only confirms those early concerns.
The "Independent" CEO
Take Kang Sin Jae.
The drama portrays her as the visionary CEO of a pro bono law firm, someone rebellious and independent. But the illusion collapses almost immediately when we learn that the entire operation is funded by her mother.
This creates a strange contradiction. The show tries to frame her as a rebel fighting systems of power, yet she is effectively a nepo-boss playing office with family money.
Instead of feeling like a strong professional figure, her constant rebellious antics often resemble a teenager acting out rather than a serious legal mind running an organization.
The Hypocrisy of Hwang Hyeon Jin
The most glaring problem of the show is Hwang Hyeon Jin (HHJ).
Promotional material describes her as an “elegant, fiery lawyer who resists anything that goes against her principles.”
The show itself proves the opposite.
From the start, HHJ is portrayed as a champion for rape victims. Yet her own actions consistently contradict the professional ethics and moral standards the drama claims she represents.
And as the story progresses, these contradictions only get worse.
The Professionalism Paradox
HHJ visits her ex-boyfriend’s house at night under the excuse of discussing work.
This is framed as normal behavior for a professional lawyer, but the scene immediately turns into an affair. The show unintentionally reinforces the very stereotype it claims to criticize — the idea that women cannot separate personal relationships from their professional responsibilities.
For someone who is supposed to be a serious attorney handling sensitive cases, this kind of conduct would be career-ending in any realistic legal environment.
Yet in the world of Honour, it barely matters.
The Cheating Narrative
The drama also tries to frame her cheating as a tragic “mistake.”
But cheating is not a single accident. It is a series of deliberate choices.
HHJ:
goes to her ex-lover’s house late at night
stays when things become intimate
continues the encounter fully aware she is married
returns home to a husband who is faithfully trying to build a family with her
Later she claims she “wasn’t in her right mind.”
That explanation might work for a moment of anger or panic. It does not work for a calculated sequence of decisions that lasts an entire evening.
Yet the show expects the audience to sympathize with her regret afterward.
The Ethical Collapse
Things escalate even further.
After her ex-lover is murdered, HHJ tries to protect herself by tampering with evidence and manipulating the investigation.
This isn’t just morally questionable behavior. For a lawyer, it is a serious crime that could end a career and potentially lead to prison.
And yet the story never seriously addresses these consequences.
The same character who is supposed to defend victims of sexual violence ends up jeopardizing legal cases and interfering with a murder investigation simply to hide her own mistakes.
The Finale and the Myth of “Realism”
After the finale aired, many viewers defended the ending by saying the drama is “realistic.”
Their argument is that in real life not every criminal receives justice.
That can absolutely be true.
But the problem is that this supposed realism never applies to HHJ.
Across the story she:
cheats on her husband
becomes pregnant from the affair
hides the truth
tampers with evidence
manipulates a murder investigation
behaves unprofessionally as a lawyer
Yet somehow she walks away from the story essentially untouched.
No legal consequences.
No real career fallout.
Not even a believable collapse of her marriage.
Instead, the narrative bends itself to protect her.
Her husband — who spent the entire drama loyal and supportive — is ultimately written into a doormat, accepting both the betrayal and a child that isn’t his.
The show wants the audience to believe that this outcome is realistic.
But it doesn’t feel realistic at all.
It feels like the writers simply refused to allow their protagonist to face consequences.
Final Verdict
In the end, Honour tries to present itself as a complex story about flawed women navigating a corrupt world.
But flawed characters only work when their actions have consequences.
Instead, the drama repeatedly shields its female lead while condemning nearly every male character as either a predator, a manipulator, or a pathetic fool. The result isn’t nuanced storytelling — it’s a narrative where accountability exists for everyone except the protagonist.
Ironically, the show ends up reinforcing the very stereotypes it claims to fight.
It calls itself realistic, but only when that realism applies to villains.
When it comes to HHJ, the story suddenly becomes fantasy.
And that contradiction is exactly what made the entire drama feel hollow from the beginning to the finale.
But even in the premiere, the cracks were obvious.
The show introduced three supposedly “independent” women, yet their independence quickly revealed itself to be either financially supported by others or morally shielded by the script itself. What was framed as empowerment often looked more like hypocrisy protected by plot armor.
Unfortunately, the finale only confirms those early concerns.
The "Independent" CEO
Take Kang Sin Jae.
The drama portrays her as the visionary CEO of a pro bono law firm, someone rebellious and independent. But the illusion collapses almost immediately when we learn that the entire operation is funded by her mother.
This creates a strange contradiction. The show tries to frame her as a rebel fighting systems of power, yet she is effectively a nepo-boss playing office with family money.
Instead of feeling like a strong professional figure, her constant rebellious antics often resemble a teenager acting out rather than a serious legal mind running an organization.
The Hypocrisy of Hwang Hyeon Jin
The most glaring problem of the show is Hwang Hyeon Jin (HHJ).
Promotional material describes her as an “elegant, fiery lawyer who resists anything that goes against her principles.”
The show itself proves the opposite.
From the start, HHJ is portrayed as a champion for rape victims. Yet her own actions consistently contradict the professional ethics and moral standards the drama claims she represents.
And as the story progresses, these contradictions only get worse.
The Professionalism Paradox
HHJ visits her ex-boyfriend’s house at night under the excuse of discussing work.
This is framed as normal behavior for a professional lawyer, but the scene immediately turns into an affair. The show unintentionally reinforces the very stereotype it claims to criticize — the idea that women cannot separate personal relationships from their professional responsibilities.
For someone who is supposed to be a serious attorney handling sensitive cases, this kind of conduct would be career-ending in any realistic legal environment.
Yet in the world of Honour, it barely matters.
The Cheating Narrative
The drama also tries to frame her cheating as a tragic “mistake.”
But cheating is not a single accident. It is a series of deliberate choices.
HHJ:
goes to her ex-lover’s house late at night
stays when things become intimate
continues the encounter fully aware she is married
returns home to a husband who is faithfully trying to build a family with her
Later she claims she “wasn’t in her right mind.”
That explanation might work for a moment of anger or panic. It does not work for a calculated sequence of decisions that lasts an entire evening.
Yet the show expects the audience to sympathize with her regret afterward.
The Ethical Collapse
Things escalate even further.
After her ex-lover is murdered, HHJ tries to protect herself by tampering with evidence and manipulating the investigation.
This isn’t just morally questionable behavior. For a lawyer, it is a serious crime that could end a career and potentially lead to prison.
And yet the story never seriously addresses these consequences.
The same character who is supposed to defend victims of sexual violence ends up jeopardizing legal cases and interfering with a murder investigation simply to hide her own mistakes.
The Finale and the Myth of “Realism”
After the finale aired, many viewers defended the ending by saying the drama is “realistic.”
Their argument is that in real life not every criminal receives justice.
That can absolutely be true.
But the problem is that this supposed realism never applies to HHJ.
Across the story she:
cheats on her husband
becomes pregnant from the affair
hides the truth
tampers with evidence
manipulates a murder investigation
behaves unprofessionally as a lawyer
Yet somehow she walks away from the story essentially untouched.
No legal consequences.
No real career fallout.
Not even a believable collapse of her marriage.
Instead, the narrative bends itself to protect her.
Her husband — who spent the entire drama loyal and supportive — is ultimately written into a doormat, accepting both the betrayal and a child that isn’t his.
The show wants the audience to believe that this outcome is realistic.
But it doesn’t feel realistic at all.
It feels like the writers simply refused to allow their protagonist to face consequences.
Final Verdict
In the end, Honour tries to present itself as a complex story about flawed women navigating a corrupt world.
But flawed characters only work when their actions have consequences.
Instead, the drama repeatedly shields its female lead while condemning nearly every male character as either a predator, a manipulator, or a pathetic fool. The result isn’t nuanced storytelling — it’s a narrative where accountability exists for everyone except the protagonist.
Ironically, the show ends up reinforcing the very stereotypes it claims to fight.
It calls itself realistic, but only when that realism applies to villains.
When it comes to HHJ, the story suddenly becomes fantasy.
And that contradiction is exactly what made the entire drama feel hollow from the beginning to the finale.
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