"We Were Liars" on Prime Video: Old Money, beautiful secrets, and the dangerous allure of privilege

The Sinclairs Family.

The Sinclairs, the central family in We Were Liars, are an old-money American clan: clean-cut, Atlantic-bred, and perfectly WASP. Set on a privately owned island off Massachusetts, the series follows the seemingly perfect Sinclair family through their summer rituals of tennis whites, sailing, and carefully orchestrated family dinners. Having spent considerable time among some of Europe's remaining diplomatic and aristocratic circles, I recognise the particular suffocation that comes with inherited privilege – the way Ralph Lauren cable knits become uniforms of conformity, how private islands transform from sanctuaries into prisons.

Cadence Sinclair (far right) and friends.

But beneath this Ralph Lauren tableau is a family rotting with secrets. The show doesn’t just flirt with tragedy—it bathes in it, much like the very old families it references, who’ve learned to weep in silence behind mirrored sunglasses.

The show's creators understand something fundamental about old money families: we are performances of ourselves. Every gesture is choreographed, every emotion calculated for its impact on the family brand. When seventeen-year-old Cadence Sinclair returns to Beechwood Island after a mysterious accident left her with amnesia, she becomes the perfect unreliable narrator for this world of beautiful lies.

Watching the Sinclairs is like watching an alternate-reality Camelot. Harris Sinclair, the patriarch, is styled as a composite of Joseph P. Kennedy (The Patriarch of the Kennedy Family) and Rupert Murdoch—fierce, calculating, charismatic. His children orbit him like satellites: damaged, polished, obedient to the family code. The grandchildren—our leads—are the glossy Gen Z echoes of Blair Waldorf and Nate Archibald: all pout, privilege, and suppressed panic. But this isn’t just about pretty people with problems. We Were Liars is a parable about how wealth, when inherited rather than earned, can become its own kind of curse.

What strikes me most forcefully is how authentically the series captures the casual cruelty embedded in generational wealth. The Sinclairs' tennis courts and croquet lawns aren't just recreational spaces – they're battlegrounds where family hierarchies are reinforced with each perfectly executed serve. Having grown up in similar environments across European estates, I can attest to how these seemingly innocent pursuits become instruments of psychological warfare.

There’s a scene in Episode 2 that struck a chord with me. The cousins gather on the porch for drinks before dinner. They’re in tennis whites, sipping gin-spiked lemonade, barefoot on teakwood floors. It reminded me of summers in Cornwall, where we were taught that appearances must never crack, even if the family estate was quite literally crumbling behind the hedges. I was 14 and had just discovered that one of our relatives had mortgaged his Royce to cover debts. At supper, the pheasant was served with quiet dignity.

This is where We Were Liars earns its merit—it captures the curated civility of aristocracy without romanticising it. It understands that these families are built on unspeakable things: loyalty, betrayal, inheritance, and image. It doesn’t shout; it simmers.

However, the show occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own literary pedigree. Some episodes feel overly precious, too enamoured with their own symbolism. The mystery element, while compelling, sometimes overshadows the more interesting family dynamics.

The Style

The styling deserves praise. Costume director Marian Toye laces the episodes with subtle cues: linen suiting, pearl chokers, and that unmistakable Ivy League nonchalance. The RL references are obvious, but not lazy—it’s not costume; it’s code. The show understands that wealth isn’t flashy—it’s implied. Old money doesn’t scream; it whispers. And in We Were Liars, every whisper is dangerous.

Should you watch it?

If you’ve ever been entranced by the allure of the Kennedys, seduced by the secrecy of East Coast summer homes, or captivated by the emotional coldness wrapped in privilege—then yes, watch it. Not because it’s flawless, but because it understands something essential: when beautiful families fall, they fall with a certain grace. And it is in that fall, not the fortune, where the real story lies.