There is a special place in television for legal shows that get everything wrong yet do it with confidence. All’s Fair, Ryan Murphy’s glossy new Hulu drama, proudly earns its spot there. This is not a show that teaches viewers anything useful about actual lawyering, family court, or professional boundaries. And honestly? That may be its greatest strength.
Episode one drops us into a couture-soaked fantasy where high-powered women lawyers run a boutique divorce firm so lavish it makes Succession look underfunded. The premise is simple: glamorous attorneys, glamorous clients, and problems that can be solved with one threatening meeting and a better outfit. From the jump, the show announces its priorities loud and clear, and legal realism is not invited to the party.
A lifestyle no family lawyer recognises
Let’s start with the elephant in the marble-floored office: does any real family lawyer live like this? The show’s attorneys glide between mansion-level offices, private jets, and rooftop lunches like they are filing expense reports for oxygen. It looks fabulous. It is also deeply fictional.
In reality, family law can be lucrative, but it is not a parade of chauffeured cars and fireplaces roaring in Los Angeles heat. Most lawyers measure a good day by whether the printer works and whether opposing counsel answered an email before midnight. All’s Fair imagines a world where billable hours apparently fund unlimited couture and constant leisure, which makes for great television, but not great for accurately representing the daily grind of legal work.
Court couture, but make it implausible
Then there is the wardrobe. Kim Kardashian’s Allura Grant dresses like every hallway is a red carpet and every negotiation is a fashion editorial. Latex, sculptural silhouettes, and Met Gala energy abound. As a television spectacle, it is impressive. As courtroom attire, it is laughable.
Actual courtrooms have dress codes, and they skew conservative for a reason. Judges care about credibility, not Balenciaga. Most family lawyers are just trying to keep their blazers pressed and their shoes practical enough to sprint between courtrooms. All’s Fair treats legal fashion as performance art, which tells you everything you need to know about how seriously it takes procedure.
The investigator problem
The show also leans heavily into the myth of the private investigator as a quip machine in fabulous disguises. Emerald Greene, the firm’s investigator, delivers lines like “C’mon, gloves!” to a client about her fashion choices while uncovering a scandal with suspicious ease. It’s fun, but it’s also pure fantasy.
Real investigators do not narrate their work in trailer-ready sound bites. They gather records, take notes, and wait for long periods of time. In real life, the only gloves anyone talks about are the ones someone forgot at mediation. The show’s version is heightened to the point of parody, intentionally or not, and that exaggeration becomes part of its charm.
Boundaries with clients, optional
Perhaps the most unrealistic element is how casually these lawyers insert themselves into their clients’ personal lives. Characters bond in closet-sized mansions, sip wine amid jewellery collections, and offer emotional support on demand. It makes for juicy scenes, but it ignores a foundational truth of family law: boundaries matter.
In practice, lawyers do not hang out in clients’ homes or provide therapy-adjacent pep talks. Ethical lines exist to protect everyone involved. All’s Fair bulldozes those lines with designer heels, preferring melodrama over restraint.
Critics are fighting, and that tracks
Critics have not exactly agreed on whether All’s Fair is watchable brilliance or an existentially terrible mess. Many have savaged the stilted dialogue and baffling plots, arguing that even powerhouse performances cannot rescue the material. A few have embraced its soapy excess, calling it decadent, outrageous fun. Both camps are right.
The show is ridiculous. It is also strangely compelling. The heightened tone, the absurd cases, and the unapologetic excess make it entertaining precisely because it refuses to pretend it reflects reality.
Our verdict
From the perspective of our lawyers at LaGrandeur & Williams, All’s Fair is legally inaccurate, ethically unhinged, and wildly detached from the realities of family law. From a viewer’s perspective, it is glossy, chaotic, and oddly addictive.
But as escapist television that turns divorce law into a high-fashion soap opera, it succeeds on its own bizarre terms. We will absolutely keep watching, if only to see what outrageous thing it does next.
We will say this: nothing in this show should be mistaken for legal advice and you’re best off seeking it from professionals that have years of experience. Should you need authentic and professional legal advice, please contact us.