Star Date 444 Art & Relationships: Sirens

Published September 21, 2025

“The true danger in Sirens isn’t the song, it’s the sailors who pretend they’re not already steering toward the rocks.”

⚠️ Spoiler Alert: If you haven’t binged Netflix’s Sirens yet, turn back now. This isn’t just recap, it’s excavation, a dive into myth, power, and the dangerous double standards that still haunt our stories.

Greek mythology painted Sirens as monsters, women whose beauty and song spelled doom for men. But Sirens flips that script. Here, every character carries their own Siren energy, some seductive, some destructive, some accidental, and the real wreckage comes not from women’s allure but from men’s appetites and illusions.

Simone: The Refusal That Rocked the Boat

Simone isn’t just Devon’s younger sister, she’s Michaela Kell’s hand-picked companion, assistant, and surrogate daughter, living inside the velvet ropes of the Kell estate. That makes her both privileged and suspect. The household staff despise her not because of anything she’s done, but because she occupies a space no one else can: not family, not servant, but something in-between. To them, she is a reminder of the hierarchy’s unfairness a girl plucked from ordinary life and elevated into Michaela’s curated world, a favorite who enjoys access without belonging.

When Raymond, one of the island’s habitual summer seducers, proposes marriage, Simone refuses. He immediately paints her as the villain and pressures Michaela to validate his wounded pride, proving how quickly women are cast as dangerous for daring to say no. Yet Raymond’s “song” is the real trap, shallow affairs repeated every season like clockwork. Simone’s refusal is an act of defiance, like the sailor who stuffs her ears with wax instead of steering toward ruin.

Mythic echo: Like the Siren Parthenope, whose song ended when sailors stopped listening, Simone exposes the truth: allure only works if you agree to believe the lie. And in rejecting Raymond, she becomes a new kind of Siren herself, not seductive, but unsettling, a figure who provokes resentment simply by refusing to play the role others demand.

Raymond: The Sailor Who Hit the Rocks

Raymond carries himself like the eternal summer god, drifting from one seasonal romance to the next as if women were ports of call. He assumes he’s irresistible, that every proposal will be met with gratitude, and that the cycle of conquest can spin on forever. But when Simone rejects him, his ship crashes. He mistakes himself for the Siren, but he’s only ever been the sailor, and this time, he finally hits the rocks.

What shatters isn’t just his ego, but his reputation. In the carefully groomed social circle of the island elite, rejection is ruin. Simone’s noexposes what everyone already knows but no one says: Raymond’s song is shallow, his love disposable, his power an illusion. That’s why he turns to Michaela, begging her to spin a narrative that salvages his pride.

Mythic echo: In Homer’s tales, it’s the sailors who are dashed against the rocks, not the Sirens. Raymond restores that truth. His ruin doesn’t come from Simone’s danger, but from his own arrogance. She walks away intact; he’s left wrecked on the shore of his own appetites.

Michaela: The Siren of Control

Michaela’s song isn’t wealth, it’s control. And let’s be clear: the fortune isn’t even hers, it’s Peter’s. That makes her voice more desperate, more insistent. She isn’t the source of the fortune; Peter’s money built the world she controls. Her dangerous allure is partly a survival mechanism, she maintains her status by projecting dominance over Simone, the household, and even Devon, but it’s all perched on Peter’s wealth. Michaela’s self-preservation is tinged with insecurity because she knows her influence is conditional. If Peter pulls the rug, her “kingdom” collapses. That’s why she clings so tightly, to Simone as her surrogate daughter and confidante, to the rules of the estate, and to the façade of power.

Like the Sirens who sang from rocky shores they could never leave, Michaela knows her dominion is fragile. Her allure is armor, and she uses Simone as proof she still has gravity.

Mythic echo: The Siren Ligeia was said to die if a mortal escaped her song. Michaela clings so tightly because she knows what’s at stake if someone slips away. So while Peter is the raw financial and structural power, Michaela is the emotional power broker, carving out her own dominion within his empire. In a Star Date 444 lens, she’s not just a Siren luring people in, she’s also a castaway who learned to sing for survival.

Devon: The Rebel Siren

Where Michaela builds a fortress of control, Devon tears walls down with reckless abandon. Her song is quick wit, sharp sarcasm, and the heat of fleeting hookups. She lures men into bed not to build an empire, but to burn off her pain, to prove she can’t be trapped. If Michaela is the Siren clinging to her rock, Devon is the Siren who swims out to sea, daring, raw, unashamed of the chaos she causes.

But beneath the bravado lies something deeper. Devon evolves over the course of the story; she begins as the skeptic outsider, her rebellion just another form of armor. Yet by the end, she’s grown into something more self-aware. Her sirenhood is no longer just about survival, it becomes about truth. Where Michaela doubles down on control, Devon loosens her grip.

Mythic echo: Some myths tell us the Sirens were once handmaidens of Persephone, punished into song after failing to protect her. Devon carries that same tragic edge, her allure is born of loss, her rebellion a refusal to be powerless. If Michaela is the Siren who clings, Devon is the Siren who breaks free.

Peter Kell: The False Odysseus

Peter likes to imagine himself as Odysseus, wise and untouchable, scoffing at Raymond’s shallow conquests as though he sails a higher course. But his disdain is hollow. He abandoned a marriage for the thrill of novelty, proving he is no different from the men he mocks. Where Odysseus tied himself to the mast to resist the Sirens, Peter pretends he doesn’t hear the song at all, when in truth, he’s always listening, always steering toward the next younger voice.

Peter’s power is structural: he’s the fortune behind Michaela’s dominion, the current that shapes every life on the island estate. Yet he is also hollowed out, disinterested, immune to Michaela’s carefully orchestrated song. His danger is not allure, but apathy, the wreckage he leaves when he withdraws love, security, or attention.

Mythic echo: In Homer, Odysseus survives by acknowledging the danger of the Sirens’ call, but Peter is the sailor who believes he’s immune. His hubris is its own destruction: by denying the pull of the song, he becomes the most vulnerable of all.

Rethinking the Siren

What Sirens shows us, and what mythology has always hidden, is that allure alone doesn’t cause the wreck. It’s appetite, pride, and denial that steer ships into ruin. Simone, Raymond, Michaela, Devon, and Peter each embody a facet of the myth, but the lesson is clear: Sirens don’t destroy sailors. Sailors destroy themselves chasing the song.

✨ At Star Date 444, we believe the Siren doesn’t sink ships — she reveals which sailors were already headed for the rocks.