If Egyptian TV series were your only source of information, you would think the entire country consisted of giant mansions. Marble floors? Check. Spiraling staircases? Check. Gold curtains fluttering dramatically as someone storms off mid-argument? Double check.
Whether the character is a struggling student, a public school teacher, or an individual supposedly grappling with financial hardship, their home often looks like it came straight out of a luxury furniture catalogue. The depiction is a fantasy world where class lines blur the moment the cameras start rolling.
A Gap Between Fiction and Reality
Take the 2022 series Meen A’al?! (Who Said?!) as an example. The show centers around a teenager from a self-described middle-class family, with a plot that tackles serious concerns such as the family’s inability to afford a private university.. Yet, somehow, they are living in a sleek, sprawling villa with high-end decor and designer finishes. It is hard not to notice the disconnect between plot and premise.
Viewers could also see a similar pattern in the more recent 2025 shows, such as Kamel El Adad++ (Full House++) in which the family has eight children yet lives in villa in Sheikh Zayed City that costs EGP 50 million . Another example is Yasmine Abelaziz’s Ramadan show W N’abel Habeeb (We Meet a Lover) in which they lived in giant mansion in Giza which is worth about EGP 100 million.
This isn’t a one-off. It’s part of a bigger pattern of discrepancy. According to data from Egypt’s Central Agency for Public Mobilization and Statistics (CAPMAS), a large portion of the population lives in modest apartments, many without access to adequate infrastructure. But one wouldn’t know that from watching prime-time TV.
Across most Egyptian series, apartments are practically reserved for the extremely poor. It’s only when a character is coded as “lower class” that one sees a one-story home or shared rooftops. However, from middle class upward, everyone seems to live in a private villa, regardless of their job, income, or backstory. Teachers, civil servants, even unemployed characters all lounge in homes with garden terraces and double-height ceilings which completely disrupts the dramatic arc.
The Allure of Aspirational Living
To be fair, some argue these shows are meant to offer a bit of fantasy. After all, people often turn to television to escape daily stress, not relive it. Luxury settings create a visually appealing world, one that keeps viewers entertained and dreaming.
But there’s a fine line between aspiration and distortion. A study on the portrayal of happiness in Egyptian dramas, published on SciSpace, suggests that repeated exposure to idealized lifestyles can skew how viewers define success, and worse, how they view their own realities.
The Business Behind the Glamour
There’s also a commercial reason behind the aesthetic overload. Since the 1990s, Arab television has shifted toward a more capitalist model, with private producers and advertisers driving the content. Bigger homes, flashier sets, and luxurious interiors don’t just look good, they sell. Many productions now rely heavily on visuals that exude wealth, often at the expense of authenticity.
What Viewers Are Left With
While it may all seem harmless, just decor, after all, it shapes how audiences view themselves and others. When affluence becomes the default, those who don’t see their realities reflected on screen might feel overlooked, or worse, undervalued.
TV has the power to validate lives, to say: “You matter. Your story matters.” But right now, a huge portion of the population isn’t seeing themselves in the stories being told.
A Case for Realistic Storytelling
This isn’t a call to strip every series of visual flair. But how about a little variety? You do not have to show a home with water stains on the ceiling, or a family crammed into a two-bedroom flat but maybe show a family living in a regular two or three bedroom apartment, not as a sob story, but as a normal, lived-in truth?
Egyptian TV is rich with talent, ideas, and heart. Adding more realistic settings could deepen the emotional connection and open the door to stories that feel grounded, relatable, and genuinely reflective of the country’s social fabric.
Until then, we’ll keep watching characters cry over unpaid tuition, in marble mansions with four bathrooms and a chandelier in the kitchen.
The opinions and ideas expressed in this article are the author’s and do not necessarily reflect the views of Egyptian Streets’ editorial team.
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