Gilded Age is all about late 19th century America. It shows lives of rich industrialists, politicians and socialites. Expect lots of glitz and a sprinkle of corruption. It also highlights struggles of those stuck in chaos. You might even find yourself chuckling at some of it.

Meet the characters from The Gilded Age

Bertha Russell

Okay, Bertha is the motor of chaos and ambition — she’s loud, relentless, and absolutely convinced she’s building respect like one accumulates trophies (sometimes literally, I swear she has a weird trophy cabinet). New money with old-money aspirations, she bulldozes social rules and then writes her own, which is sort of terrifying and kind of brilliant? She has a soft spot that sneaks out in the smallest, most ungraceful ways — like insisting everyone stay for tea even when she’s plotting to buy a library wing. Also, she hums vaguely triumphant tunes when she’s thinking about expansion; no idea why, but it suits her.

Bannister

Bannister is the silent backbone — the one who notices everything and says almost nothing, which makes him feel omniscient and a little spooky in the best way. He’s efficient, dry, deeply loyal, and will have a perfectly timed look that shuts down anyone trying to be dramatic, which is very satisfying honestly. There’s a warmth under all that calm — he keeps tiny ridiculous collections (matchboxes? or was it spoons?) and sometimes smiles like he’s got a private joke. Also, he probably knows more family secrets than the family does and will never, ever blab.

Oscar Van Rhijn

Oscar is the kind of art-obsessed, slightly languid aesthete who uses words like “nuance” at breakfast and means it. He’s refined, cultured, prone to long sighs while looking at a painting, and he gives off a faint perfume of old books and lemon oil. Quietly loyal to his family’s rigid etiquette but oddly open to weird new ideas about art — he’s both a relic and oddly modern, which makes him deliciously unpredictable. And yes, he might have an affectation with slippers that don’t match his coat, because why not.

Gladys Russell

Gladys is like the social butterfly with a conscience — always at the right party but somehow also volunteering at the wrong orphanage, which is delightful and disorienting. She’s personable and easy to like, a little frilly on the surface but sharper than she lets on when someone insults her friends. She loves finery and gossip in equal measure, but will unexpectedly do something unexpectedly brave (like confront someone at a dinner) and then blush about it for days. Also, she’ll lend you a handkerchief and ten minutes later be gossiping about your scandal — charmingly inconsistent.

Larry Russell

Larry is the passionate, messy artist son who will hurl a portrait across a room and then apologize with flowers, which sounds dramatic because it is. He’s brilliant and infuriating — free-spirited, romantic, a little self-destructive but with a real core of integrity you can’t deny. He resists the gilded life his family expects, loves music and late-night talk, and ruins three shirts a day with paint because he can’t be bothered. There’s a boyish grin that makes you forget every poor impulse he ever had, and yes, he cries in front of the wrong people sometimes.

Agnes Van Rhijn

Agnes is old money personified — she measures everything in pedigree and principle, has a stiff spine and an even stiffer rulebook, and can stare you down into submission with one chilly sentence. She’s all about lineage and the right manners but also has tiny, almost scandalous indulgences (a secret fondness for boulevard gossip? feeding pigeons?). Extremely loyal to tradition yet not totally blind to beauty; she’ll scowl at a modern painting and then quietly admire its color, which is deliciously hypocritical. Basically aristocratic ice with a melting spot somewhere near tea-time.

Marian Brook

Marian is the fresh-eyed, morally steady cousin who arrives and quietly shakes everything up — sweet, sensible, and also a little stubborn in the best way. She’s thoughtful, curious about how the world works, and her awkward modern sensibilities make her both endearing and unsettling to the old guard. She’s got a backbone of steel under her prim dresses and will surprise you with tiny acts of defiance that are more powerful than grand speeches. Also, she makes notes in the margins of her letters and bites her pen cap when thinking, which is oddly humanizing.

Tom Raikes

Tom is the charming, somewhat roguish young man who looks like he stepped out of a novel and then acted like it was accidental. He’s urbane, quick with a joke, ambitious in a soft way, and he flirts with sincerity and risk as if it’s a sport. There’s a restlessness to him—he wants more than polite society offers but is sometimes terrified of actually grabbing it — which means he’s equal parts captivating and maddening. Also, he seems to always have a slightly scandalous story about a boat or a bet, and I love that for him.

George Russell

George is the brooding titan of industry — cold, sharp, and strategically terrifying in boardrooms, but oddly fragile in his quieter moments. He’s all power and calculation, loves money the way some people love art, and treats the world like a ledger he’s endlessly balancing. There’s a tenderness he rarely shows (a look at his children, a rare laugh), which makes those moments hit like lightning. And yes, he smokes cigars like a monument to himself, sometimes humming sea shanties? Don’t ask me why; maybe it relaxes him.

Peggy Scott

Peggy is electric — brilliant, quick-witted, fiercely ambitious, and absolutely stylish, like a walking headline. She’s a writer at heart, determined to carve out a space where one doesn’t exist, and she meets every door shut in her face with a sharper pen. Warm, loyal, and full of small rebellions (perfect tailoring under scandalous circumstances), she’s one of those characters who says a thing and you know she thought six steps ahead. Also, she has an almost comical obsession with grammar — and she’ll correct you, lovingly, in public.

Sylvia Chamberlain

Sylvia is the polished diamond of society — blink-and-you’ll-miss-her kindness with a spine of steel and stiletto-sharp opinions. She’s the one who controls the room with a smile and a whisper, loves fashion like it’s a language, and wields gossip like currency. Beneath the silk and smiles there’s a private insecurity that makes her lash out with barbs that sting because she’s scared, not mean (most of the time). Also, she keeps a vase of hydrangeas that she talks to when stressed, which is both ridiculous and somehow adorable.