Poor Rob. The man cannot seem to catch a break. The Industry character played by Harry Lawtey took a backseat to Yasmin (Marisa Abela) and Harper (Myha'la) in the show's third season. Yasmin's simmering secret about her father's death and Harper's vengeful plans to short Pierpoint overshadowed their somewhat incompetent coworker who continues to bumble his way through banking and life.
And yet a lot has happened to Rob. His mother died. His mentor at work died. His father rejected him in favor of a new family. He was groomed by an older female client. That predator then died right next to him. Her daughter tried to kiss him?! He was forced to testify in front of the government about his client's malfeasance. In the process, he was almost blamed for a fiasco that frankly didn't have the brains to mastermind. He got into a fist fight with Jon Snow—erm, I mean his moneyed and spoiled client, the deliciously named Henry Muck.
And that's before we dig into the Rob-Yasmin drama: He fell for Yasmin. The working-class kid followed the rich girl around like a puppy. He wound up in jail for acquiring drugs for her just when he himself was getting sober. He still welcomed her into his home when she was destitute. And after finally, finally sleeping with her, he got rejected for—who else?—a member of the landed gentry. Specifically, the one responsible for the aforementioned malfeasance.
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Rob's woes have not gone unnoticed. Every few episodes, fans of the show tweet out sentiments like, "Nobody died in front of Rob today. Huge win for my guy!"
When Industry first launched, it wasn't obvious that Rob would become the most sympathetic character. If anything he was a little pathetic, mooning after Yasmin, proving himself incompetent at work, and too high to take control of his life. The audience might even resent him for seemingly failing up despite his inability to cultivate or retain clients.
In those early episodes, Harper was the audience surrogate, particularly for American viewers. She was a young Black American woman determined to fake it until she made it in a workplace dominated not just by rich white dudes, but ones with posh accents. But Harper has become the ultimate insider, even when she's banished to the outside of Pierpoint. She can manipulate the markets—legally or not—along with the best of them.
Meanwhile, Rob evolved into more than a party boy. As showrunners Mickey Down and Konrad Kay dug into his character, they found a man paralyzed by class anxiety. Everyone else around him seemed to have a leg up. Yasmin had money. His bestie and roommate Gus had connections. Harper had ambition and the type of ruthlessness borne from hiding a big secret. Rob was just a middle-class white boy wearing the wrong suit trading on his good looks. Lucky to be there. He bought a motorcycle after his first big paycheck and was immediately pilloried for doing so.
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At the end of Season 1, a woman senior to Rob at the firm, Daria, lays into him for being a drug-addicted wastrel. (Everyone else at Pierpoint seems to be high all the time, so his relative incompetence is the real crime.) Rob has since tried to make himself useful, even though he admitted in Season 2 that he was terrified of calling clients—which was literally his job. Pressure to excel in his profession lead him straight into the arms of a sexual predator in Season 1 and a would-be startup CEO who will happily dispose of him to save his own reputation. When he's forced to testify at a government inquiry, all he can think to do is don some clearly fake glasses in an attempt to look smart. It's so stupid it's almost endearing.
It helps that Kit Harington's Henry Muck—an equally vacant but richer and more entitled version of Rob—was introduced as Yasmin's new love interest. Rob gapes at his misfortune, open mouthed and confused. But then he picks himself up and moves on. Henry suffers a fraction of the indignities endured by Rob and throws a fit whenever he encounters trouble. By contrast, Rob looks like the most noble and eligible man in England.
On a show where breaking bad is the norm—whether that means betraying your coworkers, making illegal trades, or standing stock still while your abusive dad drowns in Mallorca—Rob is the only remaining character who could still emerge from the cesspool that is Pierpoint relatively unscathed. He's the one we're rooting for as evidenced by the tweets celebrating his tiniest victories, like when he jauntily walks down a hall despite receiving horrible news at work, a sign he may be quiet quitting.
Rob has now become the audience surrogate. His evolution reflects the maturation of a show that has evolved beyond banking stereotypes. The handsome white guy failing up has reached the limits of his luck. In a monied world where social mobility is more challenging than it may appear, Rob's doofy smile can only get him so far. His aimlessness and guilelessness aren't just relatable, they're admirable. In a twisted way, Rob is our hero.
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We watch shows like Industry and Succession and The White Lotus in part to gawk at the yachts and private jets. But ultimately we know that these are morality tales. (A disturbing number of characters die on those yachts and jets.) Money corrupts. Any character who has even the slimmest chance of escaping the rat race inevitably becomes a fan favorite.
Rob, despite suffering immensely this season, wound up in the best place. Yes, Yasmin ditched him for someone richer. But given how volatile that relationship has been—and how little respect Yasmin seems to have for Rob—he's better off without her. Sure, he has left banking. But he seems more passionate about his ayahuasca business plan than anything he's done before. Maybe he'll finally find a job he loves. And, yes, people seem to keep dying around Rob. But somehow, he is still alive and thriving.
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Write to Eliana Dockterman at eliana.dockterman@time.com