Blank Paige

Twenty-something burnout Paige is stuck in a creative rut with no sign of escape. She’s a people-pleaser, a procrastinator, and a perfectionist all rolled into one disorganized mess, which might explain why her dream of being a musician has turned into a recurring nightmare of open mics, unfinished songs, and flaking on the people who believe in her most. When Paige's 28th birthday rolls around, a friend warns her that your Saturn Return can be a challenging time. And she's right: Paige's entire life fractures—literally. She's sent spiraling into a manic fugue state, during which she becomes a new version of herself: cool, focused, boundary-having, hyper-competent. But instead of becoming a better person in real life, Paige wakes up to find her messy self somehow coexisting with this new, alternate version—one who writes the songs, books the gigs, and actually knows how to tune a guitar. Throughout the pilot, Paige tries to retrace the steps of this other self, hoping to fake it until she makes it. But her dreamspace isn’t exactly chill. Instead of peace and clarity, she’s confronted by escalating versions of herself—versions that alternately nurture, insult, and physically attack her. Self-love becomes literal as another version of Paige lures her in with a hug before stabbing her in the back. Paige wakes up gasping on the floor of her apartment, left to clean up the mess. In the real world, things only get weirder. She discovers she's booked to play a live music set she didn’t plan for, and that everyone around her thinks she's suddenly killing it. Her friend JJ gushes about how Paige has “really turned a corner,” but Paige is still the same girl who forgot to shower and hasn't finished a song in years. She begs the dream version of herself to take the reins, but the reflection vanishes—Baddie Paige did the prep, now Real Paige has to perform. At the climax, she takes the stage in a haze of anxiety and self-doubt, but something shifts. She remembers what Baddie Paige told her—“It’s in drop D”—and the second she hits the tuning, her entire body locks in. What follows is a fierce, punk cover of “Unwritten,” with raw vocals and an unapologetically chaotic stage presence. Paige finally owns the moment. She’s not just channeling her cooler self; she is her. And the crowd notices. But before she can call it a win, Paige re-enters the dreamspace, now calm and cozy in bed. She thinks the chaos is over… until she sees a long line of alternate Paiges waiting their turn to challenge her. Turns out “finding yourself” isn’t a one-time gig. Blank Paige is a half-hour surreal comedy that blends psychological realism with magical absurdism. Think Russian Doll meets Insecure with a dash of Scott Pilgrim—a tonal hybrid that captures the existential dread of becoming an adult, filtered through the eyes of a Black millennial woman whose biggest antagonist is herself. The show explores themes of creative block, self-sabotage, identity fragmentation, and the ways women—especially Black women—are expected to keep it together while falling apart. The dreamspace functions as a metaphor for inner conflict, mirroring the oscillation between self-improvement culture and burnout. The tone is irreverent and fast-paced, with unexpected visual flourishes and sharp, stylized dialogue, grounded by a lead character whose interiority is as messy and funny as it is raw. Over the course of the season, Paige will come face to face with every version of herself she’s tried to suppress: the perfectionist, the narcissist, the ghoster, the over-giver, the main character, the sidekick. The goal isn't to destroy them, but to integrate them—if she can survive. Each episode introduces a new “Paige” from the dreamspace as she navigates the chaos of real life: botched gigs, weird jobs, exes, therapy sessions, and self-inflicted sabotage. The series is deeply serialized, but each episode offers a standalone emotional arc wrapped in a surreal comedic lens. By the end of the pilot, we’re not sure who Paige is yet, and neither is she. And that’s where the fun begins.