OK, I’ll admit it. When I first scrolled past MerPeople, Netflix’s new four-part docu-series about professional mermaids, I tuned in mostly for the spectacle. Blinded like a swimmer in brackish water, I assumed “professional mermaiding” was mostly just poolside cosplay—an excuse for wigs, rhinestones, and expensive silicone tails. As a Florida-born pisces, I love all of these things, so naturally, I was on board.
MerPeople’s opening scene is designed to shatter that illusion, as a group of mer-performers rises from the water in agony. The pool was over-chlorinated, so now all of their eyes are burning. It’s a mad dash to the sinks, as the distressed merpeople moan and wail. The opposite of a dress-up dream, professional mermaiding looks like an aquatic nightmare. It involves swimming in freezing-cold tanks, sometimes with live rays and “nippy” pufferfish. You could get hypothermia, and assholes will apparently hit on you all the time. Also, everything (absolutely everything) gets sweaty under that tail.
Now that we know what mermaiding really is, why would anyone want to do this, exactly? Enter Mermaid Sparkles, the “landlocked mermaid” from Arkansas, whose journey to find her “mermaid family” quickly becomes the emotional anchor for a series that, I’ll admit, wound up making me cry like a little merbaby.
As one might guess, there aren’t a ton of mermaids in Arkansas. So far, Sparkles has only met one other performer—Mermaid Pixi, who joins her to practice in the community pool. (That is, when the pool will have them; swimming with tails is usually not permitted, but Sparkles and Pixi have worked out a deal to share the pool with an elderly aquatic work-out class.) Nonetheless, Sparkles, who works a day job at a restaurant, is determined to make it as a professional mermaid; it’s a dream she’s held since her father first told her about the mermaid shows in Florida’s Weeki Wachee Springs.
Weeki Wachee Springs State Park and its live Mermaid Shows linger over MerPeople’s four episodes, which also involve interviews with multiple former mermaids, who are disappointed when the park’s 75th-anniversary reunion event abruptly cancels. Eric Ducharme, a former Weeki Wachee performer and founder of the foundational mermaid tail company MerTailor, is determined to build a successor to the park he once called home.
Sparkles, meanwhile, is just looking for a foothold in what the doc calls a half-million dollar industry. Each time she travels for an audition, she spends money on an opportunity that might not pan out. During MerPeople, she travels to Florida to audition for Ducharme’s upcoming live show at MerTailor’s new brick-and-mortar attraction, but she doesn’t make the cut. In between auditions, we observe Sparkles both at her day job and a children’s party, where she’s delayed by a ripped tail. Once her assistant finds her a replacement, however, the mermaid’s face lights up—as do those of the children, who see Sparkles finally emerge for the pool party, surrounded by bubbles. In that moment, it’s easy to see why Sparkles can’t give up her dream. Whenever she puts on the tail, she lights up from the inside out.
That seems to be the case for every merperson in this series—from the singing Blixunami, to Society of Fat Mermaids founder Ché Monique, to the one who shows up to a convention looking like that creature from The Shape of Water. Ducharme discusses how performing helped him find his center as a young, gay man with Tourette’s, while another merman, Tristan, credits his craft with helping him stay away from drugs after years of use. Each mermaid seems to have found a piece of themselves in the water, something strange and beautiful and precious that keeps them coming back—even if it’s cold and occasionally dangerous.
Which brings us back to Sparkles. After her MerTailor audition doesn’t pan out, she tries again—this time, at Morgana’s MerMagic Con, hosted by the influential mermaid and Circus Siren Pod founder Morgana Alba. With a two-minute performance slot booked, Sparkles is determined to prove herself to Morgana after she got passed over during a prior audition in 2019.
At the time, Sparkles recalled, “Morgana said to me, ‘You’re not ready.’ And it got me. I took it really hard. I was very disappointed in myself. So I cannot let that happen again. I won’t let that happen again.” Her voice breaks as she says it, driving home just how much this showcase—and Morgana’s approval—mean to her.
At this point, with so many docu-series under its belt, Netflix has cracked the formula for compelling “character” arcs in projects like these. It works masterfully here. Tension mounts, as Sparkles grows anxious ahead of her audition. By the time she plunges into the pool, her scales clacking on the same tail we’ve already seen rip before, it’s almost unbearable.
But then, you realize she’s doing it—she’s stunning. As Sparkles swims under the water, she hides her nerves elsewhere; all you see is her smile and her long, graceful arms, as she swishes through the water as if in slow-motion. Her tail doesn’t look kinked like some of the others—instead, it’s bent like a little girl’s, as she flops around and plays pretend. Instead, the tail seems to curl and paddle like a real sea creature’s would, as Sparkles exerts ballet-dancer-like control from her fingertips to her toes.
By the time Sparkles emerged from the water, the snot had already begun pouring from my nose. “Sweetie, you are unrecognizable,” Morgana tells her. “You are not the same performer I saw four years ago… The fact that you improved and came back takes so much bravery and so much strength.” Sparkles describes it as the best moment of her life.
From there, Sparkles manages to book a guest spot with Morgana in Las Vegas, which comes with its own challenges. (Like that pufferfish.) Her journey continues throughout the docu-series, and it’s unclear what the future will hold. But in that moment, when Sparkles hoists herself out of the water, shivering and tearful, it feels like Disney magic. Through years of practice, she’s become what she’s always wanted to be. For these two minutes, at least, she’s a real mermaid.
