Every Season of Beverly Hills, 90210 Ranked From Worst to Best

When the first episode of Beverly Hills, 90210 aired on Fox in the fall of 1990, the first George Bush was president. The Gulf War had not yet been waged. And a set of fictional twins named Brenda and Brandon Walsh moved to California from Minnesota, igniting a widespread frenzy across the U.S. and a local one inside my childhood bedroom.

I watched the pilot—“Class of Beverly Hills”—crossed-legged on the floor, staring up at the 13-inch television my grandparents had given me that year. I didn’t understand everything I heard and saw (namely a bit of business I realize now was a narrowly avoided statutory rape scenario), but during that first episode, I fell hard for the lush West Beverly High campus, the sports cars, the drama, and the cliques of popular blondes, none of which was applicable to my New York City childhood. Thursday nights could not come fast enough.

As much as I adore it, I see now Beverly Hills, 90210 is a strange show. The concept of authenticity wasn’t as crucial in ’90s teen dramas as it is now, and most of the actors played characters much younger than their actual ages, which occasionally affected the plot. One character, brainy Andrea Zuckerman played by Gabrielle Carteris, was supposed to be 15 when the series began, and the actress who played her was pushing 30. When 18-year-old Andrea got pregnant in the fourth season, it was because Gabrielle was a married woman of 33, so the show had to hustle on an icky teen-pregnancy arc that found her giving up her full scholarship to Yale to marry a guy she barely knew who, it turned out, was pro-life. (It was Fox in the ’90s—a fictional abortion likely wasn’t an option.)

Nobody seemed to mind too much: The series ran for 10 seasons, most of them iconic and very, very long—around 32 episodes each. But unlike today’s hot shows that willingly opt to end on a high note, Beverly Hills, 90210 chose to overstay its welcome by four pitiful seasons. (If you’d like to feel old, here’s this: The series aired its last episode, “Ode to Joy,” 20 years ago today.) But when the going was good—from seasons one through six—it was really good. The worst-to-best ranking below, which I encourage you to debate, considers several factors: key story arcs, pivotal relationships, moments that have a place in pop culture canon, and memorable characters.

Season 9 (September 1998–May 1999)

Every true fan will agree: the final three (fine, four) seasons of Beverly Hills, 90210 did not need to be made. The penultimate season is living proof of this—even its star, Jason Priestley, wised up and got out. In Brandon Walsh’s place, we received a handful of new stock characters nobody cared about, including scheming professional ice skater Gina Kincaid, Donna Martin’s cousin (or is she?).

And because season nine resorted to outrageous plot lines and sensational melodrama, it needed an attorney to join the group to conveniently defend Valerie’s murder of her molesting father; to help dismiss Kelly’s weapons charge for shooting her rapist; to help with Noah’s drunk driving snafu; and to weigh in on David’s statutory rape charge. Matt the attorney also hooks up with Kelly—but wait; he has a wife in a mental institution. The gang, including the tepid return of Luke Perry, also deals with parental suicide, HIV testing, heroin, and inhumane treatment of wage workers. A fun and lighthearted season!

Season 8 (September 1997–May 1998)

It made sense to follow the high school gang to college, but even I, Fan Zero, wasn’t invested enough to care about these characters’ trying to find their way in the working world. Season eight is where things start to slide into daytime soap territory. After graduation, the writers thought it would be fun to have our main female character, Kelly, get shot in a drive-by and develop amnesia; saintly Donna gets her very own drug problem; and Brandon and Steve become the owners of a defunct tabloid newspaper.

Keeping things light, there’s some business about sweatshops, a white supremacy plot, and a bone-marrow transplant arc. We also get two new characters: Carly, a sad single mom played by pre–Boys Don’t Cry Hillary Swank (who got fired after 13 episodes), and Noah Hunter, a rich, squinty, screwed-up playboy who is unequivocally the worst addition to all ten seasons of the show.

Season 10 (September 1999–May 2000)

You only stuck around for season 10 because you’d dedicated almost a decade to these goons and felt like you owed it to yourself to see how they fared. Not great. By the final season, the personal lives of each character seemed depressing as hell. Party-boy Steve becomes a stay-at-home dad, but the show had to make his working wife, Janet, a bitter shrew. We get handed a desperate eleventh-hour twist that Dylan McKay’s beloved dad has been alive and living under an alias this whole time. We learn Donna’s dad had a one-night stand in the ’70s and that Gina is actually Donna’s sister, not her cousin.

The season’s saving grace: Kelly finds out the annoying attorney, Matt, unwittingly drank juice laced with liquid acid in the desert and cheated on her, which prompts him to leave the show early to help raise his sister’s son because he was the…sperm donor. I’ll admit ending the series with classic couple Donna and David getting married was a nice touch. The final scene finds everyone awkwardly dancing at their wedding, and I shed a tear rewatching it because RIP, Luke Perry, who made Dylan the show’s solitary deep soul.

Season 7 (August 1996–May 1997)

The gang starts their last year at California University, but a switch must have shorted somewhere because this shit goes off the rails. The interior lives of the characters are replaced with outlandish scenarios, including Valerie Malone’s affair with married Kenny and a heinous arc during which she lies about being pregnant and tries to extort $100,000 for a fake abortion. Kelly displays some alarming AIDS panic as a volunteer at a health clinic; Brandon starts dating Tracy, an anchor at the campus TV station who has nothing to do but be a jealous nag; and an hour is spent watching Donna trying to rescue a deer during a wildfire in the Hollywood Hills. Her payment? Realizing her season-five attempted rapist is out on bail, then getting held hostage at the TV station by a new stalker.

I guess her real reward (or punishment) was that, after 206 episodes, her real father, 90210 creator Aaron Spelling, finally allows the character to lose her virginity to David in a blaze of candles and white lingerie. She even brought her own condom. Then everyone graduates.

Season 6 (September 1996–May 1996)

Kelly comes back from a summer spent modeling in New York with a pixie cut and an “edgy” new boyfriend, Colin, who makes it known in every scene that he’s an artist. He’s also a degenerate cokehead who drags Kelly into the depths of his addiction before trying to flee the cops in a very O.J.-like highway chase, then tries to stow away on a freight ship. Kelly goes to rehab, then takes in a troubled young girl named Tara who pulls a Single White Female and becomes so obsessed with Kelly she tries to kill them both.

Donna dates boring quarterback Joe Bradley who—what are the odds?—is also a virgin, a prince comes between Claire and Steve, and Brandon starts dating Susan, the officious editor-in-chief of the campus newspaper (an interesting character made less so by having to repeatedly apologize to braying Brandon).

Dylan falls so in love with the daughter of his father’s killer—Noxema Girl!—that they quickly get married until her evil dad mistakenly shoots her thinking she’s Dylan. This bit of business is genuinely very sad and pivotal, and marks Luke Perry’s exit from the show until much later.

Season 1 (October 1990–May 1991)

Where it all began! And where ya girl learned what the acronym BNJ meant. (Before Nose Job, duh.) Season one is iconic, yes, but is the best? Eh. Like most serialized dramas, it starts out with an abundance of scene-setting—fish-out-of-water Midwestern family moves to scandalous Beverly Hills—but then tries to find its footing by seeing how many Very Important Teenage Issues they can cram into 22 episodes, including but not limited to: shoplifting, affirmative action, cancer scares, date rape, drunk driving, fake IDs, peer pressure, absentee parents, learning disabilities, the plight of the undocumented restaurant worker, AIDS tests, underage drinking, shady basketball recruitment practices within the L.A. school system, eating disorders, and teen moms.

As preachy—and as heavy-handed in its attempts to make America fall head over heels in love with Luke Perry’s brooding, bootleg James Dean bad boy Dylan McKay (guilty!!!)—as it is, season one did have some stellar moments, like a clueless 15-year-old Brenda ordering a banana daiquiri in a nightclub she snuck into; Amanda Pacer, the gloriously bitchy high school senior who ruins the younger girls’ slumber party because she’s addicted to diet pills that “murder your personality”; and some smart meta-satire when Brandon briefly gets cast in a smarmy teen soap. There were also some clunkers—including Dylan murmuring to Brenda that when she finally loses her virginity to him, they won’t be judging each other—they’ll be “enjoying each other.” Pass the bucket.

Season 3 (July 1992–May 1993)

Season three is the last before the gang heads off to college, and it’s an odd one because 70% is pure nonsense, but the other 30% is heaven-sent. The breakdown:

10% divine: Brenda and Donna’s summer in Paris during which Brenda absurdly masquerades as a French native to impress hunky American Rick (Dean Cain, looking real good). Less good: when the girls mistakenly order “brains” at a French restaurant and basically barf on their plates. Their digestive systems obviously didn’t tolerate any food that wasn’t prepared by Nat at the Peach Pit.

10% divine: Dylan and Kelly starting their juicy affair while Brenda’s away, thereby setting up one of the most infamous love triangles in pop culture.

10% divine: The “Donna Martin Graduates” arc: The students at West Beverly stage a walkout during finals after Donna gets hammered at prom despite the school board’s barring any student found drunk from graduating. They chant “Donna Martin graduates, Donna Martin graduates,” until the school board gives in. Because that’s how it works.

The other 70% is full of foolery, such as a young David Arquette whose character isn’t only an abusive scumbag but is also the the lead singer of a band called Waste Management; good-boy Brandon’s sudden descent into gambling addiction; Steve’s breaking into the school computer system to change his grades; and—in an unfortunately experimental episode that’s a nod to It’s a Wonderful Life—two guardian angels watch over the cast and protect them from a bus crash that threatens to kill them all.

Season 5 (September 1994–May 1995)

Bev Niner fans are often split into two camps—the Brenda years and everything else. Season five is the first without its star Shannen Dougherty, and in her place we got Saved by the Bell alum Tiffani Amber Theissen as an old family friend of the Walshes seeking a fresh start in LA. She wasn’t the outright bitch Brenda was, and the show messily flip-flops between making her a desperate cling-on and a weed-smoking temptress. (Delilah with a great bob!) This season also marks the start of the kids’ local hangout, the Peach Pit, opening a satellite nightclub and live-music venue which smartly booked real up-and-coming bands of the day, including The Flaming Lips, Monica, Collective Soul, and a young Christina Aguilera. Andrea eventually leaves the show for Yale, saddled with a new baby and a pro-life husband. Donna starts dating Ray Pruit, a blue-collar would-be musician who knocks around his girlfriend.

Season five also brings us a trip to Punta Brava, Mexico, where a sobered-up Dylan takes Val to recover his stolen fortune, and the canonical arc of Kelly getting burned in a fire then joining The New Evolution, a cult started by a charismatic professor. She eventually gets saved by Brandon and Dylan—her two great loves—but dumps them both in her infamous “I choose me” speech. Season five loses points, though, for the gay panic written into its otherwise entertaining Palm Springs finale. First there’s a misunderstanding that Kelly might be in a relationship with Allison, a lesbian who also got burned in the fire, then there’s an attractive transgender woman played for laughs.

Season 4 (September 1993–May 1994)

People like to hate on The College Years, but those people are fake fans. Almost all 32 (!!!) episodes are perfection. The tone of the series changes when the entire gang heads off to the same school, California University, and there’s a hilariously earnest shift to academic idealism (what teen doesn’t care about the inner workings of student governments and task forces and ballot counting and progressive politics and campus labs who test on animals?). The show also broaches the topic of drugs but tries to throw viewers off the scent when David Silver’s meth inexplicably has be dissolved in orange juice to work.

Season four gives us Andrea’s implausible pregnancy storyline; Brenda’s disdain for the University of Minnesota and everyone who attends; the show’s (shaky) attempt at tackling a pre-#MeToo moment with its “Take Back the Night” episode; the introduction of the infamous beach apartment; and two great recurring characters: John Sears (Paul Johansson, pre–One Tree Hill, who goes for broke playing the ultimate filthy frat boy), and charming basketball star D’Shawn Hardell, one of the few characters of color in all 10 seasons which is, in retrospect, a fail.

Season four is where main character Brandon becomes unbearably sanctimonious, not least of all because he joins the student senate and later—as a freshman—becomes campus president. He also manages to start an affair with hot, married 28-year-old anthropology teaching assistant Lucinda Nicholson; becomes the obsession of the chancellor’s daughter, Claire; and starts a relationship with Kelly, setting off one of two iconic love triangles.

The two other storylines that makes season four one of the best: A gorgeously melodramatic arc in which Brenda competes for the lead in the college production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and the arrival of grifters Susanne and Kevin, who present as Dylan’s long-lost family only to use his half-sister Erica as bait to steal his $8 million fortune and flee the country, sparking his descent into drugs and booze.

Season 2 (July 1991–May 1992)

Two words: summer episodes. In July of 1991, Fox made the decision to air new episodes of Beverly Hills, 90210 during the summer months instead of going on hiatus like every other show. This was a big deal at the time and also ignited the 90210 frenzy—stampeding fans at mall appearances, merch, Jason Priestly breaking Color War at a New York sleep-away camp—that season one was missing. The episodes were ratings gold and took place in the summer, giving them a real-time feel, with characters working or hanging out at the Beverly Hills Beach Club. When they went back to school in September, so did we, the viewers.

While the beach club episodes are novel, it’s not until the gang goes back to start their junior year that we get the procession of iconic episodes the season—and series—is known for. This includes the introduction of Harley-riding Intriguing New Girl Emily Valentine, who falls madly in love with wholesome Brandon but slips U4EA—the show’s take on Ecstasy—into his soda at a rave when he said he didn’t want to do drugs. I pray to the patron saint of this canonical episode (“I’d like to exchange an egg” is pure poetry) and—sorry—I’m equally grateful for the one before it during which sad sack Scott accidentally shoots himself dead with his dad’s loaded gun during his own birthday party that none of the cool kids wanted to attend but did anyway. Come for the gang teaching Scott to dance, stay for the furtive gun control PSA!

Other joys: Season two has 1992’s biggest band, Color Me Badd (LOL), appear in a Very Serious Episode about Donna’s mom’s affair; Kelly and David become step-siblings; we get a glimpse into Andrea’s reality of living—catch me before I pass out—in the valley; and closes with Brenda sneaking off to Mexico with her boyfriend Dylan despite her father’s objection, igniting a lengthy arc of the Walshes flip-flopping between deriding Dylan and protecting him like a son. A defiant Brenda doing whatever the fuck she wants is a through-line that starts here and continues for as long as the sublime Shannen Dougherty remains on the show. Yay, season two.

Originally Appeared on Glamour