From Lust To Longing: Saxon’s Surprising Transformation In "The White Lotus"

Played by Patrick Schwarzenegger, Saxon Ratliff opens the season as your classic high-status, high-testosterone disaster: charming, shallow, and utterly controlled by his appetites. He’s a walking embodiment of modern male nihilism—constantly seeking the next thrill, the next hookup, the next ego boost.

But by the finale, something changes.

It’s not dramatic. He doesn’t deliver a monologue or cry in the rain. Instead, he sits still, watching a girl run into the arms of someone who truly loves her, and the camera lingers on his face just long enough for us to see it:

He wants what she has.

The Girl Who Doesn't Need Him

The woman who rewires Saxon isn’t fiery or seductive. She’s sincere. She’s loyal. And most importantly—she’s not impressed.

Chelsea, played with genuine sweetness by Aimee Lou Wood isn’t the kind of girl Saxon is used to. She reads spiritual books, believes in soulmates, and spends the trip talking about her long-distance boyfriend, Rick, with whom she is absolutely smitten. She is, in every sense, emotionally unavailable—but not because she’s playing hard to get. She’s simply already gotten what she wants. And that makes her magnetic.

To Saxon, who is used to winning with swagger and impulse, Chelsea is disarming. Her self-possession forces him to confront his own lack of purpose. She’s not just a girl he can’t have—she’s a girl whose life makes his look empty by comparison.

One of the most pivotal—but quiet—moments of the season comes when Chelsea gives Saxon a book: Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living by Pema Chödrön.

It’s not a romantic gesture. It’s not flirtation. It’s a window into how she sees the world—and an invitation, however subtle, for Saxon to see it differently too.

The book explores how to deal with suffering and discomfort with honesty. It encourages readers to stop running from pain and to root their choices in something deeper than impulse. And while we don’t get a book club scene or hear Saxon reading aloud, we do see him crack it open—quietly, alone.

In the hands of a man like Saxon, a book like that becomes a mirror. For someone who has spent his adult life numbing himself with women and status, this is the first time we see him slow down, absorb something, and reflect.

Chelsea also introduces him to The Essential Rumi, a book of poetry about spiritual longing and divine love—ideas Saxon would’ve mocked in episode one. But by the end, when Chelsea runs into Rick’s arms, and Saxon just watches, we realize: the books mattered. She gave him words for a hunger he didn’t know he had.

Chelsea’s Steadiness vs. Saxon’s Chaos

The contrast between their characters is constant and intentional. Chelsea reads poetry while Saxon makes jokes about threesomes. She speaks with gentle conviction; he interrupts with crass one-liners. She is anchored by love, by belief, by habit—and he is adrift, performing confidence but secretly aimless.

But Chelsea never tries to fix him. She just is—sincere, strong, unavailable in the best way. She holds her ground, and Saxon, who is used to women bending around him, is left unmoored. And that’s exactly what he needs.

A Moment of Stillness

In the finale, Chelsea sprints toward Rick in slow motion, her face radiant. Saxon watches. No words. Just a sad flicker across his face.

Schwarzenegger revealed that they filmed a more emotional version of this scene—a full-on redemption arc where Saxon finally softens. But creator Mike White had a different vision. He wanted stillness. Just a moment—enough to show that something inside Saxon had shifted, even if he couldn’t articulate it yet.

And that moment lands. For the first time, he suspects that self-satisfaction might not be the end-all be-all—and that love, inconvenient and sacrificial as it is, might actually be the thing worth chasing.

When Men Want More

Saxon’s character arc echoes a reality that modern culture keeps trying to ignore: Men eventually crave more than hookups. The thrill of conquest always burns out. The real longing—the one that lasts—is for devotion, for purpose, for something sacred.

Chelsea doesn’t just challenge Saxon’s behavior. She challenges his worldview. She lives as if love is a serious, beautiful thing. As if loyalty matters. As if people are made for more than appetites. And by the end, Saxon sees it.

He doesn’t say anything. But his stillness speaks volumes.

Chelsea’s books, her boundaries, her belief in Rick—all of it quietly dismantles Saxon’s belief that happiness can be found through freedom and impulse. She introduces him to something deeper: restraint, reverence, and spiritual hunger.

Perhaps the beginning of wisdom is often not a grand speech. It’s the still, stunned face of someone who has just witnessed real love—and realized they’ve been chasing a cheap imitation.