This Friendship Day, Let The 'Derry Girls' Remind You What Ride-Or-Die Really Means

Whenever I feel like I’m having a bad day, Clare from Derry Girls is probably having it worse. But what makes her meltdowns, panic attacks and midday crash-outs entertaining—and oddly comforting—is her friend group.

I first stumbled upon Derry Girls on a random flight I barely remember, somewhere between time zones and tomato juice. I was instantly hooked. So hooked, in fact, that it became my in-flight ritual—a few episodes per journey, my own version of turbulence therapy. Fittingly, the last episode ended just as my flight landed back in Mumbai. No warning, no “next episode”—just one emotional nosedive. I sat there, banjaxed (yes, I picked up some Irish slang from the show), heart cracked open at 30,000 feet, realising I’d just said goodbye to five of the best fictional friends I’d ever made.

So, this Friendship's Day, I’m penning a little love letter to my friends from Derry.

Chaos Meets Coming of Age

The show is created and written by Lisa McGee, a Northern Irish writer who gave the world not just chaos and comedy, but an honest, deeply personal lens on girlhood and growing up in a conflict zone. 

Set in the '90s during the final years of The Troubles in Northern Ireland, Derry Girls follows four teenage girls—Erin, Orla, Clare, Michelle—and one very out-of-place English boy, James. The show is technically a teen sitcom, but it defies all genre boxes. It’s wildly funny, sometimes absurd, and deeply rooted in a very real historical backdrop.

Against bomb threats, army checkpoints, and looming political shifts, these teenagers navigate school, hormones, disco disasters, ABBA and Spice Girls tributes, and The Lady Immaculate herself. The show doesn’t glamourise the struggles of adolescence, but it also doesn’t wallow in them. Instead, it treats growing up like what it actually is: loud, messy, embarrassing, and unforgettable.

The Ride-or-Die Blueprint

What makes the seriesiconic is its over-the-top, loyal, and ludicrously chaotic portrayal of female friendship. Erin is the tortured writer (mostly from her self-made problems), Orla is the space-cadet philosopher, Clare is the anxious overachiever, Michelle is the wild card, and James is, well… technically there. But together? They’re a force of nature.

Their friendship is about showing up unapologetically, and sometimes illegally. From attempting to smuggle vodka into a church retreat to sabotaging talent shows and hiding minor crimes from their mamas, they somehow headfirst into every disaster together.

Like every other friend group, they fight a lot. They lie, panic, cry, break rules and sometimes hearts. But underneath the chaos, what remains is that invisible thread that all true friendships are stitched from—you’re stuck with me, even if I hate you right now. 

And when they band together? It’s nothing short of a cracker time.

Why It Hits Different

There’s no glittery monologue moment or Instagrammable coffee shop or trendy styling scene here. The series embraces its contradictions of girlhood. Unlike most teen shows that polish girlhood into something soft and shimmering, this one lets it be volatile and loud. These girls are helpful yet selfish, weird, impulsive, loyal to a fault—and never for a second do they apologise for it.

Maybe that’s why this showhits harder than most coming-of-age stories. Because real friendship is not just filtered smiles, it’s the shared eye-rolls, the shrieking laughter, the unspoken eye contact when a joke lands wrong, the forgiveness you don’t even have to ask for. And this group has it in spades. It’s the kind of craic you can’t fake, giddy, mad, and worth everything.

And let's be honest: some days, adulting leaves you broke, full of a dose (aka a cold or general misery), and just one minor inconvenience away from sobbing in a public loo. But watching Erin and her crew reminds you that if you've got your people—your own gang of misfits—you’re going to be grand.

The Final Lesson

In the final episode, when the girls walk into a polling booth to vote for the Good Friday Agreement, you feel the weight of history, but also the weight of growing up. Their friendship is still intact, but the world around them is changing. It’s a quiet reminder that life moves on, but some people remain your people.

So this Friendship Day, I raise a pint (or a Smirnoff Ice) to the wild ones, the ones who yell “you’re being dramatic” as they hold your hand through the drama. To the Clares in crisis, the Michelles who’ll fight your bullies, the Orlas who make everything feel surreal, and the Jameses who prove you don’t need to be the loudest to be the most loyal.

Like Sister Michael would say, “Can we wrap this up?”  Yes, but not before we say it loud: You’ll always be a Derry Girl. Even if you’re not a girl. Even if you’re not from Derry. Because, as Michelle said, being a Derry Girl is a state of mind. And that, my friend, is class.