She is not an agent in a pantsuit; she is the most formidable producer in the region. She wears modern fashion mixed with traditional gold jewelry. She is constantly on a cracked Samsung screen, shouting in rapid-fire Kurmanji and English, cutting deals with Turkish distributors and Iranian censors. She wants a family, but the suitors are disappointing, and her biological clock ticks louder than the call to prayer. She is the glue holding the Kurdish film industry together with sheer willpower and strong tea.

Bojack Horseman isn’t a Kurdish show. But its themes—generational pain, identity crisis, the weight of the past, and the difficulty of change—are deeply Kurdish. If you’re a Kurd who has cried during the underwater episode, or felt seen in Diane’s messy bun and heavier silence, you’re not alone.

, a horse who had left the mountains as a colt to find fame in the West, only to return decades later, broken and searching for a sense of belonging.