Why Wenclair feels canon in Wednesday Season 2 — Even if the creators say it isn’t

Wednesday Season 2 Part 2 tried to play coy, but Wenclair slipped through with the subtlety of a marching band. While some declarations hide behind sarcasm, others kick down the door with wolf claws. A body swap that turns into a breakup, confessions of unshaken strength, and the moment Enid calls Wednesday her pack in the middle of chaos? It’s all there, absurd and undeniable.

Fans can argue about labels, creators can insist it’s just sisterhood, but the script itself is laughing at that restraint. Every poisoned cappuccino and rainbow-induced rash leads to the same truth: Wednesday and Enid are written into each other’s bones.

Wednesday and the breakup that wasn’t hers to make

It happens in the most absurd way possible: Wednesday is wearing Enid’s body, Bruno is standing there with his guilty little smirk, and the betrayal is too obvious to ignore. She doesn’t hesitate for even a second. She cuts him off like trimming dead branches, announcing the end of a relationship that technically isn’t even hers to end. She calls out his deception, names it for what it is, and walks away with the kind of authority that feels borrowed from a much older tragedy.

The scene lands because of its cruelty wrapped in comedy. Wednesday isn’t gentle on Bruno’s ego, she doesn’t negotiate or soften the blow, she just finishes him. In doing so, she protects Enid without asking permission, as if the boundaries of friendship don’t apply.

The absurd body swap makes the situation laughable, but the emotional undercurrent is unmistakable. Wednesday is more invested in Enid’s safety and dignity than she will ever admit, and that makes the act of dumping Bruno on her behalf feel both hilarious and intimate.

In a show that thrives on irony, this is the deadliest punchline: she delivers justice for a relationship she doesn’t even believe in. And in the process, she shows exactly how far she’s willing to go to defend the girl who annoys her the most.

Wrapped in bi colors, dancing to revenge

When Enid takes over Wednesday’s body, the joke plays loud: colors everywhere, Blackpink blasting, goth armor swapped for neon defiance. But the palette isn’t random. The clothes she slips into line up with the bisexual flag—pink, purple, blue—layered across fabric like a manifesto hidden in plain sight. Even her hair, streaked in softer pastels, carries the same hues (blue + pink + the purple in the uniform!).

It’s a choice that echoes an entire lineage of queer-coded icons. Think of Ramona Flowers, drenched in candy hair and combat boots, turning her bisexual palette into a cultural shorthand. Wednesday knows this language. It isn’t subtle. It’s playful, mocking, and bold, but the visual reads are deliberate. The body swap doesn’t just let Jenna Ortega play Enid; it lets the show stage a bi-coded fantasy of revenge, a deadpan carnival of identity painted in neon.

The series may claim it’s about sisterhood, but the colors (and lines of dialogue) tell on themselves. The flag is there, stitched into costume and hair, pulsing with the beat of a K-pop anthem. It’s absurd, it’s cheeky, and it’s exactly the kind of wink that turns subtext into a declaration without ever admitting it out loud.

Strength wrapped in fur

The confession comes uninvited, slipping out while Wednesday is still inside Enid’s body.

“The best thing about being Enid is your quiet strength. You think being an Alpha will mean you’ll be alone. I won’t let that happen.”

There’s zero sarcasm in the line, no wink, no biting twist to soften the weight. It’s Wednesday speaking without armor, stripped of her usual shield of mockery.

Enid’s response is simple, almost primal:

“You are my pack, Wednesday.”

The word pack matters. It isn’t “friend” or “ally” or “roommate.” It’s a declaration of belonging that carries obligation, loyalty, and permanence. Wolves don’t leave their pack, they don’t betray it, and they certainly don’t call someone pack unless the bond is already written into their bones. An Alpha? Even more so.

What makes the moment sting is how naked it feels. In a show obsessed with gothic one-liners and cynical quips, here we get sincerity that refuses to hide. The absurdity of the body swap, the comedy of watching Jenna Ortega and Emma Myers mimic each other, all of it dissolves into something sharper. Wednesday promises not to let Enid be alone, and Enid claims her as family. That isn’t subtle. That’s a vow disguised as banter, and it changes the gravity of everything that follows.

Cracks in monochrome

“The crack in your monochrome armor is overbearing arrogance.”

The line is an insult, but it’s also prophecy. Wednesday carries her pride like it’s another weapon, sharp enough to cut anyone who gets close, but cracks are unavoidable, and in those cracks Enid keeps placing herself like a mirror.

The arrogance isolates her. Every time Wednesday refuses to bend, she risks breaking, and yet Enid is the one who keeps pointing it out, not to belittle her but to remind her she isn’t invincible. The arrogance may be deadly, but the crack is also the place where connection leaks through. The insult becomes an unintentional gift, an acknowledgment that her strength and her weakness are the same thing.

It’s fitting that the girl allergic to color is undone by the brightest presence in her life. Pride becomes vulnerability, and vulnerability becomes intimacy. The monochrome armor might protect her from the world, but Enid is already inside it, tearing down every excuse for solitude.

Loyalty written in claws

By the time Enid asks,

“If I wolfed out and couldn’t change back, would you come and find me?”, the bond is undeniable.

It’s a plea, but also a test. Wednesday answers without hesitation:

“I have no problem hunting you down.”

It’s the most on-brand way she could ever say I’d never abandon you. The line is funny, morbid, and deeply affectionate in the way only Wednesday can manage.

And then comes the final act. Enid doesn’t just talk about loyalty, she proves it with claws and blood. She wolfs out permanently, knowing it will cost her everything, just to save Wednesday. It’s sacrifice dressed as instinct, but it resonates as devotion. If there was ever a moment that defined Wenclair as more than subtext, it’s this one.

The show may insist on keeping their romance off the table, but the narrative keeps betraying that restraint. No ordinary friend transforms into a beast and embraces exile just to save you. No ordinary friend names you as their pack and expects you to understand what that means.

The devotion is written not in flowers or rings, but in fur and scars, and in the deadpan language of the show, that’s the closest thing to a love story you’ll probably ever get.

Wenclair, canon in everything but the name

By the end of Wednesday Season 2 Part 2, it’s impossible to keep pretending this bond is just decoration. The writers may call it friendship, the creators may talk about sisterhood, but the text on screen has already betrayed that line.

Wednesday ends Enid’s relationship without blinking, promises she’ll never let her be alone, accepts being called pack, and lives through a sacrifice that rewrites both of their futures.

There’s nothing subtle here. The declarations are absurd, the settings ridiculous, the delivery deadpan, but the meaning couldn’t be louder. Wenclair isn’t fanfiction sneaking into canon; it’s canon wrapped in jokes, canon disguised as comedy, canon screaming through every allergy, every claw, and every unguarded word.

If the show refuses to spell it out, the audience doesn’t need permission. Wenclair has already been declared, and no amount of denial can put it back in the shadows.