About “The Simpsons” in a few words:

The Simpsons is a beloved animated sitcom that has entertained audiences since its debut in 1989. Set in the fictional town of Springfield, the series follows the life of Homer Simpson, his wife Marge, and their three children, Bart, Lisa, and Maggie. Known for its satirical take on everyday life, the show explores various social, political, and cultural themes through the lens of its quirky characters. With its sharp humor and iconic catchphrases, The Simpsons has become a cultural phenomenon, influencing generations of viewers and inspiring countless spin-offs and merchandise.

Meet the Springfield families from The Simpsons

The Simpsons

The Simpsons are pure, gloriously messy American family chaos — loud, loving, and somehow always on the brink of disaster. Homer is simultaneously the biggest doofus and the weirdest heart-on-his-sleeve dad ever (donuts, nap, nuclear plant shenanigans, occasional accidental wisdom), while Marge keeps it together with blue hair and a tolerant glare that says more than sermons ever could. Bart is mischief personified — prankster, icon, and somehow affectionate in a way that makes you forgive things you really shouldn’t — and Lisa is a tiny moral philosopher with saxophone energy and a habit of yelling about the environment at breakfast. Maggie mostly communicates through dramatic looks and the occasional pacifier-powered plot twist, and the whole family is equal parts gross and adorable, like a cartoon hug that smells a little.

The Flanders

The Flanders are the pastel-smelling, Bible-beating next-door neighbors who somehow make piety look like a whole aesthetic — ultra-friendly, annoyingly optimistic, and unbelievably consistent. Ned is cheery to the point of being a personality quirk and also kind of fierce when it comes to his kids or his lawn, and Maude (well, back when she was around) and Maude-ish energy really set that wholesome bar, even if they do get nosy. There’s a tiny undercurrent of tension — they’re sweet but can be smug, generous but oddly rigid — and their polite smiles sometimes hide very practical stubbornness. Also, yes, they have the best casseroles in town and probably a church bulletin board that could double as a weapon.

The Van Houtens

The Van Houtens are suburban awkwardness made family: Luann tries very hard to be put-together and often fails spectacularly, Kirk is an oddball with baffling career choices and a talent for making things worse, and their life is kind of a sitcom of minor humiliations. They’re sympathetic in a squirmy way — always recovering from that last social disaster but somehow optimistic enough to start another one tomorrow. There’s a lot of middle-class embarrassment here, tiny victories, and small, painfully human missteps; they try and then they flub it, and oftentimes that’s the whole charm. Also, they probably have a wildly inappropriate family game night tradition that involves chanting? Or maybe not.

The Lovejoys

The Lovejoys are the local church power couple — Reverend Lovejoy is exasperated, weary, and quietly soft in the places you’d least expect; Helen (when she’s present) is the practical backbone who coordinates bake sales and passive-aggressive prayer requests. The whole vibe is moral duty with a side of grouchy realism: they preach patience but are secretly tired of everyone’s nonsense, especially Flanders, and will roll their eyes together like a married, sanctified comedy duo. There’s a dryness to them — not unkind, just jaded — and sometimes that jadedness flips into genuine, surprising care that sneaks up on you. Also, inexplicably, they own more hymnals than is financially sensible.

The Wiggums

The Wiggums are gloriously incompetent law enforcement family energy — Chief Clancy Wiggum is a donut-powered manchild with a badge and a heart that is suspiciously soft under layers of grease, while Mrs. Wiggum (rare but present) keeps a kind of exhausted domestic order. They bumble, they blunder, and yet somehow Springfield’s chaos is often held together by their accidental heroics — or at least distracted by them. There’s a sloppiness that’s oddly endearing, familial pride in a mismatched, loud way, and they probably have a cherished police-themed board game they never quite finish. Sometimes they solve a case, sometimes they arrest the wrong guy; both outcomes are equally on-brand.

The Burns

The Burns family — well, Mr. Burns and his weird corporate dynasty of one — are pure cold, money-fueled aristocracy soaked in old-timey cruelty and very specific eccentricities. Mr. Burns is ancient, merciless, and theatrically out-of-touch (he hoards things, collects very old pennies, and probably remembers when dinosaurs paid taxes), while Smithers is devoted, efficient, and emotionally complicated in that too-loyal way that’s oddly touching. They’re ruthless and petty and also absurdly lonely; there’s opulence and moral bankruptcy in the same breath, plus a penchant for weird hobbies like miniature steam engines or vintage swings. Also, despite everything, sometimes there’s a flash of nostalgia or a single human moment that makes you go — huh, maybe not irredeemable? (Probably still irredeemable.)