Recently, I attended a gathering with a few friends where we started discussing what shows everyone was currently watching. It went something like:
“Have you guys been watching the new season of Severance?” A few people nodded. “No, what’s that about?”
“Did you watch The White Lotus?” One person responded, “Yes, that’s my favorite show!” Then, from someone else, “What’s that one about again?”
From here, the conversation died. Because the group couldn’t land on a common television show to discuss.
Up until the mid 2010s, network television was something enjoyed by Americans everywhere who would tune in on weekdays at 7/8 central to watch their favorite 20-something episode show that had been running for years. Now, that’s near impossible. Conversation topics where shows are more often than not started with “Do you watch…?” or “Are you caught up on…?” Gone are the days where, like a true and proper united country, we could greet our friends with “OMG! Last night’s episode was crazy!” or, “I can’t wait until next week to watch the new episode!”
Perhaps it's because I grew up sans Netflix subscription and only have the Hulu student plan that’s $1.99 a month, but I hate nothing more than having to hunt for which streaming service has the show I want to watch. Between Netflix, Hulu, Prime, Max and more, it is extremely difficult to keep up with what each streaming platform has to offer, and to remember where you can watch your favorite series. Can you name one show that’s on Peacock? Why was the Super Bowl broadcasted through a streaming service no one had heard of until two weeks ago? All of these questions point to the confusing landscape of streaming.
Streaming services suck. They don’t pay actors enough, charge obscenely high monthly rates for shows while still showing ads and the hyper-exclusive “limited series” is just an excuse to cut costs. Plus, there is no guarantee of how long any given show will actually stay on the streaming platform for. We used to be a real country. Shows used to run for seasons on end with 20+ episodes per season, thrilling mid-season finales that left watchers on the edge of their seats and even better season finales that would catapult extensive discourse about the show until its inevitable return a few months later. Fans and viewers alike had to wait until next week to find out what happens next (imagine that…). Now, we consider ourselves lucky if an 8-episode series with 30 minute episodes gets renewed for a second season. No more turning the TV on and catching the middle of a random episode of Modern Family. Instead, we comb through extensive catalogs, spending what feels like hours on end simply choosing the show we want to watch while hopping back and forth between platforms. Further, the binge-watching model of television that we’ve shifted to post-COVID has annihilated all sense of having suspense and thoughtfully interacting with the media that we watch. This is not to say that mindlessly watching Netflix is a bad thing, but when customers becomes the ones in charge of playing, pausing and skipping, the act of watching television morphs into a competitive activity. Indeed, one does not need to actually watch a full episode of Severance in order to know what’s going on. Also, think about it: how many new shows do you actually continuously watch per year?
What I bring up is not an isolated issue. The rise of streaming has heightened a sense of hyper-individualism amongst consumers that’s already been exacerbated by social media and algorithmic recommendations influencing everything when it comes to being on the internet. When every piece of media we intake is siloed into an ultra hyper-specific niche, everything is an “aesthetic,” and being “cool” is no longer about knowing what’s most popular in the mainstream, we lose the ability to develop our own opinions, identities and values outside this sphere of influence. Instead, we race to subtly flex who can be aware about the least known shows, the indie-est of films, or the least listened-to Spotify artist.
When we get recommended content that an algorithm believes we like, we lose autonomy to make decisions for ourselves and we forfeit the ability to serendipitously uncover a random show we’ve never heard of and end up loving it. We experience decision paralysis and information overload when faced with a never-ending assortment of media to ingest. There may even come a day when mass-media as we know it ceases to exist — if we’re unable to garner a sense of collectivism amongst our peers, how can we continue to have empathy, or rally in support of one another when it becomes necessary to?
Eirian Huang is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. They can be reached at ehh56@cornell.edu.
Hater Friday runs on Fridays and centers around critiquing media or culture.
