Remember when summer used to mean blockbuster season? Or when the start of fall promised a lineup of Oscar bait, new series and something—anything—worth getting excited about?
Yeah. Me neither.
Lately, I’ve been scrolling through streaming platforms like I’m looking for a sign from the universe. But no, it’s just endless rows of content I’ve already seen, spin-offs no one asked for and one too many limited series starring an actor trying to rebrand themselves as “serious.” The Netflix Top 10 is either true crime, trauma or a baking competition that somehow causes me more stress than joy.
And before you say it — yes, I have seen the buzzy new show. And the other one. And the one that’s “actually based on a podcast.” I’ve seen them all. They were fine. But that’s the thing. Everything’s just fine. Nothing is sending me into a group chat spiral or making me refresh Letterboxd like I used to in my prime.
My friend said, “Maybe you’re just growing out of TV.”
No. I’m growing out of hope.
But then it hit me. Maybe it’s not Hollywood that’s gone creatively bankrupt. Maybe I’m just suffering from the latest, highly contagious, completely unresearched syndrome sweeping the nation: pre-graduation depression.
Symptoms include:
- Feeling nothing when your favorite actor drops a new trailer.
- Watching a new rom-com and saying, “Hmm. That was nice,” with dead eyes.
- Getting irrationally emotional about rewatching a show you loved at 12 because “those were simpler times.”
- Crying during commercials for allergy medication.
I can’t tell if the entertainment industry is creatively stagnant or if I am. Like, is the TV dry, or is my soul just evaporating with every looming “So what are your plans after graduation?”
It’s probably both.
It used to be that I’d count down to release dates. Friday nights meant new episodes, new worlds, something to escape into. Now? I spend Friday nights refreshing my email, praying a job rejection comes late enough for me to justify not replying until Monday.
What do I have to look forward to? Another reboot? A fourth Spider-Man origin story? A “gritty” remake of a show I used to watch with my mom? I’m sorry, but I don’t need Fresh Prince: The Existential Crisis Edition right now.
I need serotonin.
Honestly, I might be hard to impress these days. I’ll own that. I recently found myself analyzing the plot holes in a superhero movie and muttering, “this is why I have trust issues.” I also walked out of a film halfway through because it reminded me too much of my own life, and I do not go to the movies to be perceived like that.
But there’s something about this specific pre-grad era that makes everything feel weirdly hollow. Shows I used to love now feel distant. I rewatch old favorites not for comfort but for proof that I once felt things. My algorithm keeps trying to recommend inspirational content, but joke’s on them — I’m already in my “flop era.”
And don’t get me wrong, there’s still good art out there. I’m sure some indie darling just changed lives at Sundance. I’m just… too emotionally fried to engage with it right now. I don’t want catharsis. I want to watch something dumb and joyful and weirdly specific that reminds me I’m not the only one unraveling (i.e. the Minecraft Movie).
So until Hollywood stops rebooting things that weren’t even that good the first time or until my frontal lobe recovers from writing five cover letters in one day, I’ll be rewatching the same comfort shows and yelling, “this used to hit different” every 10 minutes.
So if you see me this weekend watching “Shrek 3” for the 37th time and crying at the confusing dragon/donkey offspring, mind your business.
It’s not just a movie. It’s therapy.
