Surviving 12 Months of Must-Watch Television
From obsessing over Succession to snubbing Offred, here’s what helped me get through a year of streaming
We’re nearing 2020, and festive summaries are upon us. “The Best TV Shows of the Decade” — this headline alone makes me feel tired. When the decade began, some might remember, streaming giant Netflix had yet to launch its first original show, House of Cards. Hulu were one year into launching their service. AMC was serving hits like Mad Men and Breaking Bad. And the cultural phenomenon of binge-watching didn’t exist as TV series were released on a weekly basis, never all at once.
In 2010, what existed were TV “events,” like when a big show premiered and we all talked about it, then proceeded to watch it week after week until the big season finale. Navigating the choppy waters of streaming’s coming into being in the last ten years can make even the biggest TV junkie seasick. Instead of a decade, let me try to summarize one year — 2019 — first.
I’m subscribed to Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, and, most recently, Apple TV. My partner and I take turns purchasing — then promptly unsubscribing when the trial period is over — Amazon add-ons like HBO and Showtime. This means a huge, non-stop selection of shows to watch, a flood of chance encounters with interesting characters and gripping narratives. On average, I watch 2–3 hours of TV every evening. So how did I decide which shows to spend valuable time on? When did I chose to break up with a show after sinking time into previous seasons? Looking back, some viewing patterns emerged for me.
With a little help from my friends
When streaming is washing over our lives, some curation methods are necessary. A recommendation from a friend is a savior, if it’s someone whose taste you respect. 2019 started with a friend from Europe staying with me over New Years. Hungover and overwhelmed by 2019’s beginning — you know, the typical New Year, New You type of anxiety — we were looking for something to watch.
My friend heard PEN 15 on Hulu was good. Created by Maya Erskine and Anna Konkle, it’s a comedy about teenage girls in the 90s, only 30-something Erskine and Konkle play the girls themselves, braces and all. It was a quick winner, odd and refreshingly hilarious. Who wouldn’t want to start the year off with a nostalgia blast, seeing their embarrassing, past lives acted out by funny grown women? In January, another friend who moved to the Bay Area from Mexico told me about the Netflix show, The House of Flowers, which happened to be the perfect cure for winter blues. A sexy, contemporary soap opera swirling around a Mexico City flower shop, it had humor and plot twists, romance and betrayal. It provided me with two guilty pleasure attributes: camp and exotic appeal.
The best tip came toward the end of this year, when another friend shyly confessed she got hooked on Succession. The HBO show flew under my radar; I thought it was a Billions kind of show, but Succession made a beeline for my heart in the first episode. The tale of a media-mogul family, with its tyrant father and three kids fighting for his spot at the top, reminded me of The Sopranos’ expert character build — everyone’s despicable, but you still root for them, and the family intrigue is only second to the characters’ inner struggles. Their lives, both miserable and dazzlingly unattainable, fascinated me. I walked around San Francisco like the mogul I’ll never be.
In a conversation with a venture capitalist at The Wing, my coworking space, I’d say, “Oh, it’s JUST like Succession!” She looked at me with pity. I didn’t leave the house for the next month, catching up on the two available seasons. My friend who recommended it and I texted about it, gushing. For a month, we were both obsessed, as if there was no other streaming show in the world. Succession transcended TV and the TV family became our family.
Reunions and breakups
If you’re a consumer of streaming TV, watching a new season is inevitable. You’ve stuck with Orange is the New Black for so long, you have to watch the last season (even if you’re kind of over it). GLOW is back, yay! Killing Eve Season 2 is here — hello again, Villanelle. I cried when Broad City ended, and when New Girl finally, finally ended (this was the only network show I kept watching over the years, because, well, hot hot hot Nick).
While some reunions were sweet, I had to end others with a swift breakup. Quitting shows sans closure is a valuable skill these days; it’s saying no to a habit, using your better judgement against the algorithm. The new season of Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale started so tediously, I couldn’t go on. The last season of The Affair, a show I used to adore because of its moody recap of a very complex set of relationships, had a weird, futuristic plot twist that turned me off, so I turned it off. And Jeff Bezos didn’t send assassins to my house. I felt empowered.
Gimme shelter
Sometimes streaming TV is more about needing a warm, comforting hug. When summer ended and work came back knocking, (I teach at the Academy of Art University and September is always insane), I found myself seeking out the last season of High Maintenance, the most chill show you could envision about a bearded “The Guy” delivering weed to creative Brooklynites, natch. Watching the show amidst the Bay Area’s explosion of recreational weed use was interesting, but I’m also there for the quirky New Yorkers.
Earlier this year, I discovered Easy on Netflix, another fun-loving, slow-paced collage of characters. Easy’s anthology of breakups, hookups and identity searching in Chicago had clever stand-alone episodes alongside recurring storylines, like a couple trying an open marriage. I slowly binged it, constantly comparing San Francisco to Chicago (people in Chicago are clearly hornier and funnier). Speaking of horny, I followed Easy with HBO’s Mrs. Fletcher, a poignant show about an empty-nester rediscovering her sexuality. It’s a show nobody talks about, but I love Kathryn Hahn and would watch her in anything. The pull of familiarity is a strong streaming current for me.
Believe the hype
Between friends, habits, and mind-erasing binges (hello, Queer Eye Japan and Dead to Me) this year offered new releases surrounded by so much hype, I couldn’t help but immediately tune in. The fact that social media hype can still motivate me to pick something from the multitude of options amazes me and makes me optimistic for the future of mankind. So yes, I had to watch the hyped Unbelievable, and wasn’t disappointed in its empathetic, no-nonsense take on rape and the justice system. I absolutely needed to see Gwyneth Paltrow’s return to the screen in The Politician (the show is trash, but oh, the outfits!). I desperately wanted to figure out Russian Doll just like everyone else; I failed, but what a fun ride. Fleabag’s Hot Priest had me (and every other fan on Twitter) glued to the screen come springtime.
Even anti-hype can work on me; as critics tore Apple TV’s Morning Show to shreds, I was curious to see what the deal was with the big Reese Witherspoon-Jennifer Aniston project. I found it to be an old-fashioned type of series lacking self-awareness with dramatic, over-styled dialogues, but with the silver lining of Jennifer Anniston’s mercurial acting. When the episode about California’s wildfires aired, I decided to stick around. Later, on my favorite podcast Pop Culture Happy Hour, participants concluded the show wasn’t very good, but they couldn’t stop watching either.
Then there’s the sweet relief of starting to watch a buzzy show and realizing it’s not for you. Just think of the time I’ll save. This blessed scenario happened to me with Good Omens (tedious good and evil themes, too tiresome of a plot), Sex Education (I’ll take my teenage angst without a fake British accent, thanks), and Watchmen (when the show asks so much of my brain without nourishing my soul, I’m out) this year, and I’m grateful. Opting out is a pleasure just as guilty as binging until 2 am.
