I’m going to say something that might sound low-key depressing, but I promise it’s not:
TV shows become some of our closest friends.
I know, but bear with me.
They start off as strangers, but after a while, we get them, and it feels like they get us too.
We’re excited when they come back after a week. Or a year.
We feel it when they’re gone.
And when that finale is bad, it’s like a personal betrayal.
Like… after all we’ve been through, that’s how you’re going to leave things? Bruh…
A show that gets cancelled early?
Tragic. Gone before your time.
Some friends show up at the same time every week.
Some will party hard with us for eight hours straight, disappear for a year and tcome back like nothing happened.
And somehow, we just accept it.
The world of each show becomes familiar to us.
A paper company office in Scranton.
A mysterious island.
A company that literally splits your consciousness in half.
And within those worlds, we meet people who start to feel like they belong.
Let me introduce you to some of my friends:
A kid from West Philadelphia, born and raised, who moved in with his Auntie and Uncle in Bel-Air.
A young woman who starts as a secretary and becomes a copywriter in 60s Manhattan.
A housewife constantly scheming her way into show business.
But I also have those kinds of friends my mom wouldn’t want me hanging around.
It’s fine, though. It’s TV.
I’m friends with a meth kingpin, a guy who robs drug dealers, a high school drug dealer, a queen who levels cities with her dragon, some vampires, and a failed actor who’s also a horse.
We spend so much time with them that it stops feeling like we’re watching something, and instead we’re just hanging.
Whole new meaning to Netflix and chill.
And then, if you go one layer deeper, you realize something else.
Behind all of it, there are people shaping those moments.
That tense decision Dr. Melfi has to make, the chaos of the Pine Barrens, Tony wandering through his dreams.
David Chase built that.
The same way writers decided how far to push Beef.
Or how ridiculous to make Seinfeld.
Or how not just David Lynch, but set designers, costumers, and crew shaped what Twin Peaks became.
That’s part of what makes TV magical.
It’s built slowly. Episode by episode. Season by season.
Movies, books, paintings, albums are all great.
But nothing stays with us over time the way television can.
Not every show leads to that kind of friendship.
Some you hang out with a couple of times and realize they’re just not for you.
That’s fine.
A lot of shows are perfectly happy being acquaintances.
The better ones try to be your friend.
But the best ones don’t stop there.
They stick with you. They grow with you. They change you a little.
They have a voice. A point of view. A confidence you can feel.
They feel like they’re with you no matter what you’re going through.
Ride or die.
That’s the kind of storytelling we’re interested in building.