Please let us watch our shows alone

In Binged, Mashable breaks down why we binge-watch, how we binge-watch, and what it does to us. Because binge-watching is the new normal.

Dearest [beloved/honey pie/boo/bae], 

There’s something I need to discuss with you, something that’s been tearing me apart for a while. It’s hard to talk about, especially given how many [weeks/months/years] we’ve spent cuddling up  together. Still, I believe in us. There may be some heated discussion about the details, but in the end I am positive that we’re emotionally mature enough to come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement. 

Darling, I think it’s time we started seeing other TV shows. Separately. Alone. 

Please, don’t think of this as some kind of judgment on our couch-based relationship. There’s nothing I love on a cold winter’s evening more than snuggling up with you and our [puppy/kitten/stuffed animal/small human], building a little fort out of pillows and blankies, [making popcorn/nuking the last of that great takeout], retrieving the remote from its traditional burial place somewhere deep in the  cushions, and blasting through a season of our show — you know, the one we started watching when we first got together. 

That doesn’t have to change. I promise that I will never, ever, watch a new episode of [The Good Place/Doctor Who/Better Call Saul/Great British Baking Show/etc.] without you at my side. That’s our show, and it’s sacred. 

And of course, when [Game of Thrones/The Walking Dead] returns this [April/February], I will wait until you’re ready to watch the latest episode — and solemnly swear off social media in the meantime. (Okay, there’s a little self interest in that one; I really need to hold your hand in case of unexpected favorite character death.) 

But beyond that, well, we need to talk about how many shows are really ours. Remember that time I started watching [Parks and Rec/Atlanta/Girls/Sons of Anarchy/Outlander/The Crown/Jane the Virgin] out of curiosity, or because people at work keep mentioning it? And you came into the den halfway through episode 2 or 3 and decided you liked it, too? 

That’s not really our show, not by default. It’s my show, I was watching it for watercooler cred purposes, then you piggybacked on it, slowing my progress through those long seasons way the heck down. I’m happy you’re enjoying it as well, but we never had the discussion about officially watching it together. 

So really, you had no right to pout and give me the sad eyes just because I snuck in a quick episode while you were at [the gym/the dog park/band practice]. No fair making me feel like I cheated on you! I mean, almost nothing happened in that episode! 

Here’s the thing: We both know there’s more good stuff to watch today than in all of TV history. They talk about the Golden Age of television; perhaps we should call it the Golden Glut. There’s way too much to get through just to feel like you’re a functioning member of society, conversant in modern culture, able to hold your own at a dinner party. 

I mean, I’m in my [20s/30s/40s] already, and I find myself wondering things like “am I going to die without ever having made it all the way to the end of [Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Breaking Bad/The Wire]?”

Not that you intended this, of course. But my Netflix queue has become a stagnant pool of shows that I don’t feel comfortable watching alone because it might piss you off, or shows that I’m wary to even start watching because you might want to piggyback on them. The more my friends recommend shows I absolutely must watch, the larger and more stagnant this pool grows.

Now, on those evenings when you’re [working late/out with friends] and it’s just me and the remote, I find myself watching some inoffensive and relatively mindless network show like [CSI/Real Housewives/Grey’s Anatomy/Gotham/Good News], just because there’s less of an expectation that we watch that sort of thing together. If it happens to be broadcast live, I can get away with watching it alone, it seems. 

Which is fine, but sometimes I get to the end of the [45 minutes/1 hour with ads] and wonder what the hell I just watched. That’s the way our parents’ generation lived: TV as wallpaper. I believe we can and should do better. Life is short, and I’d like us to practice more intentional, mindful viewing. 

To that end, allow me to propose three fair and flexible rules for our TV relationship:

1. Classic shows are fair game. If a given show has ended, or was cancelled, there’s no way we can catch up and get to the best part of being a fan — watching it together [weekly/when a new season drops]. If one of us starts watching [The West Wing/The Sopranos/The Office], the default position is that we get to watch it without the other. 

If there are classic shows you’ve been longing to screen for me because you want to see my reaction, speak now or forever hold your peace. Maybe we should make a laminated list, like they did on that episode of Friends. (And maybe Friends should be on that list!) 

2. More remote or time-shifted viewing. If you or I go away on a business trip, that doesn’t have to stop the flow of our favorite shows. We can watch at the same time, maybe with each other on FaceTime, maybe just texting our reactions back and forth. I’d love that!

Or, given increasingly hectic schedules, we can watch at our own pace — screening the same episode at different times in the evening, maybe even on different days. The caveat here, of course, is that we pledge not to discuss spoilers until we’re caught up. A deep, mature long-term relationship should be able to handle this sort of thing. 

3. If one of us spends most of our time second-screening, it’s no longer our show. Admit it — there was that time we were watching [Battlestar Galactica/Westworld/Seinfeld], and you were looking more at your smartphone than you were at the TV screen. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It seems most of us actually enjoy second-screening, as it is usually called. (We enjoy it so much, according to a new study by marketing firm a.ki, that 59 percent of people are actually more receptive to mobile ads when the TV is on in the background). 

But to the extent that second-screening is an expression of mild disinterest in the show on offer, I suggest we also count it as a vote that we watch it alone going forward. 

4. We only watch the best episode together. One boon of the Golden Age of TV: Even though there’s more to see, there are more guides to shows available online. If we start watching some monster of a show that lasts six seasons or more, chances are there’s a website that will tell us which ones we can happily skip. 

If we agree on this list beforehand, that gives us much more room to maneuver! I can be a completist, watching every single episode and catching you up on details you missed, and you can have the confidence that I won’t blast past an important, plot-rich masterpiece without you. Or vice-versa. Everyone wins. 

If we get this right, a degree of independence in our viewing will actually benefit us as a couple. Suddenly we have twice the amount of labor to plough through the endless fields of golden TV. If we’re at a dinner party and someone asks me what I thought of [Deep Space Nine/Deadwood/Downton Abbey], and I haven’t seen it, there will be more of a chance that you have. I’ll squeeze your hand, you’ll take over the conversation, and my cultural ignorance will go undiscovered. My hero!

Thank you for understanding. 

With all my heart,

Your couch companion.