The barrier to entry has never been lower. A teenager with a phone can make a documentary, a comedy sketch, or a video essay and reach millions. The diversity of voices—Korean cinema, African Afrobeats documentaries, Latinx genre fiction—has exploded beyond the old gatekeepers.
For decades, the question “What’s on TV?” was a shared cultural anchor. In the 1980s, 70% of Americans watched the M A S H* finale. In 2015, the Game of Thrones premiere drew a record-breaking crowd. But ask a random group of people today what they watched last night, and you are likely to receive a dozen different answers—from a thirty-second TikTok recap of a reality show they’ve never seen to a three-hour director’s cut of a 1990s sci-fi flop. Mad.Asses-All.Anal.Edition.XXX
This has changed the structure of storytelling. On Netflix and YouTube, the "skip intro" button isn't just a convenience; it is a metric. If viewers skip the intro in the first five seconds, the intro is too long. If they stop watching at minute 14, the episode is poorly paced. The barrier to entry has never been lower
Conversely, a new genre has emerged: Entire media ecosystems—YouTube channels, TikTok accounts, and podcasts—now exist solely to explain the content you didn't watch. You don't need to sit through the six-hour Rebel Moon director's cut; just watch the 18-minute "Everything Wrong With" video. We are outsourcing the experience of media to influencers. Nostalgia as a Service Look at the box office for 2023 and 2024. The top ten films are almost exclusively sequels, prequels, or adaptations of existing toys (Barbie), games (The Super Mario Bros. Movie), or ancient IP (Indiana Jones). Original screenplays have become arthouse commodities. For decades, the question “What’s on TV