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That control is precisely one of the main things the pandemic had stolen from me. Watching shows I could almost recite from memory in their entirety was a quick way to trick myself into feeling like there was still some predictability in my life.
It was also a mental break from all the weirdness of the "new normal" and the - all together now! - "unprecedented times". There is nothing "unprecedented" about an episode of "Friends". Rain or shine, Ross is going to be an asshole, and you know you're going to be jealous of Rachel Green's hair. These were universal truths we know we can count on. These were the simpler times we all so desperately wish we could go back to.
I didn't just do it with TV shows. I went back and relived my younger years finding my favourite albums on Spotify. I did the dishes to the first Arctic Monkeys album, folded the washing while Texas played "Summer Sun" through my Bluetooth speaker. Lost in the pandemic chaos and the impossibility of making the simplest plans, my brain welcomed the small comfort of knowing the lyrics to each song, predicting each verse, guessing each track.
At first, it felt silly, almost wasteful. Why was I spending all these precious hours of downtime on shows I had already seen? Why wouldn't I accept Netflix's recommendations for new shows and dive into new realities? Over time, however, I figured out why - and the guilt over the "wasted time" disappeared. I didn't need new storylines. Life was confusing and chaotic and unexpected enough. I needed familiarity, repetition, boredom.
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Bingeing 90s shows, where friends had to call each other on landlines and didn't have to wear masks on the bus, made me feel comfortable because it took me back to the reality I was used to - the life I knew how to live.
As I mentioned this to friends, I realised I wasn't the only one. There were lots of us reverting to these old media comforts. The "trending" tab on Netflix proved me right too - with some old faves making it to the top spots.
I dabbled in some old "New Girl" episodes, binged on a ton of "Parks and Recreation", even went as far back as "Seinfeld" for a proper old classic. Every episode a balm to my anxious heart.
It was more than just nostalgia - it was a desperate call for the comfort of what's known, the lack of surprises. In times of crisis and uncertainty, the familiarity of old shows is soothing.
Pamela Rutledge, psychologist and director of the Media Psychology Centre in the US, has spoken about this phenomenon. In an interview with the NPR, she explained why we crave the predictability of old shows - particularly comedies with the laughing tracks (so you don't even need to decide when to laugh).
"Right now, we're socially isolated. We actually are craving time with our friends, and so these [shows] become kind of a proxy for that experience. And we know the plots. They're funny. We get the neural reward of a little chuckle," she said.
"The format contributes in the sense that they're short periods of time. So it's a half-hour increment, so there's not a big cognitive drain to follow something that's complex and long. But it's really the structure and the predictability of the television shows and the plots that allow it to be so easily consumed," Rutledge added.
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Research has also shown that nostalgia can be a good counterpoint to feelings of loneliness and anxiety as well.
At a time when I couldn't see my friends, I reverted to "Friends". The past - packaged in our old favourite shows and available at the click of a button - is familiar and it feels like a comforting hug. The kind a lot of us still can't give our loved ones, trapped in pandemic-ridden countries and seemingly never-ending lockdowns.
I did a lot of things to cope with the pandemic (shout out to my doctor and my new daily dose of SSRIs keeping me from absolutely losing it) - and one of them was getting back to 90s New York and the comfort of that couch in Central Perk.
"I'll be there for you," they tell you as the credits roll. And you know what? They really are.
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