The Slow Burn of TV: Why Shorter Seasons Are Leaving Us Cold
There’s something deeply unsatisfying about modern television, and it’s not just the cliffhangers or the mid-season cancellations. It’s the length—or rather, the lack thereof. Personally, I think the shift from 22-episode seasons to the now-standard 8-10 episodes has stripped TV of its greatest strength: the ability to immerse us in a world, to let us live alongside characters as if they’re old friends. What makes this particularly fascinating is how quickly we’ve normalized this change, as if binge-watching a season in a weekend is somehow superior to savoring it over months.
Take The O.C., a show that shaped my teenage years in ways I’m still unpacking. Its first season had 27 episodes—27!—and it wasn’t an outlier. Friends, Grey’s Anatomy, Seinfeld—these cultural juggernauts thrived on longevity. What many people don’t realize is that it’s not just about quantity; it’s about the depth that comes with time. In my opinion, the best TV moments—the ones we still talk about—weren’t rushed. They were earned. Nick and Jess’s kiss on New Girl? Episode 15 of season two. Luke and Lorelai’s first kiss on Gilmore Girls? Episode 88. These weren’t accidents; they were the result of slow, deliberate storytelling.
Now, compare that to today’s shows. Succession, The White Lotus, Beef—all brilliant, but gone before you’ve even memorized the characters’ names. From my perspective, this isn’t just a shift in format; it’s a shift in how we connect with stories. When a season is over in three days, it’s hard to form the kind of emotional attachment that makes TV truly memorable. One thing that immediately stands out is how modern shows often feel like they’re racing to the finish line, cramming character development and plot twists into a handful of episodes.
This raises a deeper question: Are we sacrificing quality for efficiency? I’d argue yes. A detail that I find especially interesting is how holiday episodes—once a staple of longer seasons—now feel like filler. In Off Campus, a recent eight-episode hit, a Thanksgiving storyline felt shoehorned in, a waste of precious screen time. But in a 22-episode season, that same storyline could have been a highlight, a moment to breathe and enjoy the world of the show.
What this really suggests is that shorter seasons aren’t just changing how TV is made; they’re changing how we experience it. If you take a step back and think about it, the best TV shows are the ones that feel like a second life—a place you can escape to, episode after episode. But with seasons that barely last a week, that escape feels fleeting, almost disposable.
Here’s the thing: I don’t want TV to be disposable. I want it to be an investment, something I can commit to for months, even years. I want episodes that don’t advance the plot but instead let me linger in the world—a character buying a couch, a minor misunderstanding resolved over 42 minutes. These are the moments that make TV feel real, that make it stick.
And yet, here we are, in an era where streaming platforms prioritize quick consumption over lasting impact. It’s not just about attention spans—though those are certainly shorter—it’s about the economics of streaming. Shorter seasons are cheaper to produce, easier to market, and quicker to consume. But at what cost?
In my opinion, we’re losing something fundamental: the slow burn. The joy of anticipation, the satisfaction of a story that unfolds over time. Personally, I think it’s time to reclaim that. Bring back the 22-episode binge, not because it’s nostalgic, but because it’s better. Because TV shouldn’t just be something we watch; it should be something we live in.
And with that, I’m off to rewatch The O.C.—all 27 episodes of season one. Maybe I’ll even stay up past 9 p.m. This time, though, I won’t have to pretend I’ve seen it.
