Last year, I spent most of my Christmas break alone and in the dark.
My parents had given me the first three seasons of “Fringe,” a reality-bending, time-traveling, parallel universe-hopping serial drama that explored the outermost reaches of plausible science. I had heard about the show because its creator, J.J. Abrams, also conceived “Lost,” a similar show to which I had been addicted. Its cancellation left a void in my TV life I hoped “Fringe” could fill. And it did. Each episode expanded the horizons of science-fiction. Different realities, brain surgeries, and alterations to the past, for example, generated nine distinct versions of just one of the show’s characters, all played by the same actor.
I devoted the entire second half of my Christmas break to following and theorizing about the plot’s incredibly convoluted turns. Like any addict, I structured my life around my addiction: I woke up at 10 a.m.; watched until 3-4 p.m, saving two minutes an episode from skipping the credits, which could add up to an entire extra episode watched after two days; ran (on an empty stomach, because I didn’t have time for more than one real meal); ate dinner; watched until 1-2 a.m.; fell asleep in the basement, gaining an extra minute or two from convenience; woke up…
Thanks to my routine — an example of what is now known as “binge-watching” — I consumed 99 episodes in time to watch the series finale with those who had been following it from the beginning, giving me some strange satisfaction. But it cost me. I could have spent that dark time with my family, all of whom were together for the first time in months. I could have spent it taking running seriously or catching up on my sleep from an exhausting semester. Maybe I could have even spent it reading, which I so often lament I never have enough time to do. Thus, not long after finishing “Fringe,” feelings of shame, sloth, and selfishness replaced my prior satisfaction: I realized I had wasted my break. The show I thought I was devouring had instead devoured me. Consequently, I vowed never again to allow a TV show to consume my life.
Unfortunately, in the time since, the rest of the country has leapt headlong into the binge’s gaping maw. Thanks to the streaming model pioneered by Netflix, people can binge-watch episode after episode of their favorite TV shows without interruption, powerfully vitiating self-control, moderation, and delayed gratification. And now, with “House of Cards,” Netflix allows viewers to consume entire seasons of new content at once. In my own family, one sister likes “How I Met Your Mother,” while another is partial to “Dexter”; meanwhile, my parents prefer “The Shield.” They all spent much of our last Christmas break indulging in their respective passions for hours on end. I admit I occasionally joined them, if only because it seemed like the only way to spend time with them. Even President Obama somehow has enough free time to have warned fans of “House of Cards,” who would watch the entire second season as quickly as they could not to reveal any spoilers. Presumably, he wants to sit down and take it all in himself.
It is possible to accept binge-watching as a tremendous sign of human progress: never before have TV viewers had so much time to watch what they want, when they want, and in their preferred quantities. But in an imperfect world, no trend exists without ill effects, and this one has plenty. The uninhibited stream of content encourages, begs, and even demands immoderation and impatience: essentially, slavery to the television and to one’s immediate passions. Widespread access, moreover, to the hit shows of the moment enforces a cruel cultural conformity. Confess that you haven’t watched the last season of “Breaking Bad,” despite having a Roku box beseeching use, and the conversation dispatches you like Walter White would a rival meth dealer.
But, most important, the binge severs our ties to others. TV can be social, but without the right frame of mind, it remains ultimately defined by the show being watched, not those one watches it with. Binge-watching threatens our moderation, our social selves, and our very society. So don’t ruin your Spring break as I ruined my Christmas break last year. Catch up with friends and family, exercise, and read instead. A few more continuous sessions of “House of Cards” will send us all down into the basement, shrouded in darkness and alone.
