At one point inclusive of only some, but now, for everyone.
Picture it: America, during the time of the omnipresent landline when cable was merely the premium priced, embarrassing stepchild of the Big Four. Back in these latter days of the last century, it used to be that you’d watch a TV show at night and chat about it at work or with friends the next morning. The ‘appointment television’ viewing experience was immediate, and the window for reaction and discussion was equally as fleeting—almost as if the excitement had an expiration date. Aside from the rare few who set the VCR timer to record and watch it over the weekend, you either saw the episode or you didn’t. And if that were the case, you’d be relegated to actually getting water from the cooler since the conversation would march on without you. At that point, all you could hope for was better luck at tomorrow’s post-mortem pow-wow.
That was just the reality: another day, another show.
These ‘water cooler moments’ were a cornerstone of pre-2000s culture. They were a way to make a connection, a bridge to a common interest that laid the foundation for regular social interactions and even friendships during a time when face-to-face and over-the-phone were the only options for person-to-person contact. The networks relied on the grassroots discussion and buzz to drive up the Nielsen ratings for their series, but it was even more important to helping us find our way to each other.
Fast forward to now: The days of DVR, delayed viewing, illegal downloads, digital streaming, On Demand, iTunes, Netflix, Amazon, Hulu and binging—oh my.
While these epic advances in technology have completely changed the cultural and entertainment landscapes in ways we couldn’t have even predicted as recently as a decade ago, what the evolution has fractured in the original incarnation of ‘water cooler culture’ has also driven its reinvention. No longer do you have to be left out of the discussion because you haven’t seen a show or specific episode; you can scream ‘no spoilers!’ (yes, we’ve all done it), block your ears and catch up as much or as little as you’d like, any time, leaving an open opportunity to reengage with people once you have a perspective. And if your friends, family and co-workers know you have a ‘binge’ show on your list, they’re apt to check-in on your progress and discuss as you go.
This, of course, is where the ‘recommendation cycle’ kicks into gear, when we suggest shows to one another based on firsthand knowledge of each others’ tastes and preferences, strengthening both the ‘water cooler connection’ and, by way of it, our interpersonal bonds. Of course, this isn’t a new concept, but it takes on a renewed, more significant meaning today: with a seemingly infinite universe of exceptional options immediately available to us across platforms (RIP, traditional September-May TV network cycle), the conversation also broadens our horizons and exposes us to things we may never have even known were out there. It’s a different—and perhaps a deeper, more valuable—type of intimacy and a way to stay tethered to the concept of good old fashioned human contact in the increasingly ironic disconnected-yet-always-connected digital age.
So, while it may be a little odd when your Mom texts you about meth after you got her started on Breaking Bad, it’s worth taking a moment to appreciate even having the opportunity to bond with her over a dearly departed drug-fueled drama. But when she starts dropping Jesse Pinkman quotes to the neighbors and in the supermarket, you might want to think about steering her towards something a bit tamer—like, say, Broad City or Game of Thrones.
Pop Thought is a new ‘think piece’ series that explores the current state of pop culture.