In March, I was drawn back into a highly addictive relationship: I reactivated my Netflix account after two years. 

I’d previously cancelled my subscription after noticing the increase in vanilla programming, akin to artificial intelligence slop. Each TV series or movie featured characters whose flat inner world resulted in scripts with less depth than office pantry conversation.

I fell for every well-cropped thumbnail and intriguing synopsis, only to be disappointed when I was unable to sustain more than 15 minutes of interest in a show that the algorithm suggested I’d enjoy before picking up my phone. 

But I decided to give the streaming service another shot for the viral British crime drama Adolescence. The four-part series, which has been hailed for its realistic performances and one-take filming style, follows the fallout surrounding a 13-year-old after he is accused of murdering a female classmate. 

Adolescence wasn’t the first show I’d seen highlight the effect of online misogynists and the digital “manosphere” on boys and men – yet a miracle happened when I turned it on. 

I devoured all four episodes in a single sitting. Without checking my phone once. 

Not for emails or texts. Not to mindlessly scroll social media. Not even to google the plot, look up the actors’ past works or read reviews. 

This utter absorption shouldn’t be groundbreaking. But it’s rare for me – and apparently, for others too.

A NEED FOR MORE STIMULATION

In particular, one tongue-in-cheek Instagram post that challenges users to sit through an entire film or movie, like in the good old days, seems to capture the zeitgeist in five steps. 

1. Watch an entire film without looking at your phone once. I mean, the whole time.
2. Once the film is finished, don’t pick up your phone.
3. After the film, read nothing online about plot holes, production, characters, box office takings, actor personal lives. Nothing. 
4. Look at no reviews of the film, professional or otherwise.
5. Just go straight to bed. Do not google the film. I dare you. 

Several users understood the need to put their phones away during the show, but drew the line at the third step. “For the love of god, don’t keep me from looking up actors, box office, details about the production and reviews. That’s straight up inhumane,” one commented. 

Another opined that they had to know everything related to the movie, “otherwise the world is going to explode” – in response to a user who assumed, misguidedly, that people already did this “normally”. 

Even my informal straw poll among 36 friends to see if I was, in fact, among the minority revealed I wasn’t. Only 13 of them said they could successfully do the challenge, with one admitting it would be “very tempting” to disobey the steps.

The challenge wasn’t just commentary on our fleeting attention spans caused by extensive smartphone and social media use. 

It was, more specifically, was about our instinctive habit of satisfying our craving for multiple layers of stimulation at once – which has been exacerbated by an online culture of churn that prioritises quantity over quality. 

The proliferation of short-form videos – many as brief as 15 seconds – on TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, YouTube and even LinkedIn means we can switch to new content whenever we want, leading to us becoming less patient, a cognitive neuroscientist previously told CNA TODAY.

At the same time, a professor of consumer neuroscience had noted this behaviour was merely adaptation to the digital age. When digital natives are seemingly rewarded for rapidly switching from one task to another, they become more proficient at distributing attention across different media at once – like being in a cinema and scrolling through TikTok.

Experts have noted our capacity to change our brain’s behaviour, amid much hand-wringing over the impact of a decreased attention span on the individual. 

But with the disappearance of several bookstores and cinemas – symbolic of an era of traditional content consumption – and the apparently rare experience of finding a film or TV show worth devoting our full attention nowadays, it feels like we’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of a bigger cultural loss. 

WHAT WE LOSE WHEN WE GET CONSTANT STIMULATION 

Perhaps the most obvious casualty is the ability to truly immerse ourselves in a show anymore – and what it means for studios hoping to (re)capture our attention.

In a Reddit thread from three years ago asking if anyone was “really struggling” to watch a movie without using their phone, several users said they could – but pointed out that an environment which encouraged total focus was key. 

“I have a hard time focusing on a movie at home, but I get absorbed in the theatre,” one said. 

Another echoed: “That immersion is key to enjoying a film, whether it’s a slow burn or a blockbuster. At home, there’s always an urge to pause and get something to eat or check the phone etc.”

Ironically, as our ability to focus on a show declines, streaming services like Netflix seem to respond by making content that requires less attention.

This involves familiar tropes and broad storytelling that feel primed for surface engagement rather than meaningful impact. (Quirky yet competent protagonist? Check. Dark family secret that threatens to tear apart generational legacy? Check. A plane hijacking? That’ll be the top show in Singapore.)

Even titles resemble blunt, SEO-friendly descriptions (The Night Agent, The Stranger, The Perfect Family) engineered for quick reach on a scrolling feed, yet many lack resonance that I may recall a plot but never the show name.

Such moves are intentional, suggested American cultural critic Will Talvin in an essay on how Netflix ruined movies. 

More “pseudo movies” were being made for viewers to run in the background while doing other tasks, “designed to be played but not watched”, Talvin wrote in n+1 magazine in December 2024.

“Such slipshod filmmaking works for the streaming model, since audiences at home are often barely paying attention,” he said. 

“Several screenwriters who’ve worked for the streamer told me a common note from company executives is ‘have this character announce what they’re doing so that viewers who have this programme on in the background can follow along.’”

In line with such alleged practices of creating for passive consumption, I’ve also noticed the increasingly common plot device of therapy. It may tackle the taboo around mental health, but more often than not, an onscreen therapist serves to spell out another character’s motivations – as opposed to trusting viewers to infer emotions through subtext.

Like immersive TV and movies, reading culture has also taken a hit. While I can read an online article spanning several thousand words in one sitting, I struggle to finish a book despite going through several a day pre-smartphone.

With others like me, it's little wonder bookstores are a dying business. I’ve even seen apps advertised as “TikTok for books” with a dystopian promise to summarise a novel into its key points – even though any true reader would know such efficiency misses the point of reading.

To me, the main conundrum lies in the paradox of accessibility. 

Streaming services, just like social media, give creators a platform and opportunities to reach anyone. But they also give consumers access to an unprecedented amount of content than we can feasibly consume thoughtfully.

The best way to stand out among the influx of programmes fighting for clicks is to engineer content for algorithm visibility and easy consumption, risking formulaic storytelling that may look sound yet feel soulless. But when we can immediately get something better with another click on another device, there’s little reason to overthink a rise in lacklustre offerings.

We can accept that the caricature of the digital native being unable to put away one's phone is just about shorter attention spans and call it a day. 

But this behaviour seems more like a precursor to a looming cultural loss – one in which the bulk of TV and movies prioritises instant satiation over lasting satisfaction. 

And this loss, like a show designed to be played in the background, feels increasingly noticeable even if you're not paying attention.