Where has the fun gone?
The internet is less fun these days. Independent sites have vanished, swallowed by social media conglomerates. Social media itself mutated into an endless barrage of advertisements, occasionally punctuated by the happenings of friends or family. It can feel like a job to navigate it, that you must get those notifications quelled to return to equilibrium.
Want to look at gorgeous photos in contemplative silence? Forbidden. Trending music and endless 'suggestions' are now inflicted upon you, funneling you to whatever will extract the most money from your pockets.
Convenient, is it not? Everything, be it true or false, entertaining or not, now fits ergonomically in your pocket, primed to drown you in ads.
But we still long to be entertained! I don't think there's anything wrong with that. The problem is, we serve entertainment instead of it serving us.
My proposed solution: wean off the slop and embrace physical media. Vinyl, VHS, books, DVDs, and even the humble cassette grant you back control and ownership. Not just of your wallet, but of your brain.
Brainrot
The term "brainrot' perfectly encapsulates the result of digital media overexposure. It's what pummels your gray matter into useless goo after a thousand twitchy hours of YouTube or TikTok.
Brainrot thrives on smash cuts: frantic, jarring transitions that abandon logic in favor of absurdity and sensory overload. Flashing lights, loud sounds, and hyperactive pacing mimic casino tactics, creating a cycle of unpredictable rewards that are fantastic at monopolizing your attention. Layer in memes, sketchy sexualization, and irony, and you're hooked.
You're learning nothing, reflecting on nothing, trapped in overstimulation.
Goodbye attention span. You might feel jittery, or crave that flavor of input to feed your addicted noggin. Overwhelming content erodes your ability to focus, plan, and think critically. Even your speech patterns can shift into a mimicry of what you consume, outing you as someone who is terminally online.
And your poor dopamine! Hyperstimulation rewires your brain, leaving slower, more thoughtful forms of entertainment dull in comparison. It won't hit like injecting CONTENT straight into your veins.
But hey, you can kick back and zone out forever and ever... which brings us to our next thief of joy.
Streaming
Streaming took off in the late 2000s, the most notable names in the business being Netflix and Hulu.
Each had different offerings, Netflix's initial catalogue was comprised mostly of TV series, notably The Office, and a back catalogue of movies that erred on the side of meh or dated. Independent documentaries padded out the roughly 1000 titles for subscribers to sift through.
Hulu, by contrast, hosted modern major TV network content, initially free, but ad-supported. Its free version transitioned to a subscription model in 2010, with an ad-free tier introduced in 2015.
Amazon Unbox (yes, they really called it that) launched in 2006 as an à la carte option for paid rentals, with the option to buy newer movies shortly after DVD release, and TV shows. In 2011, Amazon Prime subscribers could actually stream some things for free, though what was included seemed completely random. Sometimes parts 1 and 3 would be included in prime, but 2? Welp, pony up.
(Their interface, by the way, remains a confusing nightmare hellscape. Free titles are woven in with rentals and purchases, making it unnecessarily hard to figure out what’s included and what will cost you extra. And the search function? Useless.)
Back in 2008, streaming wasn't perfect. Buffering could knock the wind out of your sails and make you wonder if you'd rather pick up a book or go for a walk. But as internet speeds improved, streaming became unfettered, and, for many, a black hole sucking up all their time.
Why Streaming Sucks
Streaming was novel and great until it wasn't.
Where is everything, exactly? Shows and movies hop anxiously between services and region locks. A whole catalogue can vanish overnight. And if you stop paying, that's that, you have nothing.
These services love to tout their own original content in order to get a bigger cut of the pie, and a product to distinguish themselves from the competition And it can be pretty decent! But more often than not, it starts off with a bang and ends in a dissatisfying whimper. Assuming you even get a second season.
Meanwhile, other shows do get that next season, but degrade into political messaging and moralizing. I don't know about you, but I didn't sign up for that, I signed up for entertainment. Yeah, yeah, everything is propaganda in its own way, but the agenda-pushing is hardly subtle.
I had two go-to shows on Netflix. Had. My solution? I bought them on disc. At least now I don’t have to worry about them pulling an Irish exit. And my subscription can mercifully end.
(Now is a good time to check and see how many subscriptions you have, by the way. How many do you actually use? It's fine, you can pick this essay up later, it'll be here.)
Rather than cutting these services off, many people stick with it, paying for the privilege to dig through a pile of turds in an attempt to find an elusive gold nugget. Or in the case of others, holding on because this is the place where our favorite visual comfort food is tucked away, always waiting us in our times of need.
Physical media doesn’t work that way. It requires intention. A decision. Is this what you want to watch, or are you on autopilot? Streaming cranks open the firehose of relentless content, but physical media invites you to pause, consider, and choose.
Streaming removes friction. So let's talk about that.
Friction
Friction is a small-but-meaningful barrier that slows you down just enough to make you consider what you’re doing. It's the difference between intentionality and autopilot.
Look, I'm a lady with three planners: General life, day job, and creative crap. Focus is clearly not my strong suit. I rely on the scratch of pen on paper and an arsenal of fanciful stickers to bribe me through my tasks. A touch of brainrot probably doesn’t help, I'm as susceptible as anyone else, I'm just aware and trying to pump the breaks.
Hours can easily vanish while consuming content, along with your ability to remember what you were trying to accomplish before unlocking your phone. And streaming? That's a frictionless black hole. One show ends, and the next starts autoplaying before you’ve had a chance to blink. Or even decide if you want to keep watching.
Physical media, on the other hand, has built-in limitations. A TV show on DVD might allow you to go on a little binge through six or so episodes, it does have an end. VHS is even better in my humble opinion, it comes with great, eye-catching art, you get to unbox it every time, and the feel of a tape in your hands is so solid and real! The pauses and required setup provide the friction break to up the instant gratification cravings.
Need to pause? It stays exactly where you left it. No menus, no clicks, no fuss. Simply press play to resume your journey. And as for paper media? A literal bookmark is infinitely easier to use than fumbling through some app’s idea of where you probably left off.
I'd much rather have the ritualistic joy of combing through my movies or records before picking one and truly enjoying it, the feeling of actual choice.
And remember: if something is free, you’re paying in another way. Often in ways that separate you from your money and subtly reshape your preferences to suit the platform's agenda... while they study everything you do.
Privacy
DVDs and VHS don't track you. A vinyl record certainly doesn't log your listening habits (and then ignore them in favor of what it thinks you should be listening to... looking at you, Spotify).
The 8-track doesn’t know your spending predilections or herd you toward a purchase. It’s cruising along its little tracks, blissfully unaware of your wallet.
Streaming platforms, on the other hand, are always keeping a data-driven eye on you. They track what you watch, how long you watch it, and whether you paused mid-episode. Did you skip the intro? Rewatch a scene? Shove all of that into the algorithm and see how we can “optimize” your experience. Less entertainment, more surveillance.
But this isn’t all about convenience. Platforms cravenly sell your data, funneling targeted ads your way. And your preferences help shape their perception of your demographic, to sell things better to the lot of you. The goal is to maximize profits, not to improve your experience.
Unless you arm yourself with ad blockers, VPNs, and thoughtful browser choices, your consumer profile is being developed, packaged, and passed around like the commodity it is legally permitted to be.
Even outside of streaming, social media, search engines, and countless other agents are targeting you.
When users complain about algorithms clogging up their feed, they’re scolded and told that the tech lords simply know them better than they know themselves. And oh, how they know you. Now shut up and buy, consumer.
Physical media doesn't spy on you. Your experiences are wholly your own. You get to choose what you enjoy, not the other way around. Which brings us to sorting what you've got.
Curation
The algorithm chugs along, tailoring content to push you toward a purchase. You can try to curate your own feed, but apps like Instagram and TikTok are more about influencing you into becoming a cheerful consumer rather than a true curator or collector. They’re shaping you far more than you’re shaping them.
And then there are influencers, flashing big bleached smiles and plenty of skin. They beckon you to join their club (only $9.99 a month!), buy their “super unique” product (mass-produced and watered down by the time it hits shelves), or slather on their personal makeup palettes and brand-friendly clothing lines.
Things that have meaning are worth finding on your own, or with friends. Preferably in person. Physical items take up physical space, but unless you're a complete hoarder (or have a media room!), those items can meld into your space, adding personality, color, and texture via crates of records, walls of tapes, or well-stocked book cases that are as much decor as they are entertainment.
When you're flipping through old records in a milk crate or perusing an aisle of VHS tapes, you’re not accepting armfuls of whatever Disney clamshell duplicates someone is shoving your way. Even if they're telling you that you need these particular items in order to 'fully actualize.'
You’re usually at least going to have a genre in mind, if not specific titles. There's a thrill in the hunt. You develop your taste both privately and by sharing your finds with others. There’s a kinship in flipping through old media with friends, in finding a piece that you know they'll love. Or vice versa!
There is something so very charming about a friend or family member having dug through a thousand niche Christmas albums and generic orchestral tunes, having clawed through weird country covers to find what they gleefully present to you.
"I know you'll love this."
Sometimes, it's the weirdest shit you've ever encountered. And that can be the best. A gospel record with an unintentionally horrific hand-drawn cover, or some obscure TV special both pair well with friends and maybe a beer or three. A glass of wine, if you're being classy. There’s also the sensory experience of everything an old thrift store has to offer, weird smells included. What can I say? It's part of the ride.
Cost
Old VHS tapes are shooting up in perceived value online, but thrift stores still often have them for a quarter or two. And in a world where each grocery trip costs three figures, anything for a quarter is a win.
My favorite record of the moment is a set called "70s Gold" that my mom picked up for me at in indoor garage sale fundraiser. It still has the small sharpie-on-masking-tape 25¢ tag still adhered to the corner like a proud postage stamp. I will never remove it.
New records typically hover around $25 for standard LPs, with smaller indie releases sometimes less, and special editions or double LPs climbing higher. But I’m always happy to pick up a used record if I can inspect it first. Contemporary bands often release small runs of vinyl or cassettes, sometimes with gorgeously artsy packaging.
A lot of indie movies also have modern tape releases, and I’d be remiss not to mention the 'art piece' VHS tapes floating around. Their legality? Let’s just say I’m winking. WINK. I’m not suggesting you seek them out, of course.
But you know.
You do you.
Of course, the real cost with physical media often comes down to the equipment to play it on. And this is where you can decide how far down the rabbit hole you want to go.
My first VCR was picked up in a Walmart parking lot from a local eBay seller for $21.19. And it wasn't bad! But... it wasn't great, either. Eventually, I bought a refurbished DVD/VCR from a specialty site (spencertified.com, highly recommend!) and it’s been worth every penny.
I also have a portable Sylvania record player (a $5 thrift find, sky blue and adorable), a $60 suitcase-style turntable, and a refurbished Sony cassette player ($60 online). One day, I’ll upgrade to a higher-end record player in the $300-$500 range, but for now, I’m content not fussing with streaming passwords or surprise price hikes.
The media itself is often dirt cheap, but let’s compare that to streaming. At the time of writing, Netflix’s standard plan is $15.49 per month—$185.88 a year. Multiply that by a few services, and you’re easily spending $50-$100 a month for platforms that can yank your favorites at any time. While spying on you, of course. DVD players are cheap and plentiful. New, $35 will do you just fine, but they end up at thrift shops constantly.
Buying the DVDs for full series of The Good Place, (my favorite show to work through over a month or two while drawing in a sketchbook, laying on the floor like a happy third grader), was $37.55. If I wanted to buy each season on Amazon Prime, it would be $25.99 per season, with four seasons. $103.96, and oopsie doodle, what if it just disappears? Those mother forkers wouldn't give a shirt.
Now, if I ever need to cozy up in my apocalypse bunker while the world falls apart, Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Jason will be there. No clue who those people are? No problem. I’ll lend you the DVDs.
Tactility
Remember how I mentioned a lack of tactile interaction when it comes to friction? Smooth screens are simply not as mentally rewarding as the clonk or plink of a button. Give me all the onomatopoeia, clicks, clacks, a gentle whir. It's so satisfying in conjunction with the finger flip of a switch or tuning your media in to precise perfection.
You are actively choosing to select something, liberating it from its case, holding it in your hands. It amazes me that music or imagery resides on that length of tape or pressed into vinyl, waiting to awaken.
There’s a buildup of anticipation before pressing Play, or gently lifting the arm of a record player and settling it onto those first grooves of your favorite album. Maybe you’re instinctively rewinding a cassette to hear that one song again, or with an 8-track, surrendering to its chaotic charm. Okay, the track-hopping can be a crapshoot, but it looks funky and fun, so I’m giving it points.
Why yes, I have one. It was from an estate sale, and it's a charming peacock blue. I had no idea what it was, I knew it would look great on my bookshelf. But I'm glad I snatched it up. It has a solid click and light combo when switching tracks. The re-release of Plantasia is pure moog bliss.
Community
You will not be the only person perusing the records or tapes. This is a hobby! And hobbies bring people together (as long as you're not a stinky creepy weirdo. Be a normal-adjacent weirdo who has showered). If you end up with some media that doesn't spark any joy, there's always the opportunity to sell or trade.
When someone loves something that much, they want you to experience it too. Really experience it, without ads breaking the flow or pop-ups begging you to buy, buy, buy. Being present with the media, in the moment. It’s worth it. If you’re the kind of person who loves to talk through movies, find friends who can’t stay quiet in a theater to save their lives. Enjoy their commentary and chatter away! If you prefer to quietly soak in song lyrics with a cup of coffee, find someone else who loves that band and share your favorite parts over a few drinks... once your personal listening session is comes to a close, of course.
I've had friendships flourish over a shared album or artist. And in turn, I've been able to share what I love with those people. DVDs are fantastic for this. You can easily lend out a favorite movie or even an entire season. Same with tapes and records. It's a joy to share whatever is meaningful to you.
Touch Grass
Okay, okay. You might be thinking, "All of this is still media eroding your brain, even if it is at a slower pace than internet garbage. You're not truly living unless you are surrounded by the majesty of the natural world!"
And you have a point. I love my music and movies. I don't want to fully abandon them for that mythical cottage core life.
The original form of entertainment still exists, traversing sprawling forests and splashing in shimmering streams. The occasional living or dead animal in your path, just for a little spice. So taking a literal hike is always an option. It's as physical as you get and often opens you up to incredible beauty. It is good for you to take a walk in the woods. Science says so, and a plethora of songs will agree.
A relaxed brain can find the most mundane things endlessly fascinating. Once, on a family camping trip, we were enchanted by the gradual descent of an inchworm on a fragile silk line. We gasped whenever the wind threatened to break its strand, but the worm persevered. We celebrated its victory. I think it took half an hour.
Even after a good, long hike, there’s nothing like flopping down on a comfy couch and listening to a little John Denver on vinyl. It’s a chance to experience how someone else interpreted that natural beauty. And when Mother Nature decides the day shall be rainy and bleak, there’s a comfort to the sound of a VHS tape loading up your favorite movie. A watch party, popcorn and all, is even better. Burrow into blankets and comment away with friends in real life. Together.
Conclusion
Humans will always seek out a means of entertainment. Maybe we just don’t need to do so at breakneck, brainrot speed.
Convenience might be king, but is it really what you want ruling your brain? The ones peddling 'own nothing and be happy' have no issue stockpiling anything from cash to country homes. They have their cake but still want your crumbs.
Besides, I like that physical things have a long life. I want to keep old treasures out of landfills. I want to share, preserve, and enjoy. I don’t want everything to be fleeting, disposable, available on every screen, and riddled with ads.
Curation and physical ownership offer a way out. They help us escape a future where everything is 'picked for you' by those with ill intent, doled out via subscription. A future where all we’re left holding is a bill and no time.
I’d rather be holding a tape. They Live is a good place to start.
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