Streaming Services Strike Again

I was sitting in front of my laptop, scrolling through every streaming service I could access—Netflix, Hulu, HBO Max—only to realize that none of them had the little 2008 vampire-human romance I was looking for. When I finally spotted the familiar blue-hued poster of young Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart on Prime Video, the moment’s excitement vanished the second I noticed the little $3.99 tacked on below it. 

My confusion quickly turned to disbelief as I grappled with the fact that if I wanted to watch a teenage-old movie online, I’d have to rent it from a streaming service I already paid for. 

It was in my twin XL that I came the closest I have ever been to feeling the kind of meaningless rage that puts people on Worldstar.

The price was less than a cup of coffee, but I couldn’t get over the fact that I had seen the movie dozens of times—I grew up with it. I know every scene, every line, and even stupid facts about shooting locations and casting decisions. I am practically the human embodiment of Twilight bonus content.

And yet, it was just out of reach.

This realization made me wonder where my DVD copies of the entire series had gone, ultimately leading me to look at portable DVD players online. Before I knew it, I had fallen into a deep and dark spiral of Google searches related to “physical media.” Physical media is pretty much exactly what it sounds like: CDs, DVDs, game cartridges, books—anything you could find in the back of a Goodwill. My endless searches brought me to a video series by Brandon Shaw, the man behind the YouTube channel Digging the Greats, where he challenged himself to use an iPod as his only source of music for 30 days.  

Shaw had a very introspective experience that allowed him to make some self-actualizing changes to his life and improve his relationship with art. By the end of the series, he gets so wrapped up in rediscovering physical media that he abandons digital tech altogether. This culminates in a shot of him typing on a typewriter in the middle of a public park. 

I am not sure I am capable of such an admirable level of commitment (and confidence). A few other things he discussed in his series, like the fact that digital access and streaming have resulted in a loss of ownership and personalization, left me with much to think about regarding my own media consumption. 

I was barely sentient during the early 2000s when physical media was breathing its last breaths, but I do remember it being much more interactive than it is today. I know all too well the relief that would wash over me when my little sister finally gave the signal that I could stop swiveling the TV antenna; the shuffling sound my mom’s CD book made as I looked for my favorite in the car (Etta James’ At Last!); packing up my favorite book bag and triple checking that I had my library card before going with my grandma to borrow a new Clifford movie; the care I put into organizing my 3DS games by color and content. All of these deliberate choices and efforts that had to be put into place before you could enjoy media—something Shaw calls “friction”—made the experience all the more valuable.

In our current world, where access to many forms of media is possible with the click of a button, that friction is lost, and so, too, is the momentum of experiencing something you love. 

It took the Amazon paywall sitting between me and another Twilight Saga marathon to finally realize that I have been walking the earth as an adult without an essential part of my individuality—personal taste.

In Shaw’s video, he talks to writer Kyle Chakya, author of Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture, about the plight of taste in the face of music streaming services like Spotify and Apple Music. In short, in exchange for sacrificing the labor and money that goes into cultivating a collection of one’s own, streaming services have given listeners access to, basically, every song ever made for a monthly fee.

Never mind the fact that people have somehow managed to find a “lazier” way to consume things and the fact that we never truly own the digital media we buy, what strikes me as the most devastating about the loss of physical media is the ease with which society has collectively agreed to stop encouraging self-exploration.

This might seem like a big statement, but you can see how digital media can affect your ability to cultivate your taste just by looking around your room. Your bookshelves are about as exclusive as the New York Times Bestseller list, mediocre songs are practically spoon-fed to you by TikTok and take up space on every other playlist you make, and before you introduce your favorite movie, you always feel the need to preface by saying “I know this is basic but…”

Maybe this doesn’t apply to you, in which case I admire your ability to avoid algorithms, but the point I’m trying to make is that we all run the risk of losing sight of ourselves every time we swipe open a screen, and our finger knows right where to go. 

The art I like and the things I “like” online are now the same: inevitable and completely devoid of sentimentality.

This isn’t to say I’m unaware of the benefits of digital media. Paying a monthly fee for endless access to music or movies is far more economical than buying the physical copy of any and every CD or DVD that piques your interest. Not to mention, streaming reduces overconsumption and frees up valuable space in already crowded dorm rooms. My problem isn’t with digital media itself but with the fact that I lacked the slightest idea of what I was losing and the lasting effects that loss would have on me as it became the new mainstream. 

I mean, my ability to confidently answer stuck-on-a-deserted-island questions without mentally panicking is virtually nonexistent now.  

Maybe my intense anxiousness about the loss of physical media stems from feeling like the decision to move on from the tangible world happened without me. I was too late to have an opinion, and now, instead of living in a world with technology, I am subjected to a world of technology. I might also resent that the decision to do so doesn’t fall into one person’s hands. There’s no one to blame. I’ve even started to blame myself. A sense of guilt washes over me every time I open Google to look something up and I am forced to face the fact that despite all the complaining I do about the digital world I live in, it’s all I know. 

I cannot live without technology. 

The world is moving faster than I would like, but one comforting fact is that I’ll always have control over what is directly in front of me. And as cliche as that sounds, I think it could persuade me to make more conscious decisions about the content I consume. I can choose to delete things if they bug me. I can choose to limit my digital indulgences. I can choose to buy a CD if I feel like it. I can do both real and unreal. I can redefine what it means to make something mine. By the end of the night, I still hadn’t watched a single movie.

I guess in the process of thinking about individuality and self-determination, I’d lost sight of what was really important…Twilight. And this isn’t a joke either. I love that movie, and whether it’s online or in my hands, I know it’s something I can always return to. Maybe in this version of the world, one that’s largely theoretical and partially pixelated, owning something takes a little more mental work than physical. But hey, imaginary friction is still friction.

now it’s time to type my card numbers into the little box, hit play, and watch the damn thing (within the next thirty days).

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