Why we keep rewatching TV episodes we already love

The sea was angry that day, my friends.

That’s how George Costanza begins his magnum opus of a monologue in The Marine Biologist, an all-time classic episode of Seinfeld (Netflix). A show famed for weaving mundane absurdities into lyrical punchlines, this episode — this glorious episode — strikes a different level of comedic alchemy. Elaine's electronic organizer crashes a Russian novelist’s mood. Kramer slices golf balls into the ocean. And George, that most improbable of heroes, delivers a blow-by-blow account of rescuing a whale that would make Ernest Hemingway put down his glass to applaud. The joke lands, perfectly and exquisitely, because every storyline dovetails into that final punch. And, dear reader, I have watched that episode hundreds of times. Hundreds. Like a chef with a favorite dish, I return to it not because I’ve forgotten how it ends, but because I remember every note it hits, and I need to taste it again.

There’s a particular pleasure in rewatching. It may seem initially irrational, perhaps, in this golden age of endless streaming content, where every day you hear about at least one new sensation that you are told that you simply must binge right away. I still haven’t started the new season of The White Lotus (JioHotstar) — but have been finishing off long days of writing with reruns of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia (JioHotstar).

Also read: It’s always summer inside a sitcom

I’m not alone. Friends, The Office, Parks And Recreation (Netflix), Modern Family(JioHotstar). These are not just shows; they are spiritual security blankets. In a world of algorithmic overchoice, where even our taste is curated by mysterious digital overlords, we rebel in the softest way possible: by choosing what we already know we love. We click play on a favourite Friends episode — mine are ‘The One With The Blackout’ and ‘The One With All The Resolutions’ — or turn simply to The Office to see Jim smirking into the camera, rolling his eyes like he’s on a dating show. These shows are the vanilla ice cream after a breakup, the hoodie that still smells like comfort, the laugh track we don’t mock anymore because, frankly, it’s the only applause we get at the end of a long day.

The numbers bear this out. According to a Nielsen 2020 report, the US version of The Office (Netflix) was the most-streamed show in the US that year, with over 57 billion minutes watched. It’s not new. It’s not trendy. A show that ended in 2013, it’s not even aged all that well. Likewise, Friends and Seinfeld continue to rake in viewers globally, their rerun rights traded between platforms in hundred million dollar deals. Why? It’s not just the nostalgia. It’s not just the jokes. It’s something deeper.

Psychologist Jaye Derrick at the University at Buffalo may call it ‘emotional restoration.’ Her research shows that returning to favorite TV shows helps restore our depleted self-control and motivation. In a world that saps our energy via emails, bills, news cycles, existential dread… reruns give us our groove back. Or make it feel like we have a groove. One study showed participants who merely thought about their favorite show bounced back quicker after demanding tasks. Another revealed that after a tough day, we instinctively seek out familiar media. This is not because it challenges us, but because it doesn’t.

Therein lies the rub. Familiarity is an antidote to chaos. There’s something deliciously gentle about already knowing the twist, already bracing for the joke, already seeing the pratfall two beats before it lands. It’s called perceptual fluency: the ease with which our brains process known material. It’s the same reason we hum the same songs, reread the same books, and, yes, queue up that one Brooklyn Nine-Nine cold open where Jake sings the Backstreet Boys.

There’s also the theory of social surrogacy—fancy academic speak for saying we treat our favorite characters like friends. When life gets lonely, Monica and Chandler are there. When nobody gets our humor, Leslie Knope gets us. These aren’t just reruns, they’re relationships. We know their flaws, their rhythms, their arcs. Watching them again isn’t repetition—it’s reunion.

And yes, comfort matters. This is not weakness, it’s wisdom. Why gamble on a brand-new series that might leave us empty, when we can mainline serotonin through reruns that have already proven their worth? Like a finely aged whiskey, a perfectly structured sitcom episode becomes smoother, more potent, more reliable with each passing year.

So yes, this is a confession. I’ve watched the same beloved Simpsons and Seinfeld episodes more often than I’ve watched too many new shows I really should be writing about in this column. I’ve gotten choked up at the same The Good Place moments. I’ve cackled at the same Frasier witticisms over and over again, a man who knows the punchline but still finds joy in the delivery. I’ve done this not in spite of the repetition, but because of it.

Watching a well-worn episode is quite a bit like listening to a song you already love. You know every beat, every turn, every emotional swell — and that is precisely why you play it again. It’s not new, but it is necessary. It doesn’t surprise you, but it still delights you. Consistently. And in a world that keeps throwing curveballs, sometimes what you need is the curve of the same old laugh track, wrapping around you like an echo of the best days of your life.

Play it again, Sam. Or better yet, play it again, Kramer.

Streaming tip of the week:

The Diamond Heist (Netflix) is a new three-part documentary about the thrilling and, quite frankly, unbelievable time a bunch of crooks stormed the Millenium Dome in London in search of a 203-carat diamond worth over 200 million pounds. Produced by Guy Ritchie, the series is cinematic and captivating.

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