I’m done with the demand that every piece of pop culture arrive as an event. Every film needs a cinematic universe, every singer needs a carefully managed era, and every minor internet moment gets inflated into a cultural emergency. We are encouraged to consume entertainment as homework, complete with timelines, Easter eggs, fan theories and a preferred ranking.
The problem is not enthusiasm. I enjoy a ridiculous level of enthusiasm when it comes from a real connection to music, television, sport or food. The problem is compulsory enthusiasm: the feeling that if I do not watch the latest series on opening weekend, understand its lore and post a reaction before lunch, I have somehow missed my appointment with society.
I’m replacing that frantic, algorithm-led approach with something quieter and more durable: selective attention. I want pop culture that gives me a reason to return, not content that panics when I look away. That means making room for older work, local voices, odd little discoveries and entertainment that does not require a marketing department to explain why it matters.
The trend I’m leaving behind is the eventification of ordinary entertainment. A new album is treated like a global summit. A streaming drama becomes a personality test. A celebrity outfit generates think pieces before anyone has decided whether they actually like it. The language is always extreme: cultural reset, instant classic, must-watch television, the biggest moment of the year.
This approach turns enjoyment into performance. People are expected to announce their position quickly and confidently, often before they have had time to form one. The online conversation rewards speed, certainty and outrage, while patience looks like indifference. A film can be beautifully made and still need a week to settle in the mind.
Sydney and Melbourne are full of people who understand this pressure in a practical way. They commute, work long hours, manage rent or mortgages, and still receive a daily stream of entertainment demanding immediate attention. Nobody needs a second shift spent tracking every franchise announcement between the train ride home and the evening scroll.
The obsession with intellectual property has narrowed the imagination of mainstream entertainment. Familiar characters are safer investments, especially in a market where production budgets are huge and streaming services want dependable subscriptions. Yet safety has a cost. When every story arrives with brand recognition attached, the space for strange premises, unknown actors and genuine surprise gets smaller.
Franchises are not automatically bad. A well-made sequel can deepen a world or give talented artists a useful canvas. My frustration is with the assumption that recognition equals quality. A character from a comic book, game or bestselling novel may bring an audience through the door, but it cannot supply emotional intelligence, strong dialogue or a reason to care about the people on screen.
Australia has its own version of this problem. Local audiences often receive major US releases alongside the rest of the English-speaking world, while Australian films and television compete for attention with enormous promotional budgets. Services such as Stan, Binge, ABC iview and SBS On Demand offer plenty of alternatives, but finding them requires a little more effort than following the loudest campaign.
Algorithms are useful for locating things I already half like. They are much less reliable at challenging my taste. If I watch three glossy crime dramas, the platform serves me twelve more. If I pause on celebrity gossip, my feed assumes I want a full-time briefing on people whose names I had forgotten five minutes earlier.
This produces a strange illusion of abundance. There may be thousands of available titles, yet the same handful dominate the conversation because visibility is concentrated. Recommendation systems favour what is easy to classify and likely to produce engagement. An unusual documentary, a low-budget Australian comedy or an older album can disappear simply because it does not fit the current mood of the machine.
I’m trying to recover the pleasure of being poorly recommended. A friend sending a film with no algorithmic explanation is often more valuable than a platform’s personalised carousel. So is browsing a library shelf, listening to community radio or following a critic whose tastes occasionally annoy me. Good cultural discovery should contain some friction. If every choice is perfectly predicted, it is probably not expanding my world.
Pop culture has become tangled with self-optimisation. We do not simply watch a fitness programme, read a memoir or buy a cookbook; we turn each activity into evidence of personal improvement. Even leisure gets measured, displayed and folded into a public identity. The result is a feed full of people proving that they are disciplined, cultured, productive and effortlessly interesting.
I have little interest in treating entertainment as another productivity system. A television episode does not need to improve my career. A meal does not have to be photogenic enough for a brand partnership. A gym session does not need to become a transformation narrative, and this fitness myth captures why perfectionist expectations keep ordinary people away from useful experiences.
That matters in Australia, where outdoor exercise and social sport are woven into everyday life but access is uneven. A walk around a Brisbane suburb, a swim at a Melbourne pool or a casual game in a Sydney park can be worthwhile without becoming content. Fitness, food and culture all become healthier when they are allowed to be lived rather than constantly displayed.
I’m choosing work with a point of view, even when it is imperfect. That might be a sharply written sitcom, a musician taking a genuine risk, a restaurant making one dish exceptionally well or a political documentary that trusts viewers to handle complexity. I want texture over polish and curiosity over the manufactured feeling that everyone is watching the same thing at the same time.
I’m also choosing a wider definition of relevance. A show does not need to dominate TikTok to deserve attention. An Australian artist does not need an international co-sign before local audiences can take pride in the work. A book published years ago can be more useful than the latest title promoted by every podcast host. Cultural value is not identical to trending status.
This approach suits the way many people actually consume media. We dip into podcasts while driving, listen to music during a morning walk, watch a series across several weeks and read in short bursts. That is especially true when the cost of living makes every subscription, cinema ticket and restaurant visit feel like a decision. Selectivity is not a lack of taste; it is a sensible response to an overcrowded market.
The replacement for trend-chasing is not total withdrawal. I still want to know what people are watching, wearing, eating and arguing about. Pop culture is a way of understanding public mood, and ignoring it completely can become its own form of smugness. The difference is deciding which conversations deserve my time instead of allowing a platform, publicist or celebrity crisis to decide for me.
I’m setting a few informal rules. I will wait before declaring something brilliant or terrible. I will finish fewer things and choose them more deliberately. I will revisit favourites without pretending that every new release must replace them. I will seek out Australian creators, independent venues and publications that cover culture with more depth than a headline designed to provoke an immediate reaction.
Australia’s media environment also makes this kind of choice possible. The Australian Classification Board, consumer protections and public broadcasters create a framework that is different from the completely unregulated fantasy of the internet, even if the system has obvious limitations. We can support local production, pay for work we value and use the practical tools available to limit the noise, including the social-media restrictions for under-16s introduced through recent federal legislation.
The best cultural life is probably a little untidy. It includes a blockbuster watched with friends, a forgotten record found in a second-hand shop, a serious book abandoned halfway through and a cheap takeaway eaten after a long day. It does not need a unified theme, a personal brand strategy or a permanent livestream of our reactions. I’m ready for pop culture that leaves room for attention to become personal again.
If you value thoughtful takes on entertainment, style, food, fitness and public life, follow NexxtLevelUp and explore the work that sits outside the loudest cycle. For collaborations, story pitches or a useful disagreement, contact Virgle Kent directly and start a conversation that does not need to become a trend.