We did it, America. We survived another month of economic collapse, heat domes, and political indictments—just in time to collapse face-first into our shared national coping strategy: passive entertainment that slowly drains the soul. Welcome to the Netflix Top 10, where taste goes to be auto-suggested and sanity is drip-fed in 8-episode chunks.
At #1 this week: Sullivan’s Crossing. A drama so beige it could be used as primer. It’s what happens when you tell AI, “Make Virgin River, but slower, with less stakes and even fewer Black people,” and then forget to hit cancel. You know Sullivan’s Crossing—it’s that show where attractive white people wear sweaters and whisper about trauma while framed by autumn foliage and soft filters that blur out the plot. It’s not television. It’s Zoloft with dialogue.
And yet, here we are. America’s most-watched show. We’re not just choosing to numb—we’re selecting the flavor of numb that hurts the least. The one that says, “Sure, my student loans just came due again, but at least Maggie found the courage to open her heart to a veterinarian with a beard.”
Coming in at #2: Squid Game. Yes, again.
It’s comforting, in a horrifying way, to know that even amid new content, we keep going back to the dystopia that understood us best. Squid Game isn’t just a show—it’s a vibe, a documentary, and a mood board for late-stage capitalism. Because sometimes you don’t want subtlety. You want debt, death, and a color-coded metaphor for everything wrong with your country.
Also, let’s be honest: nothing else gets us quite as hard as watching a man in track pants sob-plead his way through a tug-of-war that mirrors our inner monologue at Trader Joe’s.
Rounding out the TV trifecta at #3: Quarterback.
The show for people who still describe themselves as “alpha” but haven’t been to a gym since Obama was in office. Quarterback is the docu-series that asks: “What if we gave CTE the prestige-TV treatment?” It’s helmet cam meets confession booth, where we stare into the eyes of men who throw balls for millions while narrating their childhoods like they were rescued orphans.
Look, it’s not that the show is bad. It’s just that America has never needed another reminder that we’ll treat trauma with reverence if the man is tall, hot, and concussed.
Now, onto the movies. Grab your emotional support popcorn.
At #1: Brick. The 2005 Joseph Gordon-Levitt film inexplicably back from the grave like a fedora-wearing ghost of film school past. If you’ve ever wanted to see noir dialogue delivered by acne-ridden teenagers, now’s your moment. It’s The Maltese Falcon meets Degrassi, with pacing that dares you to look away but a vibe that says, “You will respect me, or you just don’t get cinema.”
Netflix didn’t recommend Brick because you’re cool. It did it because you watched one A24 film while hungover and now the algorithm thinks you’re dating a barista with opinions about Kubrick.
At #2: KPop Demon Hunters.
No, this is not a typo. This is the natural evolution of entertainment: algorithmic genre Frankenstein. Somewhere in a Netflix boardroom, a pitch deck just said “Gen Z + Supernatural + BTS + weapons,” and everyone nodded like it made sense.
Plot? Something something idols, demons, glitter swords. Doesn’t matter. It exists to be screenshotted, shipped, and recapped by influencers with ring lights. But it’s also undeniably kind of genius—because it’s the only film brave enough to ask: “What if trauma could be choreographed?”
And finally, coming in hot with a Madea wig and a vengeance we didn’t ask for: Madea’s Destination Wedding.
Say what you will about Tyler Perry, the man understands three things better than most: tax write-offs, emotional manipulation, and the everlasting appeal of a woman who will both beat and bless you in the same breath.
In Destination Wedding, Madea crashes yet another sacred event with a purse full of secrets and a script that sounds like it was dictated into a flip phone during a layover. The film is ridiculous. Sloppy. Loud. A mess. And yet, somehow, it hits. Because in a world that feels increasingly unhinged, watching Madea dropkick hypocrisy in platform heels feels like communion.
So what does this week’s Top 10 really say?
It says we’re lost.
But we’re not lost in a poetic, self-discovery kind of way. We’re lost in a scroll-hole, emotionally fried, dopamine-depleted, snack-smeared way. We’re choosing content the way toddlers choose lunch: based on color, texture, and the vague memory of joy.
We’re not watching Sullivan’s Crossing because it’s good.
We’re watching because it doesn’t scream at us.
Because it doesn’t remind us of what we’ve lost.
Because sometimes, beige is the safest place to land.
We’re not rewatching Squid Game because it’s fun.
We’re watching because it told the truth and didn’t flinch.
Because it saw us.
Because it screamed for us.
And KPop Demon Hunters? That’s just us manifesting catharsis through eyeliner and violence. We deserve that.
Here’s the truth, Netflix: You’re not curating content. You’re holding up a mirror.
And the reflection is… confused.
A little wounded.
Wearing sweatpants.
Scrolling for something to feel again.
We’ll watch your demons.
We’ll binge your quarterbacks.
We’ll cry with Madea and dissociate to slow-motion romance in a fake Vermont town.
Because the world is hard.
And the Wi-Fi’s still on.
But if you’re tired of TV?
Read a book.
Not just any book.
One of my damn books.
They’re raw, queer, funny, devastating, and occasionally haunted. Just like you.
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💸 Most are free to read with Kindle Unlimited. So binge something that actually hits back.
You’ve already survived Netflix’s Top 10.
You’re clearly built for real stories.