Ten Years of Netflix: Habits, Comfort Watches, and Changing How We Watch

Ten Years of Netflix, and the Way It Quietly Slipped Into My Life

It’s strange to think that Netflix has been around for ten years. Not strange in a dramatic way, but in a subtle one. The kind where you suddenly realise something has been part of your routine for so long that you don’t remember inviting it in.

Ten years of Netflix.
Ten years of Tudum.
Ten years of stories, habits, background noise, comfort watches, guilt watches, rewatches, and moments where watching something felt easier than sitting with silence.

I don’t remember when Netflix became a habit. I remember when it became necessary.

It started with Little Things. I wanted to watch it badly because the next season wasn’t available where I usually watched shows. I was still in school then, and asking my parents for a subscription felt indulgent, almost wrong. I remember asking for just one month. Just one. That was supposed to be it.

That one month quietly turned into something else.

Little Things didn’t feel like a show. It felt like a soft place to land. Dhruv and Kavya didn’t feel like characters I followed. They felt like people I grew alongside. Even now, years later, that series remains my comfort space, my therapy session, my most personal Netflix memory. When I recently visited the Netflix office and saw that familiar Little Things setup at the entrance, it felt like a strange full circle. Something that once lived only in my private watching hours had found a larger place in the world, and for a moment, I was allowed to stand inside that feeling.

After that, Netflix stopped being just about new stories. It became about returning.

After my board exams, when there was suddenly too much free time and not enough direction, I lived on Friends and The Big Bang Theory. Every day. On loop. To the point where people around me started asking if I was ever going to watch anything else. But those six characters weren’t just entertainment. They were routine. Familiar voices. Something predictable in a phase that felt oddly empty after years of structure.

The Big Bang Theory also became a shared memory. My sister introduced me to it when she was visiting from the US, and we watched it together. That wasn’t something we did often. Watching a series together became its own rare ritual, and because of that, the show is forever tied to her in my head.

Then came phases marked by other shows. The Vampire Diaries during my bachelor’s years, introduced by a friend. I wasn’t even someone who enjoyed violent or supernatural genres, but somewhere between Stefan and Damon, I let myself enjoy something purely for attraction and drama without analysing taste or seriousness. It became a guilty pleasure, and sometimes that mattered more than being intellectually impressed.

Reality shows arrived when I realised I wanted some chaos and glamour in my life. Masaba Masaba and Fabulous Lives of Bollywood Wives gave me drama without demanding emotional labour. Later, shows like Kota Factory shifted how I saw storytelling altogether.

Netflix wasn’t just showing me content. It was quietly shaping phases of my life.

Over time, it also expanded my viewing world. Through Netflix, I started watching more South Indian films, mostly because dubbing made them accessible. It made me realise how much I had missed simply because of language barriers. Stories I would never have sought out otherwise slowly became part of my watch history.

And somewhere in all of this, Netflix stopped being something I consciously chose. It became something I reached for automatically.

Lunch meant opening the app.
Dinner meant putting on a comfort show.
Household chores meant familiar voices in the background.

It became noise, but the good kind. The kind that gives your thoughts somewhere to land. The kind that creates peace without demanding attention.

But something also changed along the way.

As Netflix grew, content multiplied. Trends emerged. Top ten lists appeared. Suddenly, watching wasn’t just about interest anymore. It became about timing. About relevance. About release dates. Season ones, season twos, finales, spin-offs, and announcements that felt endless.

Watching slowly started feeling like a task.

As a creator, this shift hit differently. There were times when I watched something not because I wanted to, but because I needed to talk about it. Because it was trending. Because it felt like something I should have an opinion on. I’ve caught myself forwarding scenes, skipping emotional beats, just trying to get to the next plot point so I could finish faster.

And then came the guilt.

The guilt of not feeling anything while watching.
The guilt of turning stories into raw material.
The guilt of posting about something and realising the views didn’t justify the effort.
The guilt of losing the joy of watching altogether.

In those moments, entertainment lost its purpose. It stopped being a place of rest and became another thing to extract from.

That’s when I found myself going back to older shows again. Not out of resistance to new content, but because older shows allowed me to watch at my own pace. They didn’t demand interpretation. They didn’t make me think about what I would say about them later. They let me feel without performing that feeling.

At the same time, I can’t deny that newer content is doing important work. Films like Laapataa Ladies or shows that take bold narrative risks don’t let you remain passive. They carry conversations inside them. They almost ask to be discussed, written about, unpacked. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe it’s just different.

Now, as Netflix marks ten years and announces what’s coming next, I find myself standing between nostalgia and curiosity.

I’m excited about book adaptations like Musafir Cafe.
I’m looking forward to the finale of Mismatched, hoping for closure rather than just an ending.
I’m curious about shows like Desi Bling, Accused, and Operation Safed Sagar.

Special mention to Bhuvan Bam’s Dhindora which feels like a personal win!

These are only a few names from a much longer history of watching. Netflix has never been about just a handful of favourites. It has been about routine. About habit. About being there when you don’t want silence.

OTT platforms didn’t just replace television. They replaced boredom. They softened loneliness. They gave us stories that didn’t need permission to exist. They allowed bold topics, niche audiences, and different kinds of creators to find space.

Netflix, in particular, became something we didn’t have to explain. Background noise. Escape. Comfort. Inspiration. Sometimes even work.

Ten years later, I don’t watch the same way I used to. I’m more aware now. More selective. Sometimes more tired. But I’m also still curious. Still willing to be surprised. Still looking for stories that make me pause instead of scroll.

Maybe that’s what these ten years have really been about.
Not just changing what we watch.
But changing how stories live with us.

And even now, despite everything, Netflix remains a place I return to.
Not always for answers.
Sometimes just for company.

This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ 
hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla in collaboration with Cerebration – Think with body, mind & soul.