This was the era of the "Long Tail"—the business model that realized there is profit in selling one copy of a million different songs, rather than a million copies of one song.
Suddenly, scarcity vanished. You weren't limited to what the broadcaster chose; you could rent anything at Blockbuster. You could download a niche track from Napster. You could record two shows while watching a third.
Look at the most popular Netflix shows. They are engineered like rollercoasters: a hook in the first 30 seconds, a cliffhanger at the end of every episode, and a finale that teases a sequel. They aren't stories; they are retention mechanisms . Porn.Stars.Like.it.Big.-.Sadie.West.-.Keep.It.In.The.Pants
Entertainment is the same. Remember the thrill of renting a VHS? That was because it required effort (a trip to the store) and scarcity (they might be out of copies). Now, the effort is zero. So the dopamine hit is also zero.
Boredom used to be the crucible of creativity. When you were bored in the 1980s, you drew comics, built forts, wrote songs, or stared at the ceiling and had a profound thought. Boredom forces the brain to generate its own stimuli. This was the era of the "Long Tail"—the
That is the difference between content and meaning. Choose meaning.
True entertainment—the kind that changes you, that lingers in your bones, that you talk about at dinner parties—requires a covenant. You give the creator your full attention. They give you a world that makes sense. You could download a niche track from Napster
This is not a failure of creativity. It is a fundamental shift in the nature of what entertainment is. To understand why we feel this way, we have to look back at the arc of media—from the campfire to the cloud—and ask a difficult question: When content becomes infinite, what happens to meaning? For most of human history, entertainment was an event . It was scarce, ritualistic, and deeply communal.
We are living through a strange, almost paradoxical moment in the history of entertainment. Never before have we had such unlimited access to media—movies, music, games, books, podcasts, and user-generated shorts—yet never before have we felt so chronically under-stimulated.
This is the —the point at which the supply of media exceeds the human species’ total available attention by several orders of magnitude. The algorithms realized that the only way to keep you watching was to remove the friction of choice. Auto-play. Next episode in 5 seconds. Endless scroll. The Paradox of Choice Psychologist Barry Schwartz warned us about this. When you have 3 options, you choose, you commit, you enjoy. When you have 3,000 options, you suffer "analysis paralysis." You choose a movie, immediately wonder if a better one exists two rows down, and abandon yours after 10 minutes. This isn't indecision; it's a trauma response to abundance.
TikTok took this to its logical extreme. A 15-second video isn't a narrative; it's a "micro-mood." It is pure, uncut emotional stimulus—rage, awe, laughter, sorrow—delivered with no setup and no resolution. We are training our brains to expect catharsis every 11 seconds. Here is the cruelest irony. The easier entertainment is to access, the less pleasure it provides.