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How does a piece of content become "popular"?

What comes next? Early experiments in interactive narrative (Black Mirror: Bandersnatch), virtual reality concerts (Billie Eilish’s VR experience), and livestreamed "shoppable" content point toward a future where entertainment content and popular media are less about watching and more about doing.

The metaverse hype has cooled, but the underlying trend—blurring the boundary between media and real life—continues. Augmented reality glasses may soon allow you to see fan-generated comments floating over a movie character’s head. Blockchain-based ownership (NFTs, token-gated content) could let superfans invest in and profit from their favorite shows. Holed.16.10.25.Jynx.Maze.Anal.Training.XXX.1080...

Yet for all the technological speculation, one thing remains constant: human beings crave stories. We want to be moved, thrilled, comforted, and challenged. The platforms, formats, and business models will mutate, but the core mission of entertainment content and popular media—to capture our collective imagination—will endure.

Perhaps the most significant shift in popular media is the collapse of the "star." In the old world, a movie sold because Tom Cruise was in it. Now, the property sells. Tom Cruise is just the avatar for Mission: Impossible. How does a piece of content become "popular"

In the new world, the stars are the creators. MrBeast, Khaby Lame, and Alix Earle. These influencers have closer, more intimate relationships with their audiences than any movie star of the 90s. They don't act like stars; they act like friends. This parasocial relationship is the new currency. We don't just consume their content; we consume their context—their drama, their hauls, their apologies.

As more streaming services launch, content is becoming siloed. A user might need 4–5 subscriptions to access all the "popular" shows they want to discuss, leading to "subscription fatigue." What comes next

For most of the 20th century, popular media operated on a scarcity model. Three television networks, a handful of radio stations, and local movie theaters controlled access to entertainment content. To be "popular" meant appealing to the broadest possible demographic—hence the vanilla sitcoms, formulaic procedurals, and middle-of-the-road pop stars.

Today, that model is dead. Streaming platforms like Netflix, YouTube, and TikTok have replaced the broadcast schedule with an endless, personalized feed. The result is not the disappearance of popular culture but its fragmentation into thousands of niche tribes. A fan of Korean reality shows, a devotee of true crime podcasts, and a follower of ASMR creators now inhabit parallel media universes. They rarely converge except around "watercooler moments"—a Game of Thrones finale, a Barbenheimer weekend, or a surprise album drop from Beyoncé.

This fragmentation forces creators to rethink entertainment content not as a product for everyone, but as a service for specific micro-communities. Success is no longer measured by ratings share but by engagement depth: comments, fan edits, reaction videos, and forum discussions.