The heat pressed in from the outside, making the sofa feel like a damp sponge. In that sweltering mood, minimal effort became the plan: fast, light, and mostly escapist. The person behind the screen opted for the Surprise Me button on Netflix, a feature that feels almost miraculous to anyone prone to binge traps and idle curiosity like them. After a few tries, a reality show featuring Tamara Falcó surfaced, and the reaction was a mix of incredulity and reluctant amusement. The vibe leaned toward darker, more extravagant storytelling, the kind that pulls a viewer into mystery and detective sagas even when the room hums with the heat. The person tends to devour critic-loved titles, even the ones that are politely described as boring. Borgen had been watched through twice, and Kingdom’s fourth season—rich with power plays and spectacle—went down quickly, almost in a single intense weekend. After Life, viewed in its entirety twice, offered Ricky Gervais in raw form, a temperament not always suitable for sensitive ears in the corridors of power. Rick earned a solid, affectionate spot in the mind, while Peaky Blinders and Black Mirror gained a steady following. Scandinavian crime epics were devoured with the same voracity, time and again. The question loomed: why was the algorithm serving up Isabel Preysler’s world on a plate, along with its aristocratic pretensions, after a binge of royal intrigue? The answer seemed to lie in a forgotten preference, perhaps the first season of a chilling saga triggered by a blood-sugar dip long ago, or the fondness for Christmas tales saved for a rare moment of celebration. Either way, the plan was clear: avoid six-episode forays into a restaurant setup in a crumbling castle, a narrative that felt like a arrived-aftertaste of prestige. The hook might include a figure like Vargas Llosa appearing at meals, but the overall impression remained unsatisfied. Reality shows never held much appeal; they weren’t a fit for OT, Big Brother, Masterchef, or The Voice. The platform’s catalog still exists, and it keeps surfacing these personalities to offer glimpses into lives that reveal more than drama—revelations about choices, relationships, and the art of living under bright lights. Yet, the preference remains firmly for fiction over reality, a distinction that stubbornly persists even as the algorithm nudges toward more of the same.
The same streaming service had pressed for attention earlier in the year with a Cristiano Ronaldo documentary about his mother and Georgina Rodríguez, both figures in the public eye as influencer, businessperson, and partner. The title Soy Georgina explored the rise of a young woman who rode a wave of wealth into a modern era of investigative journalism. It wasn’t watched. Perhaps the algorithm noted a reluctance toward profiles shaped like public Kardashian equivalents, and so the system pivoted toward the more provocative contrasts on the screen. Victoria Federica de Marichalar might be next in line to surprise the audience, if curiosity doesn’t tire first. Back when television was free, the days were simpler: channels clicked with a flick, annoyance rose with the static, and choices felt limited. Now, friends talk about chefs who become celebrities, girlfriends recounting yacht mishaps, and reality-show winners who transform into household names after losing weight and winning a contest. Paying for this content sometimes feels like a minor rebellion against the old model, a commitment to choosing what to watch with intention. And so the decision loomed: wait for cooler air, or press on with the remote in hand, content to let the algorithm run its course while the temperature finally drops and a fresh mood begins to settle in.