Teen Shows: mirror of a generation

This episode’s audio was generated using Google’s Notebook LM, based on my own script and research—because I’m still working on loving my English accent.

Teen shows have always held a special place in pop culture. At first glance, they might seem trivial: forbidden love stories, friendships put to the test, high schoolers who are way too fashionable to be real… the usual package. But in reality, these series aren’t just entertainment designed for a carefree young audience. They are cultural barometers, reflections of societal anxieties, tools for identity exploration, and—sometimes—insanely well-oiled commercial machines.

Today, their influence is undeniable. Beverly Hills 90210 shaped the ‘90s, creating a teen drama blueprint that dominated TV for over a decade. Buffy the Vampire Slayer reinvented the badass heroine while tackling issues like depression and isolation. Gossip Girl captured the rise of digital fame and social media-fueled celebrity culture. More recently, shows like Sex Education, Heartstopper, and 13 Reasons Why have taken on a more socially conscious role, addressing mental health, diversity, and sexuality with a level of depth and engagement that was once unthinkable in teen media.

But behind these narratives lies an industry that knows exactly what it’s doing. Because teen dramas aren’t just about high schoolers navigating love and identity—they’re a lucrative business where every detail is engineered to maximize viewership, from subtle product placement to monetizing the very trends they create. We could call it cultural manipulation… but let’s keep it civil.

In this episode, I’m breaking down the world of teen shows from multiple angles. First, how they’ve evolved to mirror societal changes. Then, their psychological and emotional impact on audiences, particularly through character development and relationship dynamics. Next, the economic side of the industry, where storytelling and business strategies are more intertwined than they seem. And finally, a case study that deserves its own deep dive: Riverdale. Because if one show truly embodies the peak of television absurdity, it’s this one.

So, get comfortable—we’re diving into a world where teenagers are always played by 25-year-olds, where the drama is as over-the-top as the characters' hair budgets, and where, behind every plot twist, there’s a carefully crafted machine shaping our screens… and sometimes, our perceptions.

Teen Shows: A Mirror of Society

Teen series have a unique ability: they’re never just stories about high schoolers navigating existential crises. They’re snapshots of an era, distorted mirrors that capture a generation’s aspirations, anxieties, and contradictions. Because let’s be honest—there’s a reason Beverly Hills 90210 and Skins portray completely different versions of adolescence.

In the ‘90s, on-screen teenagers fit neatly into archetypes: the popular jock, the mean girl cheerleader, the bookish outsider. It was the golden age of glossy teen dramas where conflicts wrapped up in a single episode, and even the worst betrayals ended with reconciliations on a sunlit beach. Beverly Hills 90210 embodied that illusion: a world where teenage existential crises were manageable, and where thirty-year-olds played high schoolers with a straight face.

But even then, some series dared to add nuance. Dawson’s Creek, for example, was the first to introduce a more introspective tone. Where Beverly Hills sold a Californian dream, Dawson’s Creek took a deep dive (yes, I said "dive"—strategically) into pseudo-philosophical monologues about love and friendship. It marked the beginning of a shift: TV teens were no longer just glossy fantasies; they could be complex, emotionally layered characters.

Then came Skins in the 2000s, and suddenly, the illusion shattered. The British series took a radical turn, depicting adolescence with raw, unfiltered intensity. Drugs, depression, eating disorders, parental neglect—Skins didn’t try to reassure anyone. Instead, it exposed a youth oscillating between euphoria and despair, rejecting moralizing narratives in favor of something messier, more chaotic, and—ironically—more honest. It was a wake-up call, and a revolution: for the first time, adolescence was shown in all its beauty and ugliness, without filters.

So what makes some teen shows timeless? Their ability to tap into the real issues of their era. A teen drama isn’t just about its storyline; it’s about how deeply it resonates with its moment in history.

In the 2010s, the focus shifted toward diversity and inclusion. With the rise of social media and growing identity-based activism, it was no longer acceptable to portray an all-white, all-straight high school. Glee led the charge, insisting that every character had to represent a different facet of society—sexual orientation, ethnicity, disability. Execution wasn’t always perfect, but the intent was clear: representation had to be the new norm.

Today, shows like Sex Education take it even further. It’s not just about representation; it’s about normalization. Sex Education doesn’t just include queer or neurodivergent characters—it integrates them into the narrative as a given. More than that, it serves an educational purpose—something few teen shows had attempted before. There’s a certain irony in the fact that many teenagers have learned more about consent and healthy relationships from Sex Education than from their actual school curriculum.

And that’s where things get interesting. These shows don’t just reflect their times; they also shape them. Take 13 Reasons Why—its 2017 release triggered a massive debate on the depiction of teen suicide. Was it too real? Too romanticized? Too reckless? Netflix ultimately removed a graphic scene after studies indicated it had a measurable impact on youth suicide rates.

13 Reasons Why proved that teen shows are no longer passive entertainment—they’re cultural tools capable of influencing public discourse and even policy decisions. When a fictional series forces a streaming giant to revise its content under pressure from mental health organizations, we’ve clearly moved beyond entertainment.

Today, teen shows are much more than guilty pleasures. They’re sociological laboratories, reflections of collective anxieties, and—sometimes—catalysts for cultural change. From Beverly Hills’ airbrushed teens to Skins’ raw chaos, from Glee’s diversity push to 13 Reasons Why’s controversy, every generation has had its defining teen series. And the ones emerging now will undoubtedly shape the imaginations of today’s teenagers… and tomorrow’s nostalgic adults.

And if these shows resonate so deeply, it’s not just because of compelling storylines or lovable characters. There’s a psychological dimension to our attachment to these stories—and that’s exactly what we’re about to explore next.

Psychological analysis and storylines

Teen dramas might seem like a chaotic mix of exaggerated love triangles, catastrophic parties, and existential crises where everyone ends up in tears—or prison, depending on the show’s tone. But in reality, their impact runs much deeper than just entertainment. These stories shape how we understand ourselves, our emotions, and our place in the world. Because yes, teen series aren’t just escapism; they serve as emotional and identity-driven playgrounds, and that’s precisely what makes them so addictive.

Adolescence is that pivotal moment where everything is up for debate—who we want to be, who we want to resemble, what role we want to play in society. And teen series capture this search for identity by offering characters who are constantly trying to figure themselves out.

Take Heartstopper, for example. This show became a cultural phenomenon not just because of its tender queer romance but because it portrays identity with rare authenticity. The characters aren’t just diversity checkboxes—they’re nuanced, with doubts and hesitations that feel incredibly real. What Heartstopper does brilliantly is that it doesn’t over-dramatize the journey of self-discovery. Unlike older shows where being LGBTQ+ was always framed as a tragedy or a struggle for acceptance, Heartstopper presents it as a personal journey—sometimes challenging, but not defined solely by suffering. And that shift is crucial in how teen series influence how young audiences perceive themselves.

But identity-building in these shows isn’t just about sexuality. It’s also about friendships. At that age, friendships are everything—they shape our sense of self, act as a testing ground for different versions of who we are, and help us navigate the uncertainty of growing up. Stranger Things is built entirely on this concept: the fear of change, the need to hold on to childhood bonds, and the constant questioning of what’s “normal.”

There’s actual science behind why we binge-watch entire seasons in one weekend, despite having far more urgent things to do (no judgment, it’s just facts). Neuroscience shows that our brains don’t always distinguish between emotions felt while watching a show and emotions experienced in real life. In other words, when a character goes through an existential crisis, our brain processes it as if it were a friend calling us in a panic at 3 AM.

This is called parasocial identification—the phenomenon where we form emotional connections with fictional characters, sometimes even stronger than with real-life relationships. That’s why we feel an actual void when a beloved series ends. It’s not just about loving the story—it’s about feeling like we’ve built relationships with these characters.

Take The O.C.. Seth Cohen and Ryan Atwood were the perfect duo to capture two sides of adolescence—on one hand, the sarcastic geek who hides behind humor; on the other, the troubled bad boy trying to escape his past. This dynamic resonated with millions of viewers because almost everyone could see a piece of themselves in one or both of them.

What’s fascinating is that parasocial identification works even with characters who, on paper, have nothing in common with us. Elite, for example, is set in an ultra-elite private school in Spain, where the students are almost comically stylish and detached from reality. And yet, its themes—jealousy, ambition, rivalry, and toxic passion—are universal. Whether or not we’ve ever set foot in a high-end boarding school, what matters is that the emotions feel real.

Another reason these shows resonate so deeply is that they serve as emotional catharsis. We watch them to feel things without actually experiencing the consequences. It’s like pop-culture therapy—we go through every extreme emotion, but in the safety of fiction.

Skins, for example, was brutal in how it portrayed teenage recklessness and self-destruction. Watching characters spiral, make terrible decisions, hit rock bottom, and try to rebuild themselves allowed audiences to process emotions they couldn’t always express in real life.

But then comes the crucial question: Do teen dramas actually help us understand our own emotions better, or do they amplify and distort them? Because let’s be honest—some shows make it seem like adolescence is a never-ending hellscape where every minor setback is a life-or-death crisis. In 13 Reasons Why, for instance, every interaction carries irreversible consequences, blurring the line between raising awareness and over-dramatization.

And this is where responsibility comes in. While teen shows open up discussions on important issues, they also have the power to romanticize trauma. There’s a difference between portraying suffering and glorifying it. Today, writers have to walk that fine line—telling powerful stories without sensationalizing pain in a way that could have harmful effects on young, impressionable viewers.

Watching teen series isn’t just about escaping into fictional worlds. It’s about experiencing emotions vicariously, experimenting with identity, and sometimes, finding a strange sense of comfort in them. That’s why we get so attached, and why even as adults, we keep coming back to them. They remind us what it’s like to feel lost, to search for meaning, and they let us revisit those moments with a little more distance… or at least with a giant bucket of popcorn.

But if teen shows have this much influence, it’s not just because of their narratives or psychological depth. It’s also because they’re a massive business. Because yes, behind the stories that resonate so deeply, there are carefully calculated industry strategies at play. And that’s exactly what we’re about to dive into next.

Between art and commerce

Watching a teen drama? Cool. Producing a teen drama? Even better… especially when you see the kind of money it makes. Because behind all the speeches about representation and emotional depth, there’s a far more pragmatic reality: the teen drama industry is a well-oiled, ultra-profitable machine designed to capture and retain an audience that’s hyper-connected and endlessly consumable.

In this segment, we’re going to break down how these shows are designed, produced, and monetized. Because if Netflix, HBO, or Disney+ keep churning out young adult content, it’s not out of sheer passion for storytelling.

Let’s be real—teenagers and young adults are the dream demographic for the entertainment industry. Why? Because they’re glued to their screens, highly impressionable, and, most importantly, they consume content at an insane rate. Unlike shows aimed at older audiences—who are fine watching two or three episodes a week—teen dramas are engineered to be binge-watched in a day or two.

And this model follows one golden rule: the more addictive a show is, the more it becomes a cultural phenomenon, and the more money it generates. Take Stranger Things, for example. It wasn’t just a great show—it was a marketing juggernaut, with a strong visual identity, nostalgia that appealed to both teens and adults, and most importantly… infinite commercial potential.

When a teen show becomes a hit, it turns into a brand. And the studios know this very well. Gossip Girl, The Vampire Diaries, The 100, Élite—all of these shows have one thing in common: they transcended the screen. They spawned merch lines, fashion collaborations, brand deals, and—most importantly—completely took over social media.

Today, it’s no longer just word-of-mouth that makes a show successful—it’s TikTok, Twitter (X), and Instagram. The moment a new series drops, social platforms are flooded with clips, trends, and challenges. Bridgerton, for instance, became a worldwide phenomenon thanks to TikTok trends, with users recreating the outfits, dialogues, and music from the show.

Netflix and the other platforms have figured it out: a show that generates viral content is a show that makes money. That’s why many series are now designed with "memeable" moments—whether it’s an iconic line, a shocking scene, or an utterly ridiculous plot twist (we’ll get to Riverdale), everything is carefully planned to create viral content.

We tend to think that teen dramas influence pop culture. But in reality, pop culture also influences teen dramas. Market demand dictates a huge part of creative choices, and streaming platforms are constantly analyzing what’s trending among young audiences to adapt their productions accordingly.

Let’s take LGBTQ+ representation as an example. Today, it’s impossible to imagine a teen drama without queer characters. Not because the industry suddenly became progressive and benevolent (spoiler: it never was), but because audiences demand it.

Heartstopper, Young Royals, Sex Education, Élite—these shows aren’t just diversifying storytelling; they exist because studios have realized these themes are highly sought after. And that’s a good thing—it means we’re finally getting richer and more authentic representation. But it’s still a business decision. Producers know that by incorporating a well-written queer romance, they’ll attract a hyper-engaged audience that will discuss the show on social media, buy the merch, and fuel its longevity.

Another example? The resurgence of supernatural and fantasy themes. For a while, we were drowning in vampires and werewolves (Twilight, Teen Wolf, The Vampire Diaries), but in recent years, these themes have made a comeback. Why? Because nostalgia for the 2000s-2010s is influencing new productions. Shows like Wednesday or The Bastard Son & The Devil Himself are capitalizing on this, modernizing the aesthetics and making them darker to align with today’s audience preferences.

And it doesn’t stop there: even the format of teen dramas has evolved based on market trends. We’ve moved from 22-episode seasons in the early 2000s (Beverly Hills, One Tree Hill, Gossip Girl) to 8-10 episode seasons, making them more binge-friendly and in sync with streaming consumption habits. Less filler, more efficiency… and significantly lower production costs.

The real issue? In this constant quest to manufacture hit series, content has become increasingly standardized. Streaming platforms play it safe, avoiding risks, and as a result, teen dramas are starting to look eerily similar.

Take elite school dramas, for instance. For the past few years, they’ve all followed the same blueprint: a prestigious private school, ridiculously attractive students, secrets, conspiracies, and a mysterious death. Élite, The Society, Control Z, Gossip Girl (the reboot)—it’s the same DNA, just with different backdrops and slightly altered tones.

The downside? In trying to check every box for success, originality and authenticity often take a backseat. When a show is primarily a product, it loses what made it unique in the first place. And that’s exactly what happened with Riverdale—a show that started as a dark, intriguing teen drama and quickly spiraled into an absolute narrative mess.

Teen dramas are no longer just entertainment. They are consumable cultural products, meticulously crafted for profitability. It’s a delicate balance between art and business, creativity and marketing strategy.

On one hand, these shows tell important stories, tackle crucial issues, and deeply resonate with millions of viewers. On the other hand, they’re heavily shaped by market trends, financial calculations, and audience expectations.

And when that balance is off? It can create masterpieces… or complete disasters.

Speaking of shows that completely lost control, it’s time to dive into the case study of Riverdale—aka the perfect example of what happens when a show goes from cult classic to complete chaos.

Case study: Riverdale

When Riverdale premiered in 2017, the idea was simple: modernize Archie Comics by plunging them into a dark, mysterious atmosphere. Gone was the innocent, colorful world of the 1940s comics—replaced by a teen drama where high schoolers investigate murders, navigate tortured love triangles, and uncover a town riddled with crime and corruption. On paper, it was an intriguing concept: a fusion of Twin Peaks and Gossip Girl, with a touch of noir and a carefully curated soundtrack.

But very quickly, Riverdale took an… unexpected turn. Each season pushed the limits of credibility further: from cults to deadly role-playing games, from government conspiracies to supernatural abilities, not to mention the infamous “spontaneous musical numbers” that popped up without warning. In short, Riverdale became a TV anomaly.

An anomaly that, despite (or because of) its growing absurdity, managed to captivate a loyal audience, fascinated by this increasingly bizarre string of narrative choices.

The first season drew attention with a solid mystery: Who killed Jason Blossom? The suspense was well-paced, the characters still had some depth, and the show balanced thriller and teen drama elements effectively. But soon, Riverdale became a narrative experiment gone wild, where every season seemed determined to outdo the previous one in intensity… and sheer madness.

The show’s structure evolved into a patchwork of pop culture references, sometimes brilliant, sometimes completely unhinged. One episode could be a True Crime-inspired murder investigation; the next, a soap opera-style family revelation straight out of the ’80s. Certain seasons—like the infamous Gryphons & Gargoyles arc—turned into living memes, with plot twists so improbable they became internet folklore.

Critical reception followed a similar trajectory. The media initially praised Riverdale for its atmosphere, performances, and intriguing premise—before later highlighting its descent into total nonsense. Audiences were split: some embraced the chaos, reveling in its unpredictability, while others abandoned ship, unable to keep up with a plot that seemed entirely improvised from week to week.

Love it or hate it, Riverdale undeniably left its mark. The show heavily influenced fashion trends from 2018 to 2023, with characters like Cheryl Blossom, Veronica Lodge, and Jughead Jones setting aesthetic blueprints. Jughead’s leather jacket and signature beanie became instantly recognizable symbols of the show’s identity.

On social media, Riverdale generated endless discussions, theories, and—perhaps most significantly—relentless mockery. The most absurd scenes went viral, turned into gifs, memes, and TikTok clips that fueled debates on the fine line between genius and ridiculousness.

And yet, despite all the criticism, Riverdale gave its young cast a solid platform. Lili Reinhart, Cole Sprouse, and KJ Apa gained substantial fame, leading to new roles, endorsement deals, and further career opportunities. The show also proved that coherence isn’t always necessary for success—sometimes, all you need is cultural impact.

Ultimately, Riverdale will go down in TV history as a fascinating case study: a series that started as a compelling teen drama before morphing into an absolute fever dream, all while maintaining an engaged fanbase that kept it alive for seven seasons. A failure in narrative consistency, but a triumph in pop culture relevance.

So, was Riverdale a disaster or an accidental masterpiece? The debate remains open. But one thing is certain: it redefined what a teen drama could be—for better or, more likely, for worse.

Conclusion

Teen series are a bit like those clothes we swear we’ve outgrown but keep buying season after season. They evolve, reinvent themselves, yet retain this fascinating ability to capture the zeitgeist. Whether through their plots, characters, or aesthetics, they offer a mirror to society and its current concerns.

As we’ve seen, these shows aren’t just entertainment conveniently packaged for a young and impressionable audience. They actively shape identity, influence social norms, and create trends that extend far beyond the screen. They can amplify essential conversations—about diversity, mental health, or sexuality—while also being highly commercialized products, meticulously designed to drive engagement and maximize profitability.

Where once Beverly Hills 90210 or Dawson’s Creek merely reflected the aspirations of teens in their respective eras, today’s productions have a far more direct impact. They dictate social media conversations, set fashion trends, and in some cases, redefine how we perceive certain social norms. Just look at how Heartstopper brought kindness and warmth back to LGBTQ+ representation, or how Euphoria turned its aesthetics into a full-fledged fashion movement that took over TikTok.

But behind their role as generational mirrors, we can't ignore that the teen series industry is, first and foremost, a ruthlessly efficient economic machine. The target audience is highly strategic: young, hyper-connected, content-hungry, and extremely receptive to trends. Streaming platforms and studios have understood this well—these shows are lucrative products, backed by aggressive marketing campaigns, barely concealed product placements, and binge-watching mechanics designed to maximize engagement.

And then, there’s Riverdale... A case study in what happens when the industry pushes the absurdity lever too far. A bizarre mix of mystery, soap opera, and sheer nonsense, where each season competes with the last in narrative incoherence. What could have been a classic teen drama turned into a phenomenon of its own—a symptom of an industry where excess sometimes becomes the only survival strategy in an oversaturated market.

So, what’s next for teen series? Judging by their ongoing cultural impact, they’re not disappearing anytime soon. But the real question is: how will they evolve? With AI increasingly shaping screenwriting, the growing influence of streaming algorithms, and the omnipresence of social media, we’re likely to witness an even faster transformation of storytelling formats and narratives.

Regardless, teen series will always remain a fascinating lens through which to observe how a generation perceives itself, what it aspires to become, and, most importantly, what the industry wants to sell it.

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