Streaming stole our Christmas TV experience – but can we get it back?

I'm staring at the Christmas TV guide like it's written in Sanskrit. Two hundred and ninety-two pages of programming, and I can't find a single thing I'm genuinely excited to watch with my family on Christmas Day. Yes, there's some okay programmes – but where's the event? Where's the thing that makes us all put our phones down and actually look at the same screen at the same time?

Here's the uncomfortable truth: streaming has killed the Christmas special. And I'm not sure we've fully processed what we've lost.

One upon a time, Christmas telly was an institution. Families from Sydney to Seattle would gather round their sets, arguing over whether to watch the big film premiere or the sitcom special. There was a rhythm to it, a shared cultural calendar that punctuated the day between turkey and trifle.

You knew that millions of other people were watching the same daft sketch show, laughing at the same jokes, groaning at the same celebrity cameos that were actually filmed in July. Now? We've got infinite choice… and somehow we've ended up with nothing. (Find out the best Christmas animations here, and the most beautiful Christmas films.)

Too much but not enough

Netflix drops 43 identical Christmas rom-coms in November. Disney Plus has a festive special for every franchise they own. Amazon Prime probably has Christmas content for people who want to watch Christmas content about watching Christmas content. And yet, when Christmas Day actually arrives, we're all scrolling through menus like we're searching for something we've lost, but can't quite remember.

The problem isn't just that we have too much choice (though we definitely do). It's that the entire production model has shifted away from the thing that made Christmas specials magical: the feeling that everyone, everywhere, was doing this together.

Streaming services don't care about appointment viewing. They care about binge-ability, year-round engagement, demographic targeting. You don't make a cosy, communal Christmas special when your business model depends on people endlessly consuming content in their atomised pods.

Even when modern shows do attempt Christmas episodes, they often prove the point by getting it wrong. Yes, The Bear's season 2 episode 6, titled The Fishes, was critically acclaimed television. But it was also 66 minutes of festive family anxiety that required a lie-down afterwards. Ted Lasso's Christmas episode was lovely, except they released it in August, which rather ruins the magic. Even Doctor Who has abandoned Christmas Day this year.

Out with the old

Look, I understand why this happened. I'm not some Luddite yearning for three channels. That old model had plenty of problems: not least that if your family didn't like what was on, you were stuck with it anyway. But at the same time, we've kind of thrown the baby out with the bathwater, haven't we?

Because here's what we've lost: those weird, wonderful moments when something genuinely brought us together. When The OC invented Chrismukkah and made interfaith families feel seen. When The Office gave us the "Yankee Swap" and made us all cringe in unison. When 30 million British viewers tuned in to watch Den hand Angie divorce papers in EastEnders, it created a shared cultural heartbeat that bypassed every demographic divide.

These weren't just TV programmes. They were cultural touchstones, shared memories, water cooler moments that actually mattered. They were the TV equivalent of everyone singing the same carol, badly, after too much sherry.

Desire for connection

So what now? Can we get it back? Probably not in the way it was. That world of three channels and captive audiences is gone, and I'm not sure we'd want it back anyway. But here's the thing: the desire for shared experience hasn't disappeared. Look at how people still gather for the World Cup. Or how Squid Game became the global phenomenon that old-school Christmas specials used to be. The appetite is there. We're just expressing it differently now.

So perhaps – just perhaps – the solution isn't to mourn what we've lost, but to consciously decide to create it again, in our own homes. To actually pick something together, properly together, instead of defaulting to our separate screens. To turn "what shall we watch?" from a source of friction into part of the ritual itself.

So yes, streaming stole our Christmas TV experience. But maybe – just maybe – we can gradually, collectively steal it back. One collective choice, one family argument over the remote, at a time. Worth a try, isn't it?

You also need to watch Snow Bear, Aaron Blaise's new film.