There’s a specific kind of delusion we all carry: the belief that our binge-watch choices are innocent, harmless, totally random. “Oh, I just like this show,” you say, as if the universe hasn’t been quietly using your Netflix habits as a diagnostic tool. Babes, you don’t just like some TV shows. You attach to fictional universes like they’re emotional service animals. You build entire identities around comfort characters who wouldn’t recognise you if they crawled out of the screen. And that’s okay! Well… spiritually okay. Mentally questionable.
Because the truth nobody wants to admit?
Your favourite series exposes your toxic trait faster than your ex exposes red flags.
Your go-to watch is your soul in high-definition. The shows you choose are little confession booths where you accidentally reveal way too much. You don’t need a therapist; you need a streaming detox. But since we’re all chronically online and allergic to self-awareness, let’s meet halfway: I’ll call you out lovingly, lyrically, and with the energy of a friend who holds your hair back while also reading you for filth.
Here’s the game:
If you’re this → this is your toxic trait → this is the show that matches your flavour of chaos.
Let’s dive, darling. And pack snacks. Emotional turbulence ahead.
The romanticiser.
You’re the kind of girl who turns a mildly nice interaction into a Shakespearean prophecy. A barista smiles at you? Fate. Someone says “thanks, love”? Soulmate. You waltz through life like there’s an orchestra trailing behind you. Your toxic trait is rewriting reality until it fits your aesthetic. Heartbreak? Pretty. Loneliness? Cinematic. Inconvenience? A character arc.
Your mind is basically a soft-filter Instagram reel. But beneath the whimsy lies a habit of projecting entire futures onto people who don’t even text with punctuation. That’s why your prescription is Bridgerton: a show where delusion is not only accepted but actively encouraged. Watch the yearning, the longing, the dramatic monologues in candlelit rooms. Let it feed your romantic imagination while also gently reminding you that fantasy is fun… but real life requires communication, not orchestral crescendos.
The ‘haha trauma’ comedian.
You cope with everything through humour. Bad day? Joke. Devastating news? Meme. Emotional wound? Cackle. You laugh so you don’t cry, and honestly, you deserve an award for the performance. But bestie… feelings will catch up. They always do.
Your toxic trait: treating vulnerability like a contagious disease. Your relationships have depth, but only in the notes app paragraphs you never send. And that’s why Fleabag is your emotional mirror. It meets you where you are, hilarious, messy, allergic to sincerity, then slowly peels you open. It lets you laugh, then shatters you. Catharsis with eyeliner.
The perfectionist spiraller.
You want control. Precision. Order. If someone rearranges your desk by accident, your soul temporarily leaves your body. You overthink until your brain feels like a buffering screen. Your toxic trait? You confuse productivity with worth.
Enter Black Mirror, a cautionary tale wearing tech couture. It’ll feed your existential anxieties but also remind you that perfection is a scam. You’re a human, not an iOS update.
The chaos chaser.
You claim you “hate drama” but also tell stories that begin with, “So basically everything went horribly wrong—” You thrive in emotional rollercoasters. Stability? Snoozefest. Your toxic trait: mistaking chaos for passion.
Your cure is Grey’s Anatomy. The show that embodies messy choices, chaotic heartbeats, and emotional CPR. Watch it and realise: you don’t want trauma bonding. You just want consistency. And maybe a nap.
The people pleaser.
You’d apologise to a chair if you bumped into it. You carry emotional support snacks for everyone except yourself. Your toxic trait: saying yes when your soul is screaming no.
Your match is Modern Family: wholesome, loving, chaotic in a soft way. It’ll remind you that you can be loving without bending yourself into origami.
The emotionally avoidant detective.
You analyse everyone except yourself. You understand motives, subtext, tone shifts, but ask how you feel and suddenly you’ve got amnesia. Toxic trait: intellectualising emotions.
Watch Sherlock. Genius? Yes. Emotionally constipated? Also yes. You’ll see yourself and cringe productively.
The fantasy escapist.
Reality is mid, so you simply don’t engage. Your toxic trait: using daydreams as an eviction notice for your responsibilities.
Your show is Stranger Things: full escapism, found family, and monsters that look suspiciously like your unprocessed feelings.
The self-sabotaging thinker.
You’re hyper-aware. TOO aware. You analyse your flaws academically. Your toxic trait: guilt as a personality.
Watch BoJack Horseman. It’ll drag you by the edges of your self-awareness while teaching compassion — especially for yourself.
The chaotic romantic.
You love love. All versions. Even the disastrous ones. Your toxic trait: believing red flags are “challenges.”
Your match? Gossip Girl. Glamorous delusion, toxic relationships, and glittering denial. A delicious warning label.
The delusional optimist.
You believe everything will magically work out, even when you’ve done absolutely nothing to help it. Toxic trait: manifesting without action.
Watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Light-hearted, chaotic, but grounded enough to remind you that effort matters too, not just vibes.
Your favourite TV shows Don’t Define You, But Definitely Entertain us.
Here’s the thing: every single one of us is a walking sitcom with unresolved plotlines, a dramatic soundtrack, and at least three personality traits that are actually coping mechanisms with good marketing. And that’s fine! Toxic traits aren’t curses, they’re clues. Little breadcrumbs pointing toward what we need, fear, crave, or accidentally run from at full speed.
Your favourite TV show isn’t judging you. It’s understanding you. It’s holding up a mirror and whispering, “Babe, this is you. Pick a struggle.” But it’s also comforting. Because if fictional disasters can find healing, so can you. If messy characters can grow, so can you. If chaotic plotlines can wrap up beautifully… yours can too.
So binge with intention. Watch with self-awareness. And let your toxic trait be a plot point, not the whole story.
If this called you out even a little, welcome to the club. We’re all walking character arcs pretending we’re side quests. And honestly? It’s an honour to be delusional together. For more chaos, confessionals, comfort characters, and cultural diagnosis sessions, come hang out with us at Her Campus at MUJ.
This is Niamat Dhillon at HCMUJ, signing off (streaming, spiralling, and telling the truth with love).