For decades, American television followed a rigid formula: around 22-episode seasons running from September to May. Think “Grey’s Anatomy” (2005–) or “Gilmore Girls” (2000–2007). That structure was built to fill primetime every week, creating a seasonal rhythm for viewers — fall premieres, winter cliffhangers and spring finales.
But in the past decade, this model has nearly disappeared. In its place are shorter runs of six to ten episodes, as well as one-off limited series that feel more like long films than open-ended serials. What changed?
The first and most straightforward explanation is that the 22-episode season was built for a broadcast calendar that no longer exists. Networks once relied on weekly episodes to keep their primetime schedules full, but as fewer viewers tune in to traditional broadcast television, that demand has diminished. Streaming platforms, by contrast, have surged in popularity, and they can release entire seasons at once, on any day of the year. This freedom has transformed production cycles. Network shows averaged 15.4 episodes per season in 2018; by 2023, that number had dropped to 10.2. Streaming shows average just 9.6. In other words, the long season has become not just unnecessary, but impractical.
Economics has also pushed the shift. Producing fewer episodes lowers costs overall and allows for larger budgets per installment. The impact is clear in shows like “Stranger Things” (2016–) and “Bridgerton,” (2020–) where shorter seasons allow more focus on each episode. Instead of stretching content to fill a long season — often resorting to filler episodes that are irrelevant to the plot — creators can invest in high-quality visuals, intricate set and costume design and complex CGI, resulting in a richer, cleaner product.
This structure also makes it easier to secure big-name actors. Committing to 22 episodes can be a grueling, year-long demand. Six or seven episodes, however, are far more manageable, which is why many limited series, such as “The White Lotus” (2021–) or “The Queens Gambit,” (2020) have a stacked cast. Shorter runs also make life easier for producers, who are less likely to face the disruption of a lead actor leaving midway through the show. Network television often had to scramble when stars departed — think of Chad Michael Murray leaving “One Tree Hill” (2003–2012) or Nina Dobrev leaving “The Vampire Diaries” (2009–2017) — forcing writers to rework storylines and even entire seasons. Most of the time, the quality quickly declines. With a limited series, the story can be designed to end before those complications arise.
Changing attention spans have also shaped the shift toward shorter seasons. In an era of endless streaming options and constant digital distraction, audiences are less willing to commit to lengthy story arcs that unfold over months. Shorter, self-contained runs align with how people consume media today: in concentrated bursts, often over a weekend or a few days. While this format allows viewers to stay engaged, it also encourages a faster pace of storytelling, leaving little room for the kind of slow, immersive world-building that once defined long-running network series.
If shorter seasons have unlocked new creative possibilities, they have also introduced a new and unique set of challenges. The trade-off is that their impact can be fleeting; shows today capture attention quickly but often disappear just as fast. A series like “Gilmore Girls,” despite ending years ago, have still remained cultural phenomenon, with viewers discussing and rewatching them even today. A Netflix miniseries might be everywhere for a month, but it often vanishes from public attention just as quickly. Though shows like “Stranger Things” and “Bridgerton” have maintained cultural standing, is anyone really still talking about “Bodyguard,” (2018) “Baby Reindeer” (2024) or Harlan Coben’s countless Netflix series?
Unsurprisingly, this compression also affects the stories themselves. Shorter runs leave less room for subplots, secondary characters or slow-burn arcs. Writers must hit dramatic climaxes faster, often sacrificing the kinds of smaller, quieter arcs that give a show depth. It’s no accident that many beloved network dramas — “The West Wing,” (1999–2006) “Friday Night Lights,” (2006–2011) “Grey’s Anatomy” — are remembered as much for their character development and emotional sprawl as for their central plots. How could characters not develop over the course of seventeen seasons?
Behind the scenes, the situation is even more troubling. Writers’ rooms that once lasted most of the year have been replaced by “mini-rooms” with fewer staff working for shorter periods — particularly common in limited series. These mini-rooms often complete an entire season’s scripts upfront, after which only the showrunner and one writer remain during filming to handle any necessary revisions. This shift has led to fewer job opportunities and lower pay for writers, as well as reduced chances for them to advance to showrunner roles. The Writers Guild of America has warned that these conditions create unstable work environments and limit opportunities for emerging writers to develop their skills — potentially causing long-term challenges for the entire television industry.
All together, it’s easy to see why the long network season has largely disappeared. Shorter runs have brought higher production values, greater flexibility and more focused storytelling, but they have also compressed narratives, made viewing more fleeting and created less stable work for industry professionals. The shift reflects a broader change in television itself –– from a regular, ongoing presence in viewers’ routines to a more intense, binge-friendly experience. The 22-episode season may be gone, but it reminds us of a time when television unfolded slowly and stayed with us even longer.
