#mediaanalysis

Has Bromance Disappeared — Or Did We Just Rename It?

It’s Thursday. It’s technically Theory Time.

But today isn’t a wild plot twist theory. It’s something else.

It’s a pattern I’ve been noticing for years — something that feels cyclical, almost inevitable — and yet somehow new every time it happens.

I want to talk about the disappearance of “bromance.”

Because I genuinely think it doesn’t exist anymore.

Or rather — it gets renamed.

And once it gets renamed, it never goes back.

When Bromance Used to Be a Thing

There was a time when intense male friendships were allowed to just… be intense friendships.

We had:

Merlin — Arthur and Merlin.

X-Men: First Class — Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr (McAvoy and Fassbender era).

Supernatural — Dean and Sam (yes, even there).

The O.C. — Seth and Ryan.

Even older duos like Starsky & Hutch.

Back then, intense bonds were often labeled bromance.

People made edits. People wrote meta. People joked about “they love each other more than anyone else.”

But it largely stayed in the realm of friendship — powerful, consuming, emotional friendship.

Now?

That same dynamic almost automatically becomes romantic or sexual in fandom spaces.

The word bromance feels… extinct.

The Modern Pattern

Let’s look at more recent examples:

Supergirl — Kara and Lena.

9-1-1 — Buck and Eddie.

Once Upon a Time — Regina and Emma.

These are relationships built on loyalty, emotional intimacy, sacrifice, protectiveness.

And they are almost immediately categorized as romantic by large portions of fandom.

Now let me be very clear:

This is not about sexuality being the issue.

I loved Kurt and Blaine in Glee. I love Yuri and Charlie in School Spirits.

Queer ships are not my problem.

My question is different.

Why does intense emotional connection now almost require romantic framing?

Why can’t we let certain relationships exist as something beyond labels?

The Agape Problem

I think part of this is that we’ve lost a category.

There’s friendship. There’s romantic love. There’s sexual attraction.

But what about something else?

There’s a concept — agape. A kind of love that transcends romance, transcends friendship, transcends physical desire. It’s total. It’s consuming. It’s soul-level connection without needing to become sexual or romantic.

Some relationships on screen feel like that.

Buck and Eddie sometimes feel like that. Kara and Lena sometimes feel like that. Regina and Emma, in a different way, felt like that.

And instead of allowing that category to exist, we flatten it.

We rename it romance.

Or we dismiss it entirely.

And in doing so, we kind of erase the possibility that friendship — or something adjacent to it — can be just as epic as romance.

“But Shipping Isn’t Harmful”

Here’s where it gets complicated.

Shipping is creative. It’s fandom expression. It’s imagination. It’s community.

But I’ve noticed something shift.

Years ago, you could say: “I love their bromance.”

And no one attacked you.

Now, if you say: “I see them as friends.”

You can get treated like you’re denying something sacred.

Like you’re blind. Or worse — like you’re bigoted.

And that’s the part that genuinely confuses me.

Because in earlier eras, fandom could hold both:

“I ship them romantically.”

“I love their friendship.”

Now it often feels like it has to be one or the other.

Is This Cultural?

So here’s my actual theory:

Maybe we’ve become so starved for meaningful emotional intimacy in media — especially between men — that the only framework we recognize for deep vulnerability is romance.

If two men share emotional openness, protectiveness, devotion — we assume it must be romantic.

But why?

Why can’t male intimacy be allowed to exist without being sexualized?

Why can’t two women share obsessive loyalty without it being read as suppressed romance?

Why did bromance fade away as a label around 2018–2019?

Because it did.

And the shift feels noticeable.

The Personal Layer

I’ll admit something personal.

I once experienced that kind of connection in real life.

A bond that didn’t fit friendship. Didn’t fit romance. Didn’t fit anything neat.

It was just… my person.

That person died.

And I’ve never experienced that kind of connection again.

So when I see those dynamics on screen, they comfort me.

They remind me of something pure.

And maybe that’s why I resist when every intense bond gets automatically reframed as sexual or romantic.

Because sometimes the beauty is in the ambiguity.

Sometimes the beauty is in not labeling it at all.

So Here’s My Question

Why do you think bromance disappeared?

Why does intense emotional intimacy now almost automatically get romanticized?

Is it cultural evolution? Fandom amplification? Queer coding awareness? Loneliness? Media literacy shifts?

Or am I just nostalgic for a category that doesn’t exist anymore?

This isn’t a fight.

It’s a genuine Theory Time.

hyperfixation can be a real power if you learn how to aim it right.

it’s not about being maniacal about something and spending hours running in cycles; it’s about reading articles and reddit threads and books, watching videos on YouTube and movies, and listening to podcasts. obtaining information in large volumes and analyzing it.

it can be hard, it can be a struggle, and maybe someone will get to: “why should I do all of this? I can just get a short answer from ChatGPT or something.” and that someone would have a point. BUT hyperfixation’s point is not getting an answer, but getting LITTLE answers on the way to something BIG. and when you gather little answers yourself, and put it all together, you’ll get a result. and even if it’s not new, and you could’ve gotten it simply by receiving an answer from someone or something, it won’t matter. after all, even if there’s nothing new in the world, there will be something that will be YOURS.

hyperfixation gives you deep focus most people struggle to access. it helps you learn faster (because your brain wants to be there), notice details others miss, and keep going longer without needing constant “motivation.” it creates “flow,” which not only feels genuinely good, but can help you improve real skills like art, coding, languages, music—and gives your brain a clear goal instead of scattered noise.

in some way, hyperfixation can actually be a great counterweight to “clip thinking” (short attention bursts trained by endless scrolling), because it retrains your brain to tolerate boredom—and boredom is where focus grows. it gives “earned dopamine” instead of “scroll dopamine.” and it feels calmer and longer-lasting than the quick spike from videos.

Did the Media Help Cover for Epstein? Enjoy this clip from my conversation with Brian Karem on The Disinfo Detox

Thai GL has become a cultural force — but recent scenes have sparked real debate about consent, boundaries and romantic framing.

From a sleeping kiss in I Wanna Be Sup’Tar to alcohol-fueled gray areas in other series, I break down where tension works… and where it doesn’t.

This isn’t about demanding perfect relationships. It’s about clarity, capacity and accountability.

Growth isn’t censorship. It’s evolution.

The Unfunnies prioritizes shock value over substance, presenting a series of grotesque scenes in lieu of a plot or compelling protagonist. As someone who appreciates underground comics, horror films, and "extreme" literature (also known as splatterpunk), I’m open to gritty themes when they offer an interesting perspective. However, The Unfunnies falls flat in that regard.

Unlike the cream of the underground comic or horror crop—which uses disturbing content to challenge the audience—The Unfunnies frequently employs cartoonish dialogue as a jarring contrast to its dark subject matter. Characters often break the fourth wall in the style of vintage Gold Key or Archie comics, but this is juxtaposed with disturbing contexts, such as a character being arrested for possessing child pornography. While this contrast can make certain scenes unsettling, it quickly becomes apparent that this is the only brush in Millar’s palette, and it grows tiresome.

Even when a more intriguing supernatural horror storyline emerges toward the end, it remains bogged down by filler content and shock tactics. A more structured approach with developed character arcs and organic plot progression could have elevated the series into a memorable horror comic. The premise—a cartoonist’s fictional world degenerating as he becomes a serial killer—is strong and could have provided a solid foundation. But rather than exploring that concept, Millar leans on disjointed, depraved vignettes, making the series feel more like a string of tasteless sketches than a cohesive story.

Millar has stated that The Unfunnies was intended as a comic counterpart to disturbing ensemble films like Happiness or Magnolia. Unfortunately, it lacks the believable character motivations and thematic interconnectedness that make those films work. Instead of resonating as an ensemble piece or anthology, it comes off as a scattered assortment of sketches made solely to offend.

“Anh trai vuot ngan chong gai” (Call me by Fire) is a reality TV show that captivates audiences by merging art with personal narratives of 35 reputable artists in the age of over 30, creating a unique spectacle that blurs the lines between reality and performance.  But is the show’s spectacular significant contrast to the authenticity?

Engagement and Authenticity Paradox

While producers encourage contestants to share their real-life experiences, the need for drama and engagement often leads to scripted or edited narratives that can distort the audience's perception of reality (Weil & Dunbar 2016), creating a complex relationship between producers, performers, and audiences, where engagement is carefully crafted and can be easily disrupted (Hill, 2017).

In Call me by Fire show, this is also the biggest concern of most contestants, as these people are mostly music artists with a fear of their reputation being negatively affected (Vietcetera 2024). However, the show also implemented this concern successfully by respecting every wish and story of each artist and creating a cozy, safe environment in the most subtle way to make the artists feel comfortable, natural, and emotional (Thach Anh 2024). As a result, the show successfully impressed the audience with its authenticity, with genuine emotions and connections of the artists in every scene.

Social Media Dynamics

Reality TV shows have evolved to create intimate connections between contestants and audiences through social media platforms, blurring the lines between reality and performance. Viewers often fail to distinguish between actors and their characters, developing strong emotional attachments (Torrego et al. 2021). This "mediated public intimacy" transforms viewers from bystanders to confidants, fostering a sense of collective complicity (Kaplan & Kupper 2017). 

In Call me by Fire show, besides scenes related to the interpersonal connection between artists recorded, the “brothers” also actively interacted with viewers on platforms like Facebook, Instagram, Tik Tok…, creating an immediate and personal connection that enhances viewer investment but also reinforces the notion that reality TV is performative (Thach Anh 2024). This dynamic interaction between artists, audiences, and producers across multiple platforms has reshaped the reality TV landscape, highlighting the need for media education to enhance critical viewing skills while maintaining entertainment value (Torrego et al. 2021).

Viewer Consumption Habits

As we dissect this phenomenon, it’s crucial to discuss the implications of our consumption habits. Are we craving authentic connections, or are we just drawn to the spectacle? 

In Call Me by Fire show, social media also plays an important role in not only shaping the artist's icon but also reflecting the “true self” of each individual through their content behind the scenes like interviews, life in the show, and connection between artists... The cultivation of identity through social media influence perhaps signals that audiences seek not only validation of their experiences but also a curated version of reality that satisfies their emotional needs (Davis 2019). As a result, social media platforms have become integral to identity construction in the digital age, allowing individuals to curate and present idealized versions of themselves (Nikolova 2022).

So, what do we truly seek in a reality TV show?  

Ultimately, shows like Call me by Fire challenge us to navigate the tension between spectacle and authenticity and remind us that while curated realities can entertain and engage, it’s the genuine emotions and shared experiences that create lasting connections. As viewers, we're invited to reflect on what we truly seek in our journey through reality TV: the allure of drama or the comfort of authenticity.

References

Weiland, SJ & Dunbar, K 2016, ‘What’s real about reality television?’, Journal of Mass Communication and Journalism, vol. 06, OMICS Publishing Group, no. 03.

Hill, A 2017, ‘Reality TV Engagement: Producer and Audience Relations for Reality Talent Shows’, Media Industries, vol. 4, Michigan Publishing, no. 1. 

‌Vietcetera 2024, CEO Vân Hạnh và khát vọng định hình tiêu chuẩn ‘premium’ cho show truyền hình Việt, Yeah1group.com.

<https://yeah1group.com/ceo-van-hanh-va-khat-vong-dinh-hinh-tieu-chuan-premium-cho-show-truyen-hinh-viet>.

Thạch Anh 2024, Nhà sản xuất ‘Anh trai vượt ngàn chông gai’: Các ‘anh tài’ vui chơi nhưng có chiến lược, Thanh Niên Vietnam. <https://thanhnien.vn/nha-san-xuat-anh-trai-vuot-ngan-chong-gai-cac-anh-tai-vui-choi-nhung-co-chien-luoc-185240613143220251.htm>.

Torrego, A, Gutiérrez-Martín, A & Hoechsmann, M 2021, ‘The Fine Line between Person and Persona in the Spanish Reality Television Show La isla de las tentaciones: Audience Engagement on Instagram’, Sustainability, vol. 13, Multidisciplinary Digital Publishing Institute, no. 4, pp. 1753–1753.

Kaplan, D & Kupper, Y 2017, ‘Toward an Interaction-Centered Approach to Media Events: Mediated Public Intimacy on the Reality TV ShowBig Brother’, Journal of Communication, vol. 67, Oxford University Press, no. 5, pp. 758–780.

Davis, JL 2019, ‘Authenticity, Digital Media, and Person Identity Verification’, Oxford University Press eBooks, Oxford University Press, pp. 93–112.