It isn’t nostalgia in the sentimental sense, and it isn’t an attempt to revisit the past. It’s the search for an atmosphere, for a tone that nothing else replicates quite as precisely. And the numbers confirm it: the habit is growing. RTÉ Player recorded a record-breaking 142 million streams in the past year — an increase of more than 40%. Live events still dominate the top rankings, but dramas and character-led series maintain their positions, and some titles remain active long after their official runs have ended.
Certain stories return every season. They don’t lose relevance, they don’t fade after a single binge, and they never slip fully out of conversation. They become the winter soundtrack — not because they are trendy, but because they have become part of the emotional architecture of the colder months.
Kin remains one of the most persistently revisited titles. Even after repeat viewings, its slow-burning tension, family conflict and razor-sharp performances hold together. What’s striking is how often it resurfaces specifically in winter: the pacing, the mood, the quiet intensity fit perfectly with long evenings and a slower rhythm.
Smother occupies a similar place. It isn’t rewatched for twists but for its sense of place: the coastal gloom, the restrained performances, the atmosphere of secrets under pressure. It never tries to be loud; it chooses precision over spectacle. That’s the kind of storytelling that lingers and returns when the season calls for it.
Among detective series, Harry Wild and Jack Taylor have achieved genuine comfort-status. Simple structure, charismatic leads, a tone that never overwhelms — the kind of series you put on “just for background” and realise two hours later you’re halfway through a season. That’s the mark of a true comfort-series: modest, unfussy, but surprisingly durable.
Documentary titles also experience strong second lives. Viewers return to social deep-dives and character portraits — from investigations to intimate narratives about people who define their surroundings. These films are rarely one-watch experiences; audiences revisit them to catch details, tone, subtext.
And then there are the annual fixtures — the programmes that define a season. The Late Late Toy Show remains the most-watched broadcast of the year, drawing more than 1.5 million viewers in its latest edition. It outperforms global premieres and blockbuster releases without effort. Rituals don’t require marketing. They anchor themselves through habit and cultural continuity.
Rewatching is not passive behaviour — it’s a way of choosing clarity over noise. With endless catalogues and algorithm-heavy feeds, returning to a familiar series becomes a decisive, intentional act. It’s not “playing it safe”; it’s choosing something that has already proven its worth. The data confirms it every year: the biggest rewatch spikes happen in November, December and January — the months when storytelling has to be not just entertaining, but tonally right.
What’s interesting is how quickly new releases now move into rewatch territory. Bodkin, for example, saw a second wave of viewership only weeks after its premiere. That rarely happens with global originals — an indication that stories built around emotional recognition have long-term staying power.
The rise of short-form drama reinforces this trend. Four- and six-episode arcs are rewatched far more often than long-format seasons. Compact storytelling creates a single emotional stroke, something viewers want to recreate without the weight of a 20-episode commitment. This format has quietly become the new winter standard. It’s no surprise that platforms continue to invest in tightly structured limited series.
Today, rewatching is no longer secondary. It’s a central part of viewing culture. Each year, the season shapes its own informal playlist — a mix of established favourites, recent discoveries and stories that find new life long after release. It becomes a kind of emotional calendar, built not on premieres but on familiar cues: the first windows lit for the holidays, the seasonal songs returning, the series that match the exact mood of this time of year.
The logic is simple: the world accelerates, media becomes louder, and long winters push viewers to choose stability over overload. That’s why rewatch season endures. It doesn’t need algorithms, campaigns or release dates. It exists because good stories don’t end when the credits roll. They keep working — every time someone returns to them.
Ask anyone in the middle of winter what they rewatch every year, and the answers will differ, but the meaning stays the same. People return to the stories that feel right. And the series capable of giving that feeling stay on the list forever.