In the early 2000s, my mom and I fell in love with the Gilmore Girls. It was fast-paced, funny, gut-wrenching, and starred a mother-daughter team that we adored. I was about Rory’s age when the show originally aired, and I naturally identified with her. Plenty of the details were different, but the broad strokes felt similar. When it was announced that Netflix would be doing a mini-season of the show, I was incredibly excited. The characters had been so compelling, and it’s something that I think a variety of shows could do well with – we want to know what happened to those characters we knew and loved, but I’m not exactly prepared to jump into a whole series revival.
In anticipation of the show’s return, Netflix has all seven seasons of the Gilmore Girls available for binging. I avoided it for a while when it was added, but I’ve started watching it again, and I’m making pretty good progress. I’ve justified it as being good preparation for the new season; I want to make sure all the details are fresh in my head when the mini-season airs. But I think it’s been having a strange effect on me this time around.