Dear Readers,
After a long, overwhelming day at work, when I feel drained and just want to switch off, I usually unwind by reading a chapter from my book, cooking, or baking—activities that help take my mind off things. But over the years, I’ve also found solace in watching sitcoms. They’re an easy escape, offering a quick break from reality. While these shows don’t ask too much of me, I still do my research and read reviews, trying to include a bit of thought into this activity as well—just like I do with everything else in my life.
That said, I wouldn’t recommend binge-watching them. Sitcom characters are often caricatures—their behavior exaggerated and predictable, and the situations tend to repeat with only slight variations. While it can be fun to revisit these familiar dynamics occasionally, some characters are clearly offensive by today’s standards, or rely on humor rooted in outdated stereotypes or even forms of emotional or social abuse, masked as jokes.
In this post of Sincerely Doubt That… I’m sharing my personal take on sitcoms: The Nanny, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Big Bang Theory, Reba, Good Omens, The Good Place, How I Met Your Mother, Frasier, and Kevin Can F**k Himself. These are the ones I’ve enjoyed over the years, and the ones that I believe have either stood the test of time—or, in some cases, didn’t quite manage to age gracefully.
The Nanny – Still a Classic
My love for The Nanny actually began while I was writing my dissertation. To keep myself going and motivated, I came up with a small reward system: after every bit of progress, I’d take a break, grab a quick bite to eat, and watch an episode of The Nanny. To this day, when I'm working toward a deadline, I still rely on that rhythm—short rewards, a bit of food, and a comforting sitcom.
Over the years, The Nanny has been critiqued by some for its portrayal of Jewish women as overly focused on marriage, and for the way it depicts meddling mothers who seem to care about little else than marrying off their daughters. I understand that criticism, and I respect the cultural conversations around it—especially from people within the community who can speak to that experience more directly.
But for me, that’s not what The Nanny is about. Coming from—or simply understanding—close-knit cultural backgrounds, whether Jewish, Indian, Eastern European, or others, it’s common to see family life revolve around food, community events, and parents being involved in their adult children’s lives. It’s not necessarily about control, but care—sometimes overbearing, yes, but rooted in love and tradition.
I always enjoyed that dynamic in The Nanny. Fran’s character is loud, unapologetically herself, and endlessly gets into trouble that makes entertaining TV. The humor is fast-paced and smart, full of pop culture references and slapstick moments, but it also has heart. The chemistry between Fran and Mr. Sheffield gives the show a solid emotional core, and the ensemble cast—especially Niles and C.C.—bring the kind of sitcom magic that makes rewatching worth it.
In my opinion, The Nanny definitely holds up. It’s funny, stylish, self-aware, and though it’s very much a product of the '90s, its themes of belonging, love, and identity are still very relatable.
Brooklyn Nine-Nine – More Than Just a Cop Show
I have to admit, I really don’t like cop dramas. I tend to avoid them altogether—too intense, too formulaic, or just not my thing. But Brooklyn Nine-Nine is different. It’s not your typical cop show. At its core, it’s a smart, character-driven comedy that happens to be set in a police precinct.
I love the loyalty between Boyle and Jake—Boyle might be quirky and a bit much at times, but his devotion to Jake is genuine and often hilarious. And Jake himself? He actually grows throughout the series. He starts off immature, but gradually becomes more self-aware, responsible, and emotionally mature.
The show isn’t afraid to deal with real issues either. Two episodes in particular stand out to me.
One is the episode where Terry is out in front of his house at night, trying to retrieve something for his daughters, when another police officer stops and handcuffs him—purely due to racial profiling. Terry later files an official complaint. At first, Captain Holt, who is usually the voice of reason, hesitates to support the decision. He explains that he was taught to stay quiet, to progress by not making waves. It’s a powerful, nuanced look at the generational complexities within institutions, especially for Black officers.
The second moment that’s always stayed with me is when Rosa comes out as bisexual, and Holt responds with something so simple yet deeply moving:
"Every time someone steps up and says who they are, the world becomes a better, more interesting place."
I’ve quoted that line in a blog post about book banning—because it’s such a strong reminder of the importance of visibility and voice.
Though the show ended in 2021, Brooklyn Nine-Nine remains one of those sitcoms I find myself coming back to. It balances light-hearted comedy with emotional depth and social awareness in a way few shows manage to pull off. It’s absolutely worth revisiting from time to time.
How I Met Your Mother – A Sitcom That Never Reached Its Potential
How I Met Your Mother was never good enough—and it never quite lived up to the hype it built for itself. It had the potential to become something iconic, maybe even on the same level as Friends. That’s not just speculation—it premiered just a year after Friends ended, which shows that the network was clearly aiming to capture the same audience and cultural impact.
But ultimately, How I Met Your Mother collapsed under its own premise. The entire concept hinges on Ted Mosby telling a long, detailed story to his children about how he met their mother. What we got instead was nine seasons of every detour imaginable—about his friendships, relationships, and awkward romantic failures in New York City—only to find that the actual mother, played wonderfully by Cristin Milioti, barely appears toward the very end of the series. Then, just as viewers start to invest in her, she’s abruptly killed off (from an illness that’s never even explained), and Ted ends up getting back together with Robin. It feels like a giant slap in the face.
Don’t get me wrong—I understand that no ending will satisfy everyone. But this wasn’t just about subverting expectations. It felt careless. If you build your entire show around the promise of a singular emotional payoff—the moment Ted meets the mother—then that moment should be the finale. It should be the emotional reward for the audience’s investment, not something you rush through and undo minutes later. Instead, we got an ending that made the whole journey feel pointless.
That said, there are a few bright spots. I always loved Lily and Marshall as a couple. They are the few exception who grew up together and stayed together. They met in their first year of college, and over time, they’ve learned how to navigate life’s ups and downs as a team. They know each other very well, support each other, and I definitely find it appealing.
On the other hand, there is Barney... His character is one of the biggest problems. He’s shallow, sexualised, and completely devoid of emotional depth for most of the series. He sleeps with women without care, lies to them, manipulates them, and discards them like used tissues. It doesn’t read as “funny womanizer”—it reads as sexist. Yes, the “playbook” was cleverly written and his over-the-top delivery (everything is “legendary”) had its moments—but when you look past the style, there’s not much substance. It’s a caricature of toxic masculinity, and it's aged poorly.
So, while How I Met Your Mother has its entertaining moments—and sure, the occasional episode is fine to revisit—watching the whole thing is ultimately disappointing. The ending leaves a bad taste, and for a show that teased emotional depth, it just didn’t deliver.
The Big Bang Theory – Imperfect but Intelligent, and a Comfort Show All the Same
My love for The Big Bang Theory only deepened when a former colleague and I bonded over our shared love for the show. It became a light, common interest—something to talk about that wasn’t work-related—and maybe that’s part of why I view the series with more forgiving eyes than some might.
Yes, it’s been rightly pointed out that some jokes haven’t aged well—there are definitely moments of misogyny and casual racism that stand out more now than they did when the show first aired. But I think it’s also important to acknowledge context and intention. Sheldon, played by the brilliant Jim Parsons, has never been officially diagnosed with anything in the show, but it’s clear that he struggles with social cues, empathy, and emotional expression. His inappropriate remarks often stem from this, and while that doesn’t excuse them entirely, it frames them differently.
For me, the other characters—Leonard, Penny, Raj, Howard, Amy, and Bernadette—bring a nice balance. They’re more emotionally nuanced, and I genuinely appreciate the humor that comes from watching highly intelligent (and socially awkward) people navigate life and relationships. I’m also constantly impressed by the talent of the cast: Jim Parsons learned to play the theremin, Mayim Bialik actually plays the harp, Simon Helberg does fantastic impressions. Sometimes I even find myself doodling Thor and Dr. Jones, or Sheldon playing Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen on the theremin.
The show had amazing guest stars, witty science references, and a kind of nerdy charm that was rare on mainstream TV at the time. The only thing I really disliked was the ending—it felt overly "American", with the classic awards speech as a moment of emotional climax. For me, that was a tired cliché, not a satisfying wrap-up for a show I otherwise enjoyed so much.
But then again, endings are really hard to get right, and showmakers can’t make everyone happy.
Reba – A Sitcom That Mistakes Misery for Comedy
Reba is often framed as a heartwarming sitcom about resilience, but when you look a little closer, it’s actually a story about a woman whose life completely unravels—while everyone around her expects her to just deal with it… and smile.
The series starts with a trial separation between Reba and her husband, but before anything can even be processed, she finds out he’s been having an affair—with his not-so-bright dental hygienist—and she’s pregnant. If that’s not enough, Reba’s teenage daughter also ends up pregnant around the same time. From the first few episodes, you already see that this isn’t going to be a feel-good story of personal growth—it’s about Reba being emotionally bombarded from every direction.
What makes it worse is how little space she’s given to grieve or recover. Her ex-husband and his new wife (the mistress-turned-pregnant-wife) are always around. They’re in her space, in her life, and eventually even move in just a few doors down. Reba is constantly dragged into their marital drama and expected to mediate, support, or simply tolerate it. It’s a suffocating setup that never really gives her emotional autonomy.
And then there’s her teenage daughter, who is portrayed as incredibly selfish and naturally unprepared for motherhood or navigating married life and just like her father, hardly takes responsibility for her actions —leaving Reba to pick up the pieces that doesn’t bode well. It’s exhausting to watch.
The show positions all of this as comedy. But what’s funny about a woman being forced to clean up everyone else’s mess, all while navigating betrayal, single motherhood, and emotional burnout? The laughs come at the cost of Reba’s well-being, and honestly, that’s not entertaining—it’s bleak.
Reba could have explored these themes with emotional depth or even used humor as a tool for empowerment. Instead, it leans into the trope of the overburdened housewife who has to stay strong for everyone else, without ever being allowed to break down herself. That’s not comedy. That’s just sad.
Frasier – Snobbery, Neuroses, and Timeless Charm
Frasier is one of those sitcoms that, on paper, shouldn’t be as beloved as it is. Two highly educated, painfully snobbish brothers navigating upper-class Seattle with their noses in the air? It sounds like a recipe for pretension. And yet, despite the privilege, the arrogance, and the opera references, the show works—brilliantly.
At the center is Dr. Frasier Crane, a respected psychiatrist trying (and often failing) to navigate life post-divorce, while hosting a radio show full of other people’s problems. What quickly becomes clear is that even someone with years of education and professional insight can be just as lost, neurotic, and emotionally messy as the rest of us. And that’s where the charm begins.
Frasier’s brother, Niles, is even more refined and out-of-touch—borderline caricature at times—but again, the writers somehow manage to make him endearing. A huge part of that is the grounding presence of their father, Marty Crane, a retired police officer who couldn’t care less about wine varietals or abstract art. He’s practical, down-to-earth, and endlessly patient (well, mostly)—and serves as a perfect counterbalance to his sons’ dramatic flair. His role isn’t just comic relief; he’s the emotional anchor that keeps the whole show from floating off into elitist absurdity.
Then, of course, there’s Daphne and Niles. Their slow-burn romance develops over six seasons, yet it never feels forced or artificially extended. It feels earned. Given Niles’ personality—shy, obsessive, socially awkward—the gradual build-up makes sense. And Daphne, grounded and quirky in her own right, gives the story heart. The writers milked the tension for just long enough without it becoming stale, and when they finally get together, it’s satisfying, not rushed.
Frasier absolutely stands the test of time. It’s smart, well-paced, and emotionally intelligent, with characters that grow in subtle ways. Even when you laugh at their ridiculousness, you still care deeply for them. That’s what makes a sitcom great—not just jokes, but depth.
Black-ish – Smart, Bold, and the Representation We Deserve
I recently started watching Grown-ish, the spin-off of Black-ish, and I liked it so much that I decided to go back and rewatch the original series. And honestly, I’m glad I did. Black-ish is more than just a sitcom—it’s a smart, layered, and unapologetically bold show that educates while it entertains. It invites us into the everyday lives of an upper-middle-class Black American family and shows how they navigate their identity, their history, and their place in a world that doesn’t always know how to see them.
The writing is sharp, the characters are fully realized, and the delivery is on point. But what really stands out is how Black-ish manages to weave in difficult, complex conversations—about race, class, politics, education, and family—without ever losing its heart or humour. That’s no easy feat, and I deeply admire the creators for pulling it off so consistently.
As a Roma woman, watching Black-ish leaves me with admiration… and envy. I would love to see a show like this about Roma people—something thoughtful, modern, culturally specific, and empowering. Sadly, when Roma culture is depicted on screen, especially by non-Roma creators, it’s often misrepresented, stereotyped, or even appropriated. Just look at shows like Gypsy (which has absolutely nothing to do with Roma people), which also proves how the slur “gypsy” gets thrown around in Hollywood with zero accountability. Meanwhile, actual Roma voices are rarely given the platform to tell our own stories.
Black-ish proves that representation matters—and not just for visibility, but for nuance, accuracy, and pride. It’s groundbreaking in the best sense of the word: it challenges assumptions, pushes conversations forward, and still manages to make you laugh. I only wish more cultures, including mine, had the chance to be represented with such dignity and depth.
Mike & Molly – Missed Potential and Misdirection
With Mike & Molly, I genuinely wanted to love it. Melissa McCarthy and Billy Gardell are both incredibly likable actors, and with the risk of sounding patronising, their weight wasn’t even a factor for me. I was in it for the characters—two kind, decent people who deserved to find love. And in the early episodes, that premise really did have heart.
But as the series went on, it shifted. What I didn’t sign up for was the constant and frankly off-putting focus on bodily issues—particularly those involving Mike’s mother. Her character became a recurring source of crude jokes that just didn’t land for me, especially when you're trying to relax or eat while watching. It took the warmth out of the story and replaced it with something that felt more like discomfort.
Then there’s Molly’s sister and her constant marijuana use, which was played purely for laughs. While I’m not against exploring drug use in comedy, the portrayal here felt careless—especially considering how marijuana can potentially affect the female body in ways that were never acknowledged (it can interfere with hormonal balance, menstrual cycles, and even mood). The show just presented it as one big "fun" quirk without any thought to nuance.
In the end, I wouldn’t recommend Mike & Molly—not because of the main couple, who I still think had potential, but because the show veered too far into cheap gags and ignored the emotional richness it could’ve leaned into.
Good Omens – When Heaven and Hell Take a Tea Break
Good Omens is one of my favourite limited series—just six episodes, yet it offers so much: wit, depth, warmth, and a surprising amount of emotional weight. It follows the unlikely and slowly evolving friendship between an angel (Aziraphale, played by Michael Sheen) and a demon (Crowley, played by David Tennant), two absolutely brilliant British actors. Over the centuries, they quite literally waltz through time together, and their bond—built on shared experience, small acts of defiance, and mutual fondness—becomes something much more profound than what their labels suggest.
Raised as a Christian, I was taught to believe in a world that was black and white: good or evil, nothing in between. But Good Omens completely turns that concept on its head in a way that I found both freeing and thought-provoking. Crowley may be a demon, but he is far from irredeemable—he questions orders, protects the Earth, and cares deeply about Aziraphale. The idea that someone born to be “bad” can change, grow, and even do good is powerful. It also reflects a deeper theological idea: Hell itself was born not from monstrous intent, but from rebellion—angels who once served the light made a different choice.
I didn’t care for the conservative petition against the show when it came out. Instead, what really stood out to me was the way the Antichrist, Adam, is reminded that he is not the incarnation of Heaven or Hell, but of humanity. That he is, above all, human—and within that, lies the capacity for both good and bad. That’s such a beautiful, complex, and mature idea: we are not defined by pure categories, but by the choices we make.
Add to that the stunning production, clever writing, and God as a narrator—voiced by Frances McDormand, no less—and Good Omens becomes something truly special. It’s whimsical, thoughtful, and unexpectedly moving. I absolutely loved it.
The Good Place – A Refreshing, Thought-Provoking Journey
Most sitcoms follow a predictable pattern, with familiar scenarios and outcomes we can anticipate from the very beginning. But The Good Place? That show completely subverted my expectations. By the end of the first season, there’s a plot twist that left me completely speechless—something I never saw coming, which, in a world oversaturated with content, is incredibly rare. I won’t spoil anything for those who haven’t seen it, but if you’re looking for a show that genuinely surprises you, The Good Place is a must-watch.
What really drew me into The Good Place was how well-rounded and essential the characters are. Every single one has their own purpose and worth. In particular, the show brilliantly explores the idea of the afterlife through a unique lens. The concepts of Heaven and Hell vary dramatically across different religions and cultures, but the show focuses on how the choices we make on Earth ripple into the afterlife, often with unintended consequences. It’s a poignant take on how even our small daily decisions have bigger impacts, and the complexity of navigating a morally ambiguous world.
Take something as simple as buying a tomato—it might seem trivial, but if it’s grown in a greenhouse with underpaid labor and environmental costs, your choice ends up contributing to larger societal issues. It’s a lot to grapple with, especially when you feel like you’re trying your best, but circumstances make it difficult to live a perfectly sustainable life. This is where The Good Place shines. The show acknowledges these struggles and presents a comforting notion: You’re not inherently a bad person for the complications of modern life. Maybe, in the afterlife, we can work through those obstacles and continue growing.
One of the most memorable moments for me was in season 3, when Eleanor, feeling lost, asks Janet to give her the answer to the universe. What Janet says in response is a quote that has stuck with me ever since:
"If there were an answer I could give you to how the universe works, it wouldn't be special. It would just be machinery fulfilling its cosmic design. It would just be a big, dumb food processor. But since nothing seems to make sense, when you find something or someone that does, it's euphoria. In all this randomness and this pandemonium, you and Chidi found each other, and you had a life together. Isn't that remarkable?"
This, to me, encapsulates the heart of The Good Place. It’s not about finding a tidy answer to life’s messiness. It’s about finding meaning in the chaos, the connections we make, and the small moments that give life purpose. The show’s exploration of the human condition, morality, and personal growth is one of the most refreshing takes I’ve seen in a long time.
According to Jim – A Sitcom That Hasn’t Aged Well
Let’s just say According to Jim is not my cup of tea. It gives off strong “made for checked-out dads” energy—the kind of show where doing the bare minimum as a husband or father is treated like a punchline, or worse, a triumph. The premise seems built around letting a certain kind of viewer sit back, watch Jim bumble through life, and say, “Haha, I relate,” without ever being asked to reflect on what that means.
The show leans heavily on tired gender stereotypes and low-effort humor. Jim, the central character, regularly acts selfishly or immaturely, and it’s all played for laughs—without much consequence, growth, or introspection. For a long time, this kind of setup was considered standard sitcom fare. But once you start looking closer—especially after watching a show like Kevin Can F**k Himself—you begin to see how much these dynamics rely on outdated, and frankly frustrating, tropes.
Kevin Can F**k Himself is brilliant precisely because it deconstructs that formula. It pulls back the curtain on the “lovable idiot husband” trope and shows the emotional labor and erasure that often come with it. The show flips the script by focusing on the woman typically stuck in the background of these stories—asking what her reality looks like when the laugh track fades. What once passed as harmless now feels increasingly hollow, even unsettling, when viewed through this lens.
After watching Kevin Can F**k Himself, it’s hard to see According to Jim in the same way. What once felt like easy background entertainment now reads as tone-deaf. And it’s not just a matter of personal taste—it’s about how certain narratives have been normalized for too long, often at the expense of the women and children they claim to represent. The sitcom may have been a product of its time, but that doesn’t mean we can’t hold it up to the light now and ask better questions.
Sitcoms offer a little something for everyone. Whether you're drawn to dark humor, quirky characters, or even the portrayal of less-than-ideal fathers, there's always something that resonates with each viewer. We all seek something different from these shows—be it a moment of laughter or a deeper exploration of complex characters who transcend the typical boundaries of a sitcom. That said, it’s always a good idea to read up on the show before you commit to the journey with these characters, as some may surprise you in ways you didn’t expect.
It’s also important to recognise that not all sitcoms age well. As the world around us changes, some shows, which may have once felt funny or comforting, can now feel outdated, offensive, or downright anger-inducing. These outdated elements no longer provide the release or joy we might be looking for, and instead, they can leave us frustrated. So, before diving into an old favorite, it’s worth considering how it holds up to the standards of today.
One last thing: it’s so easy to turn on the TV and watch something instead of taking the dog for a walk, calling a friend you haven’t spoken to in a while, practicing a language, baking something you’ve always wanted to try but never made time for, or doing any of those other small things that could make your day more fulfilling. Sometimes, it’s worth taking a moment to think about what truly contributes to your well-being, rather than just opting for the quick fix of a sitcom.
However, talking about the streaming industry and its impact on us sounds like a blog post topic for another day.
Yours Sincerely
BB
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