When you think of Netflix, you may think of immovable cultural artifacts like Friends, or beloved original productions like Stranger Things, or oddly ratified blockbuster staples like Tiger King. And yet one of the biggest shows on Netflix, possibly ever, is a show you might not even be aware of. Ladies and gentlemen, that show is Cocomelon.
According to Forbes, Cocomelon recently broke a record by staying in the top 10 most-watched shows on Netflix for 62 days. That's longer than Avatar: The Last Airbender. It is longer than Ozark. It is longer than Tiger King, The Umbrella Academy and Love is Blind. So, what is this Cocomelón? A prestigious drama that offers an authentic look at an important social issue? A deliberately vulgar reality show about a mall concession stand? A true crime documentary about a monster known only as The Cocomelon Killer?
Stars: Kristen Princiotta, Ava Madison Gray, Hannah An
Well, no. It is a program for children. And in any case that is putting it loose. In fact, Cocomelon is a series of three-hour long children's song compilations. The first episode, Cocomelon Sing-Alongs: Playdate With JJ, begins with a song called First Day at School. Over a tune pitched hazily between Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and This Old Man He Played One, a little CGI boy (think Pixar via a debilitating radiation leak) expresses nerves about starting school. His family prepares him by incessantly instructing him on what he should take, what he should do, and the precise level of emotion he should experience. He goes to school. He's fine. The song ends. Three minutes have passed. Another 57 remain.
Look, Cocomelon isn't the kind of thing that stands up well to scrutiny. It's cloying, simplistic, and repetitive, and unless you're suffering from a very specific type of hangover, it's not designed for adult viewing. Some songs, like Father and Sons Day, where the little boy does sit-ups with some kind of Rob Lowe formaldehyde figure, are really unbearable to take. But guess that? They are not for you.
However, if you're a preschooler, this is like crack. The Cocomelon you see on Netflix is actually an edited reel of highlights from his YouTube channel; the second most watched channel on Earth, with 82 billion views and an annual advertising revenue of $120 million. And YouTube is where I was first introduced to Cocomelon. Between the ages of one and three, my kids absolutely devoured this stuff. It didn't matter that the characters floated weightless, as if they'd been shot in the back with a tranquilizer dart. It didn't matter that many of the songs followed the same fractured dream logic of a David Lynch movie. It didn't matter that every second of every song was launched with the kind of relentless, surface-level joy that seemed to overcompensate for some deep, irreparable psychological trauma.
The key to Cocomelon's success isn't that it's good, because no entity that's determined to pump an endless stream of Johnny Johnny Yes Papa variations into an already eager world can be considered good. No, the key to its success is that it is reliable enough. YouTube, especially YouTube for kids, is a scary desert. Unless you tread very, very carefully, you may end up seeing hideous text-to-speech abominations or compilations of Numberblocks where the Numberblocks swear or, and this is from personal experience, a thankfully now-removed Paw Patrol tribute cartoon where Chase was electrocuted and tortured
But with Cocomelon, you know what you're getting; a series of harmless, if slightly haunting songs that go on and on and on long enough to allow you to sneak off and cook dinner. It's the preschool equivalent of a mindfulness app, or a white noise machine, or a sideshow hypnotist who seems friendly enough to watch your kids while you go to the bathroom. And that's why Cocomelon is doing so well on Netflix. It's not because people like it. It's because it's a reliable enough stand-in when a parent just wants to go poop just for once in their god forsaken life.