Why you can’t like ‘Friends’ if you like ‘Seinfeld’

While at a basic level, both shows are about close-knit groups of friends, one could not be more different from the other

It began with a WhatsApp conversation with a friend the other day. We were talking about favourite TV shows, and the friend said she liked Friends, while I, desisting from saying what I usually do when the show is mentioned, simply said Seinfeld was my favourite. (I have many favourites. I thought of Seinfeld because both shows were popular at about the same time, and constantly pitted against each other.

When she responded, “OMG, I loveSeinfeld, too,” throwing caution to the winds, I remarked that it was an impossibility. She said, “Why not? Both shows are about close-knit groups of friends, aren’t they?”

While at a very basic level that could be a similarity, you can’t in any real sense like both Seinfeld and Friends, I posited (although I rarely posit, presuppose or predicate), presenting what I thought were strong pieces of evidence for why the twain would never meet. She responded with some evocative emojis. The discussion came to a civilised end.

Why did I find what my friend said so wrong? After all, that both shows are about a group of friends who spend all their time with each other is a pretty accurate summation, isn’t it? Because, while being an ‘accurate’ definition, it’s a woefully inadequate one.

While both shows are indeed paeans to old friendships and camaraderie — brought on more by exclusion than inclusion — Friends valorises, glamorises, idealises and romanticises togetherness, whereas Seinfeld unapologetically celebrates what such a brand of togetherness really is: utter selfishness.

Rachel, Ross, Monica, Chandler, Phoebe and Joey (arguably the most recognisable fictional names in TV history), in the vein of the Seven Dwarfs, could just as easily have been named Frivolous, Nerdy, Tight-ass, Snarky, Flaky and Thick, respectively, for that was how identifiably their makers branded them. But it wouldn’t require close examination to figure that despite their supposedly diverse ‘USPs’, they were all just the same person: loyal, reliable, giving, and selfless when the situation demands. And good-looking. They saw themselves that way, too, with no irony whatsoever. A diligent mix of these noble qualities, the show tells us, is the glue that holds them together. Plus their good looks, of course. They could each be with anyone they wanted; they chose to be with each other.

Jerry, Kramer, Elaine, and dear abominable George, on the other hand, are together — and stick together — because they are aware of each other’s and their own deep-rooted self-centredness. If they were to be named after their chief characteristics, they would be Subtly Selfish, Eccentrically Selfish, Timidly Selfish and Unabashedly Selfish. They don’t pretend to be anything else, and the writers don’t see them as anything but. The glue that holds this bunch together is convenience. Jerry, for a ‘persnickety’ guy, is a pretty tolerant one who allows his friends to traipse in and out of his apartment at will. And that becomes the meeting point for a bunch of misfits who have merely gravitated towards each other. Their togetherness hasn’t required much effort, nor has there been much choosing involved. But the most important factor of their inextricability is that no one else can tolerate them above a day.