I'm really not a TV junkie... OK, I kind of am a TV junkie, but

“I’m really not a TV junkie… OK, I kind of am a TV junkie, but I’m much more of a movie junkie—my junk food is romantic comedies I’ve seen a million times.” Thus confessed Alison Brie, and in her playful honesty lies a truth that touches on the very nature of comfort and the soul’s search for nourishment. She admits not merely to distraction, but to the ritual of returning again and again to familiar tales of love and laughter, as though they were bread and wine for the weary spirit.

The meaning of her words is deeper than indulgence. To call romantic comedies “junk food” is to reveal their paradox: they are light, predictable, sometimes dismissed as lacking substance, yet they bring joy, sweetness, and ease to the heart. Just as one reaches for sweets not to be filled, but to be comforted, so too do we reach for stories of affection and laughter not to be enlightened, but to be soothed. In this way, Brie’s confession reflects a timeless pattern: humans turn to familiar stories to restore balance when life becomes heavy.

The ancients also knew this craving for familiar delights. In Rome, the people would flock again and again to comedic plays, not because they were new, but because they were comforting. Plautus and Terence filled their stages with recurring tropes—the clever servant, the stubborn father, the mistaken lovers—and audiences rejoiced, even knowing the ending. The heart delights not only in novelty, but also in recognition. As Alison Brie admits to watching her favorite comedies “a million times,” she echoes the Roman crowds who found nourishment in repetition.

History is filled with souls who clung to such comforts. Consider Winston Churchill, who in the darkest days of war would listen to light music and comic operettas. Though his life was burdened with decisions of empire and death, he found solace in the predictable rhythms of songs and laughter. This is the same balm Brie finds in her films: a reminder that even amidst uncertainty, there are worlds where love triumphs, where laughter rings, where endings are happy. Such stories may not change the world, but they help the heart endure it.

Her words also speak of humility. She does not claim that romantic comedies are great philosophy or profound art, but she honors them for what they are: sources of joy. And is this not wisdom? For the soul cannot survive on solemnity alone. We may feast on tragedy and philosophy, but sometimes what we need is “junk food”—small pleasures that restore our spirits, that let us breathe and laugh before we return to the heavier burdens of life.

The lesson is clear: do not despise your comforts, however simple they may seem. Whether it is a familiar song, a worn book, or a film you know by heart, these small delights are not weakness, but strength. They remind you of joy, of hope, of the simplicity of love and laughter. In a world that often weighs heavily upon the soul, these comforts give you resilience.

Practical action flows from this truth: give yourself permission to revisit the stories that lift your heart. Do not scorn them as childish or unworthy. Make time for them when the world grows dark. But also remember balance: as junk food cannot be the only diet, so too must these delights be part of a greater feast of life—of deep learning, new experiences, and profound love.

So, children of tomorrow, remember Alison Brie’s playful confession. Find joy in your own “junk food” of the soul—those stories, songs, or rituals that bring you peace. For though they may be light, they are not trivial. They are reminders that joy itself is sacred, and that laughter, even repeated a million times, is never wasted.