The daytime talk show was one of the more dependable forms of American television for the most of the 1990s and 2000s. For twenty-five seasons, Oprah ran. The View developed into a legitimate cultural institution. A thirteen-year franchise was established by Ellen DeGeneres. Because it was less expensive to produce than primetime drama, consistently profitable through syndication, and able to create the kind of watercooler conversation that marketers need, the format appeared to be nearly impervious to economic downturns. Then a number of things happened at once, and today big networks are canceling series that ten years ago would have been considered safe bets.
Sherri and The Kelly Clarkson Show are two of the more recent losses, although they are hardly outliers. Something structural is reflected in them. As cable viewing drops and cord-cutting increases, syndication revenue—the money networks make from selling daytime programs to regional affiliates around the nation—has been progressively declining. It is impossible to undo the changes in the advertising landscape that once made daytime dependable. Housewives can now be more accurately and affordably reached by brands via internet platforms instead of noon chat shows. Simply said, the arithmetic that supported the genre for decades is no longer valid.
The audience did not vanish. It shifted. And it’s instructive where it moved. A large portion of the demand for conversational, personality-driven content that daytime television once met has been satiated by niche podcasts, but they have done so without the network restrictions, the oversight of broadcast standards, the heavily scripted segments, or the advertising dependencies that shaped what daytime shows could truly be. Without a producer in the background worrying about the twelve-minute commercial break format, a podcast on parenting after divorce, managing chronic illness, or true crime in a particular area can go as deep as its audience wishes.
Although the authenticity argument is stated so frequently that it runs the risk of becoming overused, it has merit. Daytime television always had to balance the demands of its viewers with those of its advertisers and the network. A rising percentage of viewers believed that the broadcasts were sanitized in ways they no longer had to tolerate as a result of that bargain. None of those negotiations are necessary for a podcast. It may involve two people discussing a topic that would never be covered in a pitch meeting during the day for ninety minutes.
More lately, podcasts have evolved from being solely audio. The genre is becoming more and more similar to what daytime television used to accomplish, but without the costly studio infrastructure, the wardrobe departments, or the floor directors, thanks to the video podcast, which records talks for YouTube, Spotify, and audio outlets. The set by Joe Rogan is purposefully unimpressive. That is both aesthetically pleasing and a statement about the medium’s position in relation to traditional transmission. The living room, which daytime television once thought of as its own realm, is now contested territory due to the significant increase in smart TV watching of podcast material.
Politicians and celebrities have taken note. The guests who used to base their promotional calendars on morning and daytime television slots, such as the campaign trail, record release, and book tour circuits, are now making appearances on podcasts with viewership that can equal or surpass that of a daytime show. The reservation agents have adjusted. The studios have adjusted their calibration. It remains to be seen if the networks will catch up or if cheaper filler programming will continue to supplant the afternoon period. However, the direction has been obvious long enough that it would be an understatement to describe it as a trend.
