How to Waste 20 Years in "One Day"

Unidelics !
Jul 11
5 min read

The 2024 Netflix romantic drama based on the David Nicholls novel, spans 14 episodes and nearly two decades — and still manages to say less than most TikToks.

You ever watched two people talk for 20 years and say absolutely nothing?

Welcome to One Day — Netflix’s gorgeously shot, emotionally vacant adaptation of David Nicholls’ novel, where beautiful people age one haircut at a time while whispering sweet nothings across decades.

Emma is played by Ambika Mod and Dexter by Leo Woodall — both talented, both trapped in a script that refuses to let them grow.

They meet. They hug. They almost kiss. They drift. They cry. They die.

No big ideas. No fights worth remembering. No actual change. Just vibes, nostalgia porn, and enough wistful piano music to sedate a horse.

This show wants you to believe it’s deep because it spans 20 years.

But you can scroll Instagram for 20 years and end up with more personal growth.

What actually happens

(a.k.a. 14 Episodes of Soft Lighting and No Spine)

It’s 1988. Emma’s bookish and sarcastic. Dexter’s hot and useless.

They meet on graduation night, almost sleep together, don’t, and instead form a spiritual connection — you know, the kind where you don’t say what you want but keep orbiting each other like emotionally repressed planets.

Every year, on July 15, we check in.

And what do we see?

Emma changes jobs. Dexter changes shirts.

That’s it. That’s the whole show.

Sometimes they date other people. Sometimes they break up with those people.

We watch Emma try to write, fail, settle for teaching, then slowly gain confidence. Meanwhile, Dexter becomes a shallow TV host, falls apart, gets married, has a kid, then drinks his way out of it. The show wants this to feel like life, but it skips the actual tension — there’s no grappling with ambition, burnout, class mobility, or even the moral rot of fame.

Just neat little annual vignettes where they almost talk about something real… and then don’t.

But here’s the worst part:

At no point do these two humans ever challenge each other’s worldview.

They don’t debate politics. They don’t reckon with class. They don’t even ask each other hard questions.

They just… float. In parallel. Forever.

Until, of course, SPOILER — the creative team kills Emma.

Suddenly. Tragically. She dies as a plot device, not a person. Her death isn’t a culmination — it’s a cheap crescendo in a story that forgot to crescendo. It’s there simply to make you cry and forget that you spent seven hours watching a glorified lukewarm email thread.

What This Show Gets Wrong About Time

Time isn’t scenery.

It’s pressure. It’s choice. It’s cost.

But One Day treats time like wallpaper — gently fading in the background while the characters stay largely the same, just a bit sadder and better dressed.

There’s no internal reckoning. No external stakes.

Just two people in beautifully lit rooms, failing to grow.

And yes — you can tell me it’s realistic. That people drift. That we sabotage what we want.

Sure. But realism without insight is just repetition.

One Day spans 20 years without a single true transformation.

Not in love, not in identity, not in ideology.

This isn’t a story about evolution. It’s a montage of emotional constipation.

Let’s talk about a story that gets it.

Same Time, Next Year — Bernard Slade’s 1975 play (later a film, and yes, a Soviet cult hit too) — uses the exact same structure:

Two people. One day. Every year. For decades.

But here’s the difference: they change.

George and Doris don’t just swap hairstyles and wait for fate.

They argue. They confess. They contradict themselves.

They live through wars, elections, affairs, therapy, religion, feminism, failure — and it all shows. In their language. In their bodies. In their choices.

One year George shows up devastated by Vietnam, Doris shows up newly empowered by women’s lib. Another year, he’s grieving a dead son; she’s thriving in business but disconnected from her family. These aren’t just updates. These are collisions. You feel the passage of time — not just in what’s changed, but in what no longer fits.

You see Doris evolve from a Catholic housewife to a radicalized businesswoman.

You see George go from a guilt-ridden accountant to a man forced to confront his emotional cowardice.

Time isn’t a backdrop. It’s a force.

Every scene is a reckoning.

Every year they return, they’re a little less certain — and a little more human.

That’s how you write a 20-year arc.

That’s how you respect the viewer’s time.

And That’s Where the Real Difference Is

Same Time, Next Year doesn’t just give you a romance.

It gives you a mirror.

You watch these two people navigate actual change — not because they wanted to, but because the world made them.

Because time makes demands. And if you don’t respond, it will roll over you anyway.

So watching One Day right after Same Time, Next Year feels like stepping into a beautiful coma.

Everything looks meaningful, but nothing evolves.

And that’s not just a failure of storytelling.

That’s how most people are living their lives right now.

Are You in Sync with Time — or Just Aging Through It?

Let’s be honest: very few of us are still living in the same world we started our careers in.

The job market changed.

The economy cracked.

Your energy shifted. Your priorities shifted.

Maybe your confidence did too.

But you — what did you change?

Because if your story still sounds like it’s coming from 2015 or even 2020, you’re not adapting.

You’re drifting.

Same desk. Same thoughts. Same “maybe next year.”

Except next year is already booked. With someone else’s plan.

This Is Why I Created Career Diagnostics

This isn’t therapy. It’s not motivational garbage either.

It’s a 30-minute check-in for grown-ups who feel the ground shifting but don’t have a map.

We figure out: What game are you still playing — and has the game already changed?

Because if you’re not in sync with your time, your talent gets wasted.

Just like Dex and Emma.

Just like One Day — beautiful, wistful, full of potential, and going absolutely nowhere.

Emma waited. Dexter wandered.

And One Day romanticized the idea that time will shape you without your consent. That if you just hold on long enough, something beautiful might happen.

The 2024 Netflix romantic drama based on the David Nicholls novel, spans 14 episodes and nearly two decades — and still manages to say less than most TikToks.

You ever watched two people talk for 20 years and say absolutely nothing?

Welcome to One Day — Netflix’s gorgeously shot, emotionally vacant adaptation of David Nicholls’ novel, where beautiful people age one haircut at a time while whispering sweet nothings across decades.

Emma is played by Ambika Mod and Dexter by Leo Woodall — both talented, both trapped in a script that refuses to let them grow.

They meet. They hug. They almost kiss. They drift. They cry. They die.

No big ideas. No fights worth remembering. No actual change. Just vibes, nostalgia porn, and enough wistful piano music to sedate a horse.

This show wants you to believe it’s deep because it spans 20 years.

But you can scroll Instagram for 20 years and end up with more personal growth.

What actually happens

(a.k.a. 14 Episodes of Soft Lighting and No Spine)

It’s 1988. Emma’s bookish and sarcastic. Dexter’s hot and useless.

They meet on graduation night, almost sleep together, don’t, and instead form a spiritual connection — you know, the kind where you don’t say what you want but keep orbiting each other like emotionally repressed planets.

Every year, on July 15, we check in.

And what do we see?

Emma changes jobs. Dexter changes shirts.

That’s it. That’s the whole show.

Sometimes they date other people. Sometimes they break up with those people.

Just neat little annual vignettes where they almost talk about something real… and then don’t.

But here’s the worst part:

At no point do these two humans ever challenge each other’s worldview.

They don’t debate politics. They don’t reckon with class. They don’t even ask each other hard questions.

They just… float. In parallel. Forever.

Until, of course, SPOILER — the creative team kills Emma.

Suddenly. Tragically. She dies as a plot device, not a person. Her death isn’t a culmination — it’s a cheap crescendo in a story that forgot to crescendo. It’s there simply to make you cry and forget that you spent seven hours watching a glorified lukewarm email thread.

What This Show Gets Wrong About Time

Time isn’t scenery.

It’s pressure. It’s choice. It’s cost.

But One Day treats time like wallpaper — gently fading in the background while the characters stay largely the same, just a bit sadder and better dressed.

There’s no internal reckoning. No external stakes.

Just two people in beautifully lit rooms, failing to grow.

And yes — you can tell me it’s realistic. That people drift. That we sabotage what we want.

Sure. But realism without insight is just repetition.

One Day spans 20 years without a single true transformation.

Not in love, not in identity, not in ideology.

This isn’t a story about evolution. It’s a montage of emotional constipation.

Let’s talk about a story that gets it.

Same Time, Next Year — Bernard Slade’s 1975 play (later a film, and yes, a Soviet cult hit too) — uses the exact same structure:

Two people. One day. Every year. For decades.

But here’s the difference: they change.

George and Doris don’t just swap hairstyles and wait for fate.

They argue. They confess. They contradict themselves.

They live through wars, elections, affairs, therapy, religion, feminism, failure — and it all shows. In their language. In their bodies. In their choices.

You see Doris evolve from a Catholic housewife to a radicalized businesswoman.

You see George go from a guilt-ridden accountant to a man forced to confront his emotional cowardice.

Time isn’t a backdrop. It’s a force.

Every scene is a reckoning.

Every year they return, they’re a little less certain — and a little more human.

That’s how you write a 20-year arc.

That’s how you respect the viewer’s time.

And That’s Where the Real Difference Is

Same Time, Next Year doesn’t just give you a romance.

It gives you a mirror.

You watch these two people navigate actual change — not because they wanted to, but because the world made them.

Because time makes demands. And if you don’t respond, it will roll over you anyway.

So watching One Day right after Same Time, Next Year feels like stepping into a beautiful coma.

Everything looks meaningful, but nothing evolves.

And that’s not just a failure of storytelling.

That’s how most people are living their lives right now.

Are You in Sync with Time — or Just Aging Through It?

Let’s be honest: very few of us are still living in the same world we started our careers in.

The job market changed.

The economy cracked.

Your energy shifted. Your priorities shifted.

Maybe your confidence did too.

But you — what did you change?

Because if your story still sounds like it’s coming from 2015 or even 2020, you’re not adapting.

You’re drifting.

Same desk. Same thoughts. Same “maybe next year.”

Except next year is already booked. With someone else’s plan.

This Is Why I Created Career Diagnostics

This isn’t therapy. It’s not motivational garbage either.

It’s a 30-minute check-in for grown-ups who feel the ground shifting but don’t have a map.

We figure out: What game are you still playing — and has the game already changed?

Because if you’re not in sync with your time, your talent gets wasted.

Just like Dex and Emma.

Just like One Day — beautiful, wistful, full of potential, and going absolutely nowhere.

Emma waited. Dexter wandered.

And One Day romanticized the idea that time will shape you without your consent. That if you just hold on long enough, something beautiful might happen.

But time doesn’t shape you.

Your choices do.