15 Best Quarter-Life Crisis Shows to Watch Right Now

In Please Like Me, twenty-year-old Josh (Josh Thomas) navigates love and adulthood alongside his friends and immediate family. He’s far from perfect, and his loved ones are far from always right, but the ups and downs they go through—as small-stakes as they may seem—are always familiar and relatable.

Please Like Me touches on modern issues and treats them both wryly and realistically so that the series never verges on either extreme. It’s charming and sensitive and bold, and the whiny arrogance that often curses millennial shows is balanced here thanks to smart self-deprecating jokes and tender characterizations. Despite its pleading title, Please Like Me is very easy to watch and, as such, very easy to love.

This Golden Globe-winning series is a comedy about, well, Ramy, an Egyptian-American who navigates an archetypal early-20s millennial life crisis, while being torn between what it means to be Muslim and to be American. With weird encounters at the mosque, overbearing, antisemitic uncles, kinky dates, and rampant drug use, it shines the spotlight on all the nooks and crannies of dual identities in 21st century America.

Both the show and its protagonist are named after its multi-award-winning creator Ramy Youssef, who was offered a show based on his own life after a successful career as a stand-up comedian. The soundtrack is also outstanding, combining tunes from well-known indie greats with obscure Middle Eastern funk. In addition to being hilarious, relatable, and deftly written, Ramy is a reminder of why diversity in storytelling matters. Not for PC points, but because it brings about original stories that make you walk in other people’s shoes while reflecting on universally human problems.

This British comedy is about Lady Parts, an all-female, all-Muslim Punk band. Their latest member is Amina, a Ph.D student who is a great guitar player but has a form of stage fright that gives her bursts of diarrhea and vomiting.

To add to this serious obstacle, Amina is also not very “punk”. The reason she joins Lady Parts is to score a blind date with the brother of one of the band members – in hopes of marrying him.

It’s a fun, unapologetic show that, like the Hulu hit Ramy, digs up the humour in the complexities of being young and Muslim in today’s world.

Arabella is a Twitter-famous writer from London who has one night to submit a draft of her second book. She gives herself an hour’s break that night to go out for a drink with a close friend. When she gets back, she realizes that far more than one hour had passed, that she had blacked out, and that she had bruises all over her body. Like the excellent Chewing Gum, the BBC/HBO miniseries I May Destroy You is a Michaela Coel one-woman show: she is the showrunner, the writer, co-director, and leading actress. And whatever Coel touches, she makes it personal and without compromises. I May Destroy you is based on her experience of being sexually assaulted while making Chewing Gum. To make sure she told this story right, she turned down a $1 million deal from Netflix over creative ownership. It is not only dizzyingly told and brave, but also original and funny. A timely drama if there ever was one!

This heartwarming comedy-drama is about two best friends in their 20s who are deaf. One of them is a graphic novelist going through a breakup and the other just got engaged but is hiding the news out of fear of making her friend feel bad.

The script is sharp and funny, and like any first big production from a minority group, it also feels fresh and original: the arcs are unlike anything seen before, and the characters are a joy to discover and watch.

The result is something that feels like an easy and fun story until it’s not: in the first episode, when one of them doesn’t immediately put their seatbelt on in a plane, the cops come in and restrain their hands (their only way of communicating) to drag them out.

The two leads are played by the creators of the show – the first deaf showrunners in TV history. When they were trying to find a title for the series, they landed on the sign ????, not a phrase, that captured the bond between the two friends. “We’re showing something that’s intertwined… [the “this close” sign is] a sign used for “best friends, “like this” or “this close”. So we came up with “this close” from that.”

As We See It centers on the perspectives of its three leads: Jack, Violet, and Harrison, twenty-something roommates who happen to be on the autism spectrum. Along with their caretaker Mandy and a small but loving group of friends and family, they embark on a journey of self-improvement that is sometimes heartwarming, sometimes heartbreaking, but always funny and kind.

Despite zeroing in on a very specific disorder, the struggles and accomplishments of As We See It’s characters feel universal and wholly relatable. The nuanced and refreshingly humane characterizations, along with an impressive balance of comedy and drama, are what make As We See It truly special. It is an underrated, enjoyable gem of a show, and quite digestible too since it only runs for eight episodes. 

Search Party starts off with a simple mystery: whatever happened to Chantal, that girl Dory (Alia Shawkat) barely knew in college? She’s been pronounced dead by authorities but Dory is sure she’s seen her alive just recently. With nothing else going on in her life, a life she imagined would be filled with big feats and adventures by now, Dory enlists the help of her fellow 20-something friends and decides to get to the bottom of the case.

What ensues is a terrific mystery—perfectly paced and twisted—elevated by Dory and company’s comic self-absorption, which buoys the story with great wit and humor. It’s both a self-contained mystery and a satire, and none overwhelms the other. 

As the series progresses, Search Party gets even deeper down the loony hole. The crimes get darker, the stakes get higher, and their sanities barely withstand the new cracks they get. But it also gets even more complex and interesting, with many things to say about our so-called lost generation, the millennial generation, who would rather solve mysteries and find simple cure-alls than look at ourselves in plain light.

Warning: this workplace series takes everything you hate about corporate life and mirrors it back to you with alarming clarity. It takes place in a morally corrupt multinational called Hampton DeVille, and we mostly follow “junior executives in training” Matt and Jake in their daily goings-on in the office. Sometimes, they’re able to cope by sneaking a nap here or making watercooler jokes there—absurd imaginings and occasional protests also help allay their boredom—but for the most part, they’ve given up on the system and are just trudging through the everyday. While Matt optimistically hopes for a better life outside the cubicle, Jake cynically lets him (and us) know that “There no way not to waste your life.”

Like Office Space and Better Off Ted before it, Corporate is endlessly nihilistic, but unlike them, it doesn’t have a redemptive moment where the protagonists find a silver lining in their jobs. No, Corporate is as bleak as it gets. But buoyed by ridiculous hilarity, sharp social commentary, and the insane ability to perfectly describe corporate life, it remains highly watchable, like a dystopian tragicomedy inching closer and closer to real life.

Sometimes, nothing beats the easygoing entertainment of watching two attractive characters flirt and fall in love on screen, or seeing a group of ride-or-die friends get into trouble together. HBO’s Insecure, which ran for five successful seasons, knows that it doesn’t need to exaggerate or put a subversive twist on the romantic comedy to find relatable and affecting storylines. The series stays mostly locked in to South Los Angeles, California as it follows Issa (Issa Rae) navigate the modern dating scene, try to settle on a career path, and manage her friendships as an ambitious and somewhat awkward thirtysomething Black woman.

Even if you don’t have much in common with Issa, Insecure is a massively comforting watch. Rae and co-creator Larry Wilmore have an impeccable eye for the messy, unspoken rules of social and romantic interaction that other shows might write off as too trivial. But this show lives and breathes in the ordinary, realistic problems—while still indulging in the warm and fuzzy feelings brought about by meeting someone new or seeing yourself grow up just a little more.

Imagine if the show Girls was Marvel-ized (or if you like, Derry Girls blended with Encanto): that’s kind of what this series is, but actually good.

It has all the trappings of a quarter-life-crisis sitcom—broke 25-year-olds with big dreams and little prospects living under one roof—while also being set in a world where everyday humans develop a superpower by the age of 18. The British series follows Jen, a late bloomer who has yet to find her power. Having had enough of sucky jobs and boyfriends, she sets out to discover her power in the hopes of finally knowing more about herself. It’s a bizarre premise with an authentic, endearing core that’s certainly worth checking out.

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend starts with a very familiar setup. A girl leaves town to follow a boy she loves, and along the way, she picks up a best friend who blindly supports her, a rival who gets in romance’s way, and a second guy who, little does she know, loves her for who she is. That girl, Rebecca Bunch (played by writer-creator Rachel Bloom), is our romcom hero, and she knows it. She views life as one big musical movie where she’s supposed to get the guy and live happily ever after. 

Except, in real life, things are never as simple—and people never as one-dimensional—as that. This confuses Rebecca, who then goes out of her way to craft the perfect happy ending, even if it means hurting people (including herself) along the way. 

In a series of wackily addictive songs, playfully subversive twists, and heart-aching breakthroughs, we join Rebecca as she learns to overcome her demons and live in the real world. Her journey to self-awareness and self-love can get frustratingly slow and surprisingly bleak, but it’s also deeply comforting and reassuring. 

Watch this if you’re interested in subversive takes on love, affecting female friendships, genuinely catchy tunes, proper mental health representation, and seeing reductive stereotypes, the “crazy ex-girlfriend” just being one of many, fleshed out and reclaimed with great aplomb.

Imagine if Showtime’s survival epic Yellowjackets was a comedy, and being stranded with your high school friends resulted not only in ethical and moral dilemmas but a lot of witty banter and major bonding as well.

Then you’d have something like Class of ‘07, an apocalyptic series with the irreverent humor of many millennial shows out there. It’s every bit as funny, addictive, and deep as you’d hope it would be, with the show excellently blending bleak circumstances with quirky jokes and hopeful epiphanies—kind of like how The Good Place manages to make a breezy comedy out of death and the afterlife. In fact, Class of ’07 is reminiscent of many comedic gems, including Derry Girls in its all-girls setup and Bridesmaids in its female-forward crassness. And like both stories, Class of ’07 offers heartwarming insights into the power and perplexity of female friendship.

Be that as it may, Class of ’07 is a distinct charmer. This Aussie show is delightful, hilarious, and utterly watchable in its own right.

In an early scene in Such Brave Girls, Josie (Kat Sadler) compares herself and her sister Billie (Lizzie Davidson) to a more attractive woman. “She’s live, love, laugh,” she says, “We’re death, silence, hate.” At this point, you’d think Sadler, who is also the creator and writer of the show, and Davidson, who is Sadler’s real-life sister, are the types to indulge in their sadness and romanticize their dysfunction. Though that happens to some degree, Sadler is self-aware enough to steer clear of wallow territory and offer something insightful about mental health and the ways we cope (or fail to, anyway). Parents who dismiss depression are called out, as are social workers and supposed experts who stereotype people with the illness. But weirdly enough, the show is never downright cynical. Josie is sweet enough to cut through the darkness, as are her ignorant and selfish though ultimately well-meaning family members. You’ll probably recall Broad City and Fleabag while watching Such Brave Girls because of its unapologetic approach to both sex and suicide, but maybe more than those two shows, Such Brave Girls is willing to root its themes deeper into reality. It almost never brings up mental health without contextualizing it in the family’s low-income state, making it one of the most relatable and urgent shows you can watch right now.

Sabi, a genderfluid millennial in their mid-20s, is in a bit of a quarter-life crisis. Between balancing odd jobs, leaving a clingy boyfriend, and coming out to their family, Sabi just doesn’t have enough time to think about their identity, whatever that may be. Sabi is accused of being guarded, and indeed, in the first couple of episodes only we the omnipresent audience are privy to Sabi’s crying spells and panic attacks. To everyone else, Sabi is the calm and collected friend who loves to help everyone but themself. 

Sort Of follows Sabi as they navigate adulthood, family, love, and self-expression in tender and funny ways. It has the slice-of-life vibe of shows like Better Things but with an even more low-key charm. Never in-your-face and always grounded and humane, Sort Of’s twenty-minute episodes make for a delightfully meaningful binge.

Every episode of Totally Completely Fine begins with a trigger warning, and rightly so—the show’s entire premise is about mental health, grief, and self-harm. Vivian, the lead (a captivating Thomasin McKenzie), is an orphan who goes on benders and ideates about killing herself. Things escalate when she inherits a cliffside house that doubles as a popular suicide spot and gains a prying (albeit good-natured) psychiatrist as a neighbor. All these elements, and a couple more, force her to confront her repressed trauma once and for all.

It sounds bleak, and it should be difficult to watch, but the show is a successful dark comedy. It strikes that rare deft balance between tragedy and comedy, highlighting painful truths with cutting humor and delivering jokes tinged with poignant insight. Vivian and her siblings are not entirely likable, but their brokenness and vulnerability make them all the more relatable, the perfect guides to hold your hand through this totally messy, completely enthralling, and finely compassionate show.