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Your personal hate-watch might center on frontiersmen, zombies, finance bros or blind romances, but the principle is the same: You can only hate what could have been great.
你个人的“恨追”剧集主题可能主要是西部拓荒者、僵尸、金融精英或盲目恋爱，但原则是一样的：你只能恨那些本可以伟大的影视剧。
You hate it more because it’s getting shoved at you by an algorithm.
因为这些剧是由算法推送给你的，所以你更讨厌它了。
And in fact, someone else might unironically love your hate-watch.
事实上，其他人可能会不带任何讽刺意味地真心喜欢你恨追的剧。
It might even get nominated for Emmys.
它甚至可能获得过艾美奖提名。
That means that hate-watching is in the eye of the beholder.
这意味着不同的人对恨追有不同的看法。
It’s also a fairly recent phenomenon, one that the flexibility of streaming services, unbound from the strictures of TV schedules, further enables.
恨追也是一个相当新近的现象，灵活的流媒体不受电视节目表的束缚，进一步促成了这一现象。
Yes, hate-watching predated streaming dominance.
是的，在流媒体占据主导地位之前就已经存在恨追了。
The New Yorker critic Emily Nussbaum popularized the phrase writing about NBC’s “Smash,” which premiered in 2012, back when there were far fewer platforms, and linear TV channels still tended to air shows first.
《纽约客》的评论家艾米丽·努斯鲍姆在写美国全国广播公司NBC的《名声大噪》剧评时推广了这个说法，该剧于2012年首播，当时流媒体平台很少，线性的电视频道仍然是电视剧的首播平台。
But now, when you can binge a lousy season in an insomniac haze, or flick on a show while you play Tetris on your phone, or just catch up with an episode on your own timetable, the temptation to alternate your eye-rolls with the “play next” button can prove irresistible.
但是现在，你可以在失眠的阴云中一口气看完一整季烂剧，可以在手机上玩俄罗斯方块的时候打开一个剧，也可以只是按照自己的节奏追一集更新，于是你会忍不住地交替翻白眼和点击“播放下一集”按钮。
Tech companies recognize an unfortunate truth: incentivizing our worst impulses is far more lucrative than harnessing our best ones.
科技公司认识到一个不幸的事实：刺激我们最负面的冲动远比利用我们最正面的冲动更有利可图。
In this context-free void, an eyeball is an eyeball, whether the brain behind it is being flooded with dopamine or adrenaline.
在这种不需要背景的虚空中，眼球就是眼球，无论眼球背后的大脑是被多巴胺还是被肾上腺素淹没。
A click is a click, whether you’re glad or mad.
一次点击就是一次点击，无论你是快乐还是愤怒。
There are plenty of reasons to avoid hate-watching.
有很多理由让人不要恨追烂剧。
It will mess up your algorithm, for one, and soon you’ll only get recommendations for similar shows, which presumably you’ll also hate.
首先，这样做会打乱你的算法，很快你就只能得到类似剧集的推荐，而你大概也会讨厌这些节目。
It is also the kind of behavior, like doomscrolling and replying to trolls, that feeds our less charitable instincts.
与不停地浏览负面消息和回复网络喷子一样，恨追也是一种行为，会助长我们不那么善良的本能。
The more we do it, the more it becomes a habit, a negative approach to the world.
我们越经常恨追，它就越会成为一种习惯，成为一种消极的处世方式。
We start to expect to be mad, even crave the feeling, and that cynicism spills over into more than just our TV diet.
我们会开始期待愤怒，甚至渴望这种感觉，而这种愤世嫉俗的情绪会蔓延到追剧以外的方面。
It’s fun in the moment, but it does leave you with something of a hangover.
恨追在当时很有趣，但它确实会给你留下一种类似宿醉的感觉。
But if I’m preaching here, I’m preaching to myself.
但是，如果我在这里说教，我其实也是在对自己说教。
Will I watch the rest of “Emily in Paris”? Of course.
我以后会看《艾米丽在巴黎》的剩余部分吗？当然会。
Do I anxiously await the new season of “And Just Like That …”? You betcha.
我会焦急地等待着《就这样……》的新一季吗？肯定啊。
At the end of an exhausting day, when I need to distract myself from my anxieties, sniping at some new, terrible show about ice skaters or lifestyle journalists or advice podcasters feels like comfort food.
在疲惫的一天结束时，当我需要让自己忘掉焦虑时，吐槽一些关于滑冰运动员的新烂剧、某些生活方式类的记者、提供建议的播客，感觉就像吃垃圾食品一样治愈。
After all, hate-watching something is not really the opposite of loving it.
毕竟，恨追某个节目并不真的是爱它的反义词。
When I hate-watch the new season of “The Real Housewives of New York City,” I’m really expressing my own fandom, albeit a twisted one.
当我恨追新一季的《纽约娇妻》时，我其实是在表达自己的粉丝心态，尽管这种心态有些扭曲。
A fan loves; a hate-watcher loathes but is irrevocably attached nonetheless.
粉丝热爱它，恨追的观众讨厌它，但也依然不可救药地被它吸引。
If I really don’t like a show, I just stop watching.
如果我真的不喜欢一个节目，我会直接不看。
To borrow a sentiment, the opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.
借用一种情感上的说法：爱的反义词不是恨，而是不在乎。
