Why Vertical Drama Needs Dialogue, Not Pile-Ons

As we enter 2026, vertical drama is everywhere

Headlines talk about explosive growth, eye-watering viewing numbers, and a so-called “gold mine” industry that some claim will save Hollywood. Since I began connecting with people in the vertical drama space in January 2025, this rapid growth has been what excited me most: a new, expanding industry creating work for creatives all over the world.

As I became more entwined in the space, that excitement also came with a sense of responsibility. It felt important to speak up about the challenges within the vertical drama industry, to look beyond rose-tinted glasses. That includes problematic storylines and, at times, concerning working practices.

I came to vertical drama looking for romance. What I found instead was some of the most exciting talent I’ve seen in years, and genuinely joyful, emotionally effective storytelling created in tiny timeframes and on minuscule budgets.

But alongside that, there are real issues — at least as they often land for me as a Western European viewer.

XXL storylines. Endless banquet halls. Extended bullying arcs. Drugging plots. Marital rape being framed as something to move past, or not named at all. Sexual power dynamics that can feel deeply uncomfortable. Moments that sit badly, particularly when viewed through Western cultural sensibilities.

What I want to say here is simple, but not easy: the issues in the vertical drama world are complex. If we genuinely want the industry to grow and improve, we need to understand why these shows exist and why people are watching them — not just judge them from the outside.

I believe starting conversations and running fan surveys has been the right thing to do. But I’m often asked a follow-up question: why are these stories still being made? Too often, social media discussions turn into pile-ons, with individualss unfairly targeted for decisions that sit far higher up the chain.

This isn’t about excusing everything that’s made. It’s about recognising that outright condemnation rarely leads to better storytelling.

The vertical drama industry is still learning as it goes

Vertical drama is a very young industry.

That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be questioned or challenged. But it does mean it’s being built in public, at speed, and under intense pressure. Vertical drama apps are testing what works in real time. Storylines that hold attention get extended. Tropes that perform well get repeated. Extremes tend to rise to the surface.

That’s how we end up with stories where conflict is stretched far beyond realism, emotional beats are repeated again and again, and everything feels dialled up to eleven.

It’s not that nuance isn’t possible — it’s that escalation often performs better in a mobile, attention‑driven environment.

Understanding this doesn’t excuse poor decisions. But without understanding it, criticism misses how these patterns actually form.

Vertical drama audiences, viewing numbers, and the reality of scale

In my fan survey, people were very clear: many viewers are tired of banquet halls, druggings, and recycled storylines.

But it’s important to be honest about scale. That survey represents a relatively small group — largely people within my own bubble. Millions more viewers around the world are watching these shows and providing the numbers that keep them being made.

Does that mean everyone watching those storylines is “wrong”? Of course not. I’ve watched my fair share of them too. I quite enjoyed the first few banquet‑hall sagas I saw.

Not every storyline is going to work for every viewer.

I can dislike something, or feel deeply uncomfortable with it, while recognising that it may be serving a purpose for someone else. Vertical drama audiences are large, varied, and global; and people are watching for very different reasons.

Platforms respond to that behaviour. If we want to understand why certain patterns keep appearing in vertical dramas, we have to look at how viewing habits shape what gets made.

Escapism, rebellion, and “let me watch what I want”

One of the strongest themes that comes up again and again in fan responses is resistance to being lectured.

Many viewers are tired of traditional Hollywood telling them what the “right” stories are, how they should feel about them, and what counts as acceptable entertainment. That sense of being moralised — or talked down to — has been building for a long time.

Vertical dramas sit outside that world.

They’re watched privately, on phones. And for many viewers, that privacy is exactly the appeal. There’s a quiet rebellion to it: this is my escapism, on my terms. Not everything needs to be uplifting, educational, or socially improving. Sometimes people just want heightened drama, clear emotional stakes, and the fantasy of overcoming impossible odds.

That doesn’t mean viewers are uncritical. But it does mean that heavy‑handed moralising can backfire.

When criticism turns into lecturing, people don’t switch off; they dig in.

Cultural perspective in the vertical drama industry — where I’m speaking from

I also want to be clear about where I’m speaking from.

I’m a Western European viewer. My values, sensitivities, and assumptions have been shaped by that context; just as everyone else’s are shaped by theirs. And while Western Europe and North America often dominate media conversations, vertical drama audiences are genuinely global.

People watching these shows bring very different cultural backgrounds with them. What feels shocking, outdated, or deeply uncomfortable in one place may not carry the same meaning somewhere else. Language, family dynamics, power structures, and even what counts as “extreme” behaviour vary hugely across cultures.

That doesn’t mean impact doesn’t matter. It does.

But it does mean we should be careful about assuming our own viewpoint is neutral, universal, or automatically the most informed one.

Cultural difference: part of the appeal — and part of the tension

For many Western viewers, vertical dramas feel different because they are different.

The storytelling works differently. Emotional reactions are framed differently. Vertical drama tropes — banquet halls, family hierarchies, public confrontations — come from storytelling traditions outside the Hollywood system.

That unfamiliarity can be genuinely engaging. Your brain has to work harder. You’re seeing stories you don’t normally see, and that curiosity is part of why people keep watching.

At the same time, those differences can create real discomfort, especially when words or themes carry very different weight across cultures.

A clear example is the use of terms like AIDS. In Western Europe and North America, that word is heavily loaded with specific histories and trauma. In other contexts, it may not carry the same weight and can appear in stories in ways that feel shocking or careless to Western viewers, even when harm isn’t the intention.

When these worlds collide, it’s easy to assume bad intent. Often what we’re seeing isn’t malice; it’s a mismatch and a lack of shared context.

Context doesn’t cancel impact. But without context, judgement becomes blunt and unhelpful.

When context isn’t enough

There are moments where cultural explanation only goes so far.

One of the hardest examples is how marital rape is sometimes portrayed — or not portrayed — in certain vertical dramas. Scenes may be framed as misunderstanding, passion, or something to be moved past quickly, rather than named clearly as violence.

For many Western viewers, that’s deeply unsettling and rightly so.

Cultural context can help explain why a storyline appears, but it doesn’t erase the harm of how it lands, especially for viewers bringing their own experiences and trauma to what they’re watching.

If stories are crossing cultures, there has to be time and care put into understanding the people being asked to watch them, and into handling certain subjects responsibly.

At the moment, that responsibility is too often left to actors and crew on set; people trying to do the right thing in real time, without the power or support to shape the bigger picture.

Ultimately, responsibility sits higher up: with the apps setting the briefs and priorities. As more vertical drama apps enter the market, those that take the time to listen will, in my view, do better in the long run.

How data shapes what gets made in vertical drama apps

It’s also important to be realistic about how decisions are made.

Vertical drama platforms are heavily driven by data. They track what people start, what they finish, what they rewatch, and where they drop off. The system responds far more to behaviour than to criticism or opinion pieces.

If a certain kind of storyline performs well, it gets repeated. If audiences become used to it, drama has to escalate to keep attention. That’s how cycles form — because attention is rewarded.

There are many thoughtful, creative people trying to tell better stories within this system. But they still rely on audiences finding and supporting those alternatives. Without that support, shifting what gets made becomes harder, not easier.

Responsibility also lies with audiences — and that audience is not always going to agree with me.

Accountability without a pile‑on

None of this is to say there aren’t real problems in the vertical drama world.

Representation matters. Who gets to tell which stories matters. Some trends deserve serious questioning — including storylines that minimise or normalise sexual violence within relationships.

But if the goal is progress rather than backlash, curiosity has to come before condemnation.

That means asking:

• Why is this resonating right now?

• What need is it meeting for viewers?

• What would a better version actually look like?

Vertical drama is still growing up. The way we talk about it now will shape what it becomes.

My goals for 2026 are to hold platforms to account without shaming viewers, and to push for better storytelling without turning the conversation into a pile‑on.

If vertical drama is going to mature as an industry, it won’t be because one culture shouted the loudest — but because people took the time to listen and understand.