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It's an all-too-familiar feeling. The follow-up season of your favorite TV show premieres online, and your mind is full of hopeful expectation. The initial run ended flawlessly: narrative threads were dangled enticingly, and a main character had – cliffhanger! – been offed (or had they?). In the months since the finale, you delved into fan discussions with other hardcores to decode subtle references shedding light on future developments.

And then season two’s premiere is a damp squib. It feels like the entire writers’ room has been fired and replaced by artificial intelligence. Cut to the second episode, your favorite cast member has done something that fans unanimously declare inconsistent. As the story progresses, it’s clear that the showrunners have had collective amnesia around the storylines aggressively signposted in season one. And by the disappointing finale, you long for an earlier termination.

The Pitfall of Too Many Seasons

Wishing for cancellation can only be retrospective; most fans protest when their favorite shows are canned before they can get off the ground. Look at Kaos, an amusing Greek myth parody featuring Jeff Goldblum, which was binned by Netflix due to low viewing figures. However, supporters might find comfort knowing the program avoided a disappointing second season.

Looking back at the horror-mystery show Yellowjackets, I now wish it had been a limited series. The debut offered a richly imaginative setup, and its 10 episodes were note-perfect. In 1996, a plane carrying an all-girl high school football team crashes in the middle of nowhere. Excellent actors (featuring Juliette Lewis, Lauren Ambrose and Sophie Thatcher) played the characters across timelines. Several prize nominations followed, producers originally mapped out a five-season arc to tell the story in necessary detail. But last week, it was announced that it would end with season four. And as a fan, I let out a sigh of relief.

The Stranger Things cast returns for season five.

Story decisions have weakened the core. In place of exploring post-rescue life, and their coping with awful experiences, the story grew padded and excessive. This involved a wearying pattern of bringing in and focusing on new characters (such as Shauna’s two-dimensional daughter Callie) who did nothing for the broader story. It's aggravating, and witnessing a great series decline into annoyance is disheartening.

A Common Phenomenon

However, Yellowjackets isn't alone. Series like Emily in Paris, House of the Dragon, Squid Game and Stranger Things no longer surprise audiences, and settled into familiar patterns. At times, programs must stop while successful.

Indeed, pleasures exist in single-season stories. Looking at Sharp Objects, I May Destroy You, and Adolescence, producers recognize appropriate conclusion points. But the game is over when shows such as Big Little Lies, originally a limited series, come back for more and more with diminishing returns. Maybe Adolescence's creators hesitated about continuing.

The Supreme Instance

I wish Yellowjackets could have been a one-and-done series, living rent-free in our imaginations, cliffhangers and all. My favorite TV show of all time has played out like that. My So-Called Life, the perfect 90s teen dramedy, concluded after a single run yet felt epic in scale: the roles were challenging and multifaceted, the filming captured a fall aesthetic, and the dialogue was untethered from the normal “teen speak written by a 35-year-old” trope. The ending left questions unanswered, but that is perfectly in keeping with the reality of youth queries staying forever open. After 18 great episodes (and one mediocre), I was heartbroken and took to writing season two fan fiction myself to resolve lingering mysteries. It might only live on an old hard drive, but it speaks to how deeply TV shows can chime with us.

The Sacred Bond

If writers recall the sacred audience-series connection, more programmes can bow out when the time is right.

• The author covers entertainment and style.