The O.c. -

So, here we come. Back where we started from. Welcome to The O.C., indeed.

(A+ for the soundtrack, A+ for the first season, B- for the fourth-wall-breaking fourth season, but we love it anyway.) The O.C.

But most importantly, it told us that it was okay to be a Seth Cohen. It was okay to love comics, to be anxious, to say the wrong thing, and to desperately want to belong. It took the glossy, empty "California Dream" and said: Actually, the dream is having three people who will show up at your pool house when everything falls apart. So, here we come

"California, here we come... right back where we started from." (A+ for the soundtrack, A+ for the first

When the Phantom Planet drumbeat kicked off on August 5, 2003, few viewers knew they were witnessing a cultural earthquake. On paper, The O.C. sounded like a rerun: a troubled teen from the wrong side of the tracks gets adopted by a wealthy family. But within ten minutes of its pilot, it was clear this was no 90210 clone. It was a deconstruction of the American dream—sun-drenched, sarcastic, and deeply wounded.

Season 4, often overlooked, is the show’s secret masterpiece. Freed from the Ryan/Marissa melodrama, it became a weird, funny, warm comedy. Taylor Townsend (Autumn Reeser), the hyper-controlling perfectionist, was the perfect foil for a grieving Ryan. The season gave us "The Giggling Scene," a Christmas episode that doubles as a French farce, and the most satisfying series finale in teen drama history. The O.C. burned bright and fast. It only lasted four seasons (2003-2007), but it changed the DNA of television. It proved that a show could be smart, pop-culture-obsessed, and emotionally devastating all at once. It launched the careers of Schwartz (who went on to create Gossip Girl and The Boys ) and a dozen actors. It made "Chrismukkah" a real thing people celebrate.