So there I was, curled up on my sofa on a rainy Bristol evening, binge-watching the latest nature documentary series in all its 4K glory. The irony hit me somewhere around episode three—I was watching breathtaking footage of melting glaciers and disappearing habitats while unknowingly contributing to the very problem being so beautifully documented.
It was one of those moments when my environmental blind spots became embarrassingly obvious. I spend ridiculous amounts of time researching the carbon footprint of everything from my shampoo to my coffee habits, but somehow the environmental impact of streaming all those gorgeous pixels had completely escaped my scrutiny.
This realization sent me down the inevitable research rabbit hole (my housemate Theo now refers to these regular disappearances as “Eliza’s gone ecological spelunking again”). Three weeks and several spreadsheets later, I emerged with a much clearer picture of streaming’s surprising environmental footprint—and more importantly, some practical ways to reduce it without giving up my documentary addiction.
Let’s start with the uncomfortable truth: streaming video has a significant carbon footprint that most of us never think about. When we press play, we’re not just using the electricity to power our devices; we’re also responsible for energy consumption in data centers storing the content, network infrastructure transmitting it, and all the manufacturing impacts of that equipment. It’s the digital equivalent of an iceberg—what we see (our device) is just the visible tip of a much larger system.
The numbers vary depending on which study you read, but the general consensus is that one hour of streaming video generates between 36 grams and 500 grams of CO2, depending on streaming quality, device used, and network efficiency. The wide range reflects how complex these calculations are, but even taking the lower estimates, it adds up quickly when you consider how much we collectively stream.
For perspective, Netflix alone streamed 182.8 billion hours of content in 2022. That’s roughly equivalent to the annual emissions of a small country, just from one streaming platform. Add in YouTube, Disney+, Amazon Prime, BBC iPlayer, and countless others, and the scale becomes staggering.
When I first encountered these figures, my inner eco-worrier had the predictable response: immediate streaming guilt and a brief consideration of returning to the apparently simpler days of physical media. But then I remembered that DVDs and Blu-rays have their own manufacturing and distribution impacts. The solution, as with most environmental challenges, isn’t abandonment but more mindful usage.
The good news? There are surprisingly effective ways to reduce streaming’s carbon footprint without sacrificing your entertainment. After experimenting with various approaches over the past few months, I’ve managed to cut my streaming-related emissions by an estimated 70% while still watching basically everything I want to. Here’s how:
Perhaps the most impactful change is simply being more intentional about streaming quality. Most platforms default to the highest possible resolution your connection can handle, but do you really need 4K for every single thing you watch? I discovered that downgrading from 4K to standard HD (1080p) reduces data transfer—and thus energy use—by about 75%. Going further to standard definition (480p) reduces it by around 86%.
The revelation was realizing how often I don’t actually notice or benefit from those extra pixels. For a visually stunning nature documentary where the cinematography is part of the experience? Yes, HD makes sense. For a sitcom I’m half-watching while cooking dinner? Standard definition is perfectly adequate. Most streaming services allow you to adjust quality settings either account-wide or per session, though they don’t exactly make these options prominent (almost as if they’d prefer you use more data… hmm).
I set up an experiment last month, watching the same show on different quality settings and asking my friend Ruth to guess which was which. On my modest 32-inch TV, she couldn’t reliably distinguish between HD and 4K from my normal viewing distance. On my laptop or phone, the differences were even less perceptible. Now I reserve 4K for special visual experiences and use standard definition for casual viewing, especially on smaller screens.
The device you use makes a dramatic difference too. Streaming on a phone uses significantly less energy than a laptop, which uses less than a desktop computer, which uses less than a smart TV. This makes intuitive sense—smaller screens require less power—but the difference is substantial. Watching on a 50-inch TV can consume 10 times the electricity of watching on a phone.
I’m not suggesting we all squint at tiny phone screens to save the planet, but being conscious of which device makes sense for what you’re watching can reduce your impact. I’ve started watching casual content on my tablet rather than automatically turning on the TV, saving the bigger screen for movie nights or when friends come over.
Another simple but effective change is downloading content for offline viewing rather than repeatedly streaming the same shows. I realized I’d watched certain comfort-viewing episodes at least five times, streaming them anew each time. Now I download these favorites when I’m on WiFi, which happens once rather than repeatedly taxing the network and servers. Most major platforms offer download options, though they’re typically time-limited for licensing reasons.
The network connection you use matters too. Watching via WiFi uses about 30% less energy than streaming over a mobile network. Even better is a wired Ethernet connection, which is more energy-efficient than WiFi. I’ve set up my main TV with a direct Ethernet connection to my router, which not only reduces energy use but also improves streaming quality—a rare win-win for sustainability and performance.
Perhaps the most overlooked aspect is what happens when we’re not actively watching. I was horrified to discover how often I’d fallen asleep with something streaming, or left a show running in the background while doing other things. Streaming platforms love to enable this behavior with auto-play features that keep serving content whether you’re watching or not.
I’ve now disabled auto-play on all my streaming accounts and set up sleep timers when watching in the evening. Some smart TVs have built-in features that detect when no one is watching and will prompt you or automatically pause. These small behavioral changes have probably reduced my streaming hours by 15-20% without missing anything I actually wanted to see.
The timing of when you stream can make a difference too, particularly as our electricity grid incorporates more renewable energy. Streaming during periods of abundant renewable generation (often midday for solar or windy days for wind power) means your digital activities are powered by greener electricity. Apps like Carbon Intensity API in the UK can show you when the grid is running cleaner, though I admit scheduling your Netflix sessions around renewable energy availability requires a level of planning that even I, notorious overthinking environmentalist, find challenging.
For the truly committed, there’s the option of subscribing to streaming services that prioritize sustainability in their operations. Companies like Netflix, Apple, and Google have made commitments to renewable energy for their data centers, though the extent and progress of these commitments vary. Supporting platforms with stronger environmental policies creates market pressure for others to follow suit.
I’ve been tracking these changes using a simple spreadsheet (I know, I know—peak Eliza behavior) to estimate my streaming carbon footprint before and after implementing these changes. By my calculations, I’ve reduced my annual streaming emissions from roughly 250kg of CO2 to around 75kg—a substantial improvement while still watching everything I want to see.
The interesting part has been observing how these more mindful viewing habits have affected my relationship with digital entertainment. I’ve noticed that watching in standard definition with fewer distractions actually increases my engagement with the content. There’s something about making a deliberate choice about what to watch, rather than passively consuming whatever the algorithm serves next, that enhances the experience.
I’ve also found unexpected pleasure in returning to some non-streaming entertainment alternatives. My local library has an excellent DVD collection (yes, people still use those!), and there’s something satisfying about the physicality of borrowing a disc that has the potential to be watched hundreds of times by different people—a different kind of resource efficiency. I’ve rediscovered radio dramas, which have negligible streaming impacts compared to video. And I’ve even attended more live local performances, which obviously have their own environmental considerations but create community connections that no streaming service can match.
That said, I’m not suggesting we abandon streaming—it’s clearly here to stay, and it does have environmental advantages over some alternatives. A Netflix documentary certainly has a smaller carbon footprint than flying somewhere to see those landscapes in person. But as with most environmental impacts, awareness and intentionality go a long way toward reduction.
The challenge with digital impacts is their invisibility. When I drive my (borrowed) car, I can see the petrol gauge moving. When I heat my home, I feel the warmth and see the meter ticking. But streaming emissions happen in distant data centers and network infrastructure—out of sight and, typically, out of mind.
Perhaps the most important outcome of my streaming carbon investigation has been simply making these invisible impacts visible in my decision-making. I no longer mindlessly hit play on the highest quality setting or let shows run endlessly in the background. Each streaming session now involves small but conscious choices about quality, duration, and device.
These individual choices matter, but system-level changes would have even greater impact. More energy-efficient video compression technologies, data centers powered by 100% renewable energy, and network infrastructure designed to minimize energy use would dramatically reduce streaming’s carbon footprint without requiring changes in consumer behavior.
I’m encouraged by innovations like adaptive bitrate streaming, which automatically adjusts quality based on network conditions, and could potentially incorporate carbon-awareness as well. Imagine if streaming platforms offered a “low carbon” viewing mode that optimized for energy efficiency rather than maximum quality—something I suspect many environmentally conscious viewers would gladly use.
When I shared my streaming research with my friend group, the reactions were mixed. Ruth immediately changed all her quality settings to standard definition. Theo nodded politely but I noticed hasn’t changed a thing about his 4K gaming habits. My dad sent me a lengthy email about the energy efficiency of different TV technologies that I’m pretty sure he copied from a technical forum. But most interestingly, my friend Jun, who works in tech, pointed out that consumer pressure about streaming emissions is starting to influence how companies design their digital services.
That gave me hope. The same pattern has played out across other industries—consumer awareness and demand drives corporate innovation and responsibility. If enough of us start caring about our digital carbon footprints, perhaps the default will shift from maximum data consumption to thoughtful efficiency.
In the meantime, I’ve made peace with my slightly grainier but much greener documentary watching. Last night I streamed (in standard definition, on WiFi, with auto-play disabled) a fascinating program about ecosystem restoration projects around the world. The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was using a more environmentally optimized approach to learn about environmental restoration. Sometimes being part of the solution involves recognizing that perfect purity is impossible, but better choices are always available.
And if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure Theo hasn’t left Netflix running in the background again. Small steps, people. Small, slightly pixelated, but collectively meaningful steps.
