Back in the late '90s, Dawson’s Creek wasn’t just a show; it was an era. It came out just after I graduated high school, and in my early twenties, it hit like a melodramatic freight train. I wasn’t some uber-geek who knew the showrunners' names or bought EW to read episode recaps. I just loved the angst. I loved the yearning. And most of all, I loved Pacey Witter.
Let’s be honest: I hated most of the female characters. I had no patience for Joey’s waffling or Jen’s tragic spirals. But Pacey? I was that girl. The one who rolled her eyes at Dawson’s sensitivity but secretly watched every episode with rapt attention, just to catch that lopsided grin from Joshua Jackson.
So now, in 2025, the question is: Does it stick?
The Pacey of It All
The answer is yes. And his name is Pacey.
Rewatching Dawson’s Creek in the past week or so, what hits hardest isn’t the plotlines (some of which aged like milk) or the vocabulary (nobody talked like that, not even gifted teens). It’s the emotional weight Joshua Jackson gave to Pacey. He was flawed and sarcastic and absolutely dreamy. He cared too much and masked it with bravado. He dated his teacher, for God’s sake, and we still rooted for him.
Every time Pacey shows up on screen, even now, I get goosebumps. It’s the same feeling I get watching Colin Firth in Bridget Jones’s Diary or that one scene in Dirty Dancing where Johnny says, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” It’s cinematic magic. The kind you don’t question, you just feel.
Jackson, in hindsight, was doing real acting on that show. You can’t always say the same for everyone else. And while most of the characters became increasingly annoying over time, Pacey stayed true. Messy, real, but true.
The Plotlines, meh
Let’s not kid ourselves. Dawson’s Creek was never subtle. These were teenagers who monologued like they were auditioning for Masterpiece Theatre. Nobody in real life drops existential metaphors at age 16 while making out on a dock. And if they do, they need a nap and a sandwich.
Watching it now, the show feels like Beverly Hills 90210’s literary cousin, the one who read a Sylvia Plath poem once and won’t shut up about it. The dialogue is self-important, the love triangles exhausting, and Dawson himself? Sorry, he’s a walking Reddit thread. Too many feelings, not enough self-awareness.
Also, can we talk about how they never looked like teenagers? They were 25 in oversized khakis pretending to be 15. It was camp before I even knew what camp was.
The Music Still Slaps
I had the CDs. Multiple volumes. I can still hum the first few notes of Paula Cole’s “I Don’t Want to Wait” and feel my soul leave my body. The soundtrack of Dawson’s Creek was elite. From Sixpence None the Richer to Alanis Morissette deep cuts, it was perfectly curated for a generation trying to feel something.
Music wasn’t just background; it was the emotional glue that held everything together. Breakups, breakdowns, kisses in the rain, it all played out under tracks that still live in some corner of your Spotify algorithm labeled “emotional nostalgia.”
The Legacy of the Creek
Here’s what’s funny. Dawson’s Creek wasn’t cool. Not like Buffy or Freaks and Geeks or even The O.C. It wasn’t edgy or ironic. It was earnest. It wore its heart on its J.Crew sleeve. It dared to say: feelings matter. And for a lot of us, watching those messy teenagers try to figure it all out gave us permission to do the same.
There isn’t a perfect comparison today. Euphoria is too sleek. Heartstopper is too pure. Sex Education is close, but even that has more bite. Dawson’s Creek is its own thing, equal parts beautiful and embarrassing. Like an old diary you can’t throw away.
And while I’d never wish for a reboot (God no), I do think there’s something to be said for a show that wasn’t afraid to sit in its own emotional discomfort. That didn’t wink at the audience. That took its characters’ inner lives seriously, even when those inner lives were being narrated with thesaurus-level intensity.
Final Verdict: Does It Stick?
Yes. It sticks like the scent of CK One in a high school hallway.
Dawson’s Creek is still frustrating. Still melodramatic. Still capable of making me scream “GIRL, DON’T GO BACK TO DAWSON.” But also? Still magical. Still heartfelt. Still Pacey.
And if you were a fan back in the day, especially if you were a Pacey girl, like me, it will still hit. Not in the same way. Not with the same breathless anticipation. But with a kind of soft, embarrassed affection. Like bumping into an old crush who’s aged surprisingly well.
I don’t need to binge the whole series again. But I am keeping the soundtrack on repeat. And I might just rewatch Season 3. You know, for educational purposes.
