The Reality Is

The first episode of 'The Bachelor' aired in March 2002. I was in fifth grade, hardly aware of what romantic love was at the time, hardly aware of reality television. 

Survivor had already been streaming into family rooms across America for two years, one of the pioneers of the genre, if it is even justifiably a genre. I imagine families sitting in blue-lit, darkened rooms  around wooden coffee tables stained with coffee rings, eating microwave meals for dinner. Who will get voted off of the island tonight? Certainly the tribal council's decision will alter the course of their evening, maybe their lives. If their favorite contestant is voted off, their milk will turn sour, meat rancid. If the favorite stays, ice cream for dessert. These families are to blame for the explosion of the reality television phenomenon.

Shelbie is one month younger than myself, but sometimes it feels like years. She is a television junkie, addicted to the sugar and spice of mindless shows. She eats up reality television, romantic sitcoms, and sexy dramas three-thousand calories at a time, leaving witty comedy and intense drama for the dieters. She watched 'The Bachelor' from day one, vying for it's excellence and hot guys. In fifth grade, I don't think I knew what the word 'bachelor' meant.

Somewhere between countless episodes of 'The Bachelor,' 'Survivor,' 'American Idol,' and 'Big Brother,' reality television became a women's genre. Not necessarily dictated by women themselves, marketers and advertisers decided to appeal to the primetime female viewership over the family unit. Women talked about 'The Bachelor' while dropping their children off for school, at the grocery store, on the telephone. Shirtless, attractive men with airbrushed, ripped abs and pecs became the centerpiece for all reality shows. Soon, spouses were sent off to bed alone while women found their pleasure on the couch from eight to ten.

I wasn't allowed to see 'Titanic' when it first came out in theaters. I was only in first grade. Every girl I knew had seen it, multiple times, within the first year of its release. My mother didn't approve of the rating: sex and death were too much for my naïve mind and virgin eyes. Shelbie had a poster of Leo DiCaprio on her wall, and I was always jealous that her mom was more lenient about television and movies than mine. She didn't understand why mom was so protective, and I would blindly defend my mom, unsure of the reasons myself since I thought I should be able to watch mature things. 

Look at the TV guide on any given weeknight, and I guarantee at least one reality game show has a spot. More than that, they dominate the ratings over intelligent, plotted shows. When did we decide that it was more entertaining to watch a guy make out with twenty-six different bikini-clad women than play whodunit with a murder mystery? As a nation, we prefer to sit on our asses and judge contenders on a love show or a dance contest or a singing competition, perhaps because we seek the rewards playing out right in front of our eyes. The lack of a true script makes us all feel like we have a chance in this world to be something great or love someone special. Real people become glamorous. 

Shelbie always tried to talk to me about the newest 'Bachelor' or 'Bachelorette' gossip. I remember listening to her endlessly chatter about Trista and Ryan, the first couple to successfully wed after 'The Bachelorette.' I would drown her out, scoffing silently at her for caring so much about two people she would never meet, two people who met on a game show. That's not true love, right? Season after season I rolled my eyes at 'The Bachelor' empire, despite the millions of women drooling over
Alex or Jesse or Travis or Brad or Jake. And don't even get her started on the hundreds of men who have passed through the bachelorette house. 

It's easy to get caught up in television lives. You trick yourself into thinking that you know them personally, and could one day be like them or be friends with them. Could you really meet your match on 'The Bachelor?' When you watch someone try to achieve their dreams or find love, you cheer them on and become invested in them. Marketers keep you coming back each week with the promise of drama, heartbreak or success, and you sit remote in hand, ready to console their woes and celebrate successes. Add internet technology into the mix, and you have thousands of women throwing themselves at the contestants on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. We can connect with these people in ways that weren't possible even a few years ago, but they probably don't care about half of the messages we send to them. 

One summer, I went on vacation with my friend Lauren. She and her mother are avid 'Bachelor' fans, and our trip happened to coincide with the season premiere of 'Bachelor Pad,' a spinoff where men and women compete for not just love but money as well while wearing basically nothing other than bathing suits. Sex, money, sexy money. Hot, right? I immediately wrote it off, but sat down to watch with them so as to not be rude. Who wouldn't want to sit inside instead of soaking up the salty beach air, feeling the soft sand beneath their feet, or listening to a band at the pier? Surely, not I. One contestant thought she was Malibu barbie, clad in pink and sparkles with a tiara on top of her platinum blonde head, so I anticipated promising source of jokes as my reward. I hated myself after the show was over. Something about 'Bachelor Pad' enticed me, and I tuned in the next week. The next time I saw Shelbie after my trip, we were at a local park. Two college-age girls moving like pendulums on the swingset. I indulged her with my thoughts about who was crazy, who was fake, and who should hook up on the show. Was I actually becoming a part of the reality contest culture? I had to combat it. I assumed my 'Bachelor'-hating persona once more, but I had approached a slippery slope.

‘Survivor’ is on its twenty-sixth season; ‘Dancing with the Stars,' it’s sixteenth; ‘American Idol,' its twelfth; ‘The Bachelor’: seventeenth; ‘The Bachelorette’: ninth. Are we overindulging as a society? When will this madness end, when will people tire of beautiful people doing beautiful things? I don’t think it ever will. I don't think I ever will.

My roommate is obsessed with 'The Bachelor.' She had viewing parties with her friends at home for every season, and this year, the parties moved to our apartment. We invited Lauren over for the premiere; she returned every week.

I don't like 'The Bachelor.'
I guess I can watch this episode with you.
No, I don't know who Kacie B. is. I didn't watch that season.
Hm, Sean Lowe is pretty hot.
I wonder what Sean's Twitter handle is.
I'm following Sean.
Oh my gosh, Tierra is a crazy bitch!
I want Sean to end up with Leslie!
I want Sean to end up with Lindsay!
I want Sean to end up with Catherine!
I'm soooo happy that Desiree is the new 'Bachelorette!

'The Bachelorette' starts in May. I'll have to tell Shelbie to come over.