So why does reality television work? Why do millions of Americans tune
in every week to find out Who Wants to Marry My Dad? Do we really feel
bad for the millionaires who cant find wives?
Cmon! We watch because we've convinced each other it's real.
Don't
believe me? Check out the message boards. People are more passionate
about Trish and her wars than they are about the war in Iraq.
Never
mind that the makeup, clothing, lights and cameras have more in common
with yesterday's sitcoms than any sort of reality. Never mind that
among the shows rolling credits are a list of scriptwriters and
producers. Never mind that a good percent of our reality contestants
are professional actresses or models. We choose to believe that reality
television is real because. . .
We want to believe it!
In some twisted way we want to know that were normalthat if people like
that can make mistakes on national television when millions are
watchingwe must be okay. We pick apart the wardrobe choices. We
criticize the weight and height. We marvel at the original pickup lines
and we cry at the breakups.
The anticipation builds. We bite
our nails through commercial breaks and call our friends to make sure
they're watching. And when our prediction wins, we tell everyone we
were right!
And then the contestants disappear. The Bachelor
has a 0-4 record for creating lasting relationships. American Idols who
were astounding last season are lost in the stars. And how did Erin
spend her money? Did she really need it? How about Chad, bless his
heart, did he make it? Was his name Chad? I can't remember.
We may never know.
But one thing is certain. Tomorrow morning when our alarm clock yanks
us back into true reality, well get up and face the day knowing thatno
matter how ugly or fat or boring we may bewe arent as bad as the girl
who was dumped on last night's show.
Popcorn anyone?
in every week to find out Who Wants to Marry My Dad? Do we really feel
bad for the millionaires who cant find wives?
Cmon! We watch because we've convinced each other it's real.
Don't
believe me? Check out the message boards. People are more passionate
about Trish and her wars than they are about the war in Iraq.
Never
mind that the makeup, clothing, lights and cameras have more in common
with yesterday's sitcoms than any sort of reality. Never mind that
among the shows rolling credits are a list of scriptwriters and
producers. Never mind that a good percent of our reality contestants
are professional actresses or models. We choose to believe that reality
television is real because. . .
We want to believe it!
In some twisted way we want to know that were normalthat if people like
that can make mistakes on national television when millions are
watchingwe must be okay. We pick apart the wardrobe choices. We
criticize the weight and height. We marvel at the original pickup lines
and we cry at the breakups.
The anticipation builds. We bite
our nails through commercial breaks and call our friends to make sure
they're watching. And when our prediction wins, we tell everyone we
were right!
And then the contestants disappear. The Bachelor
has a 0-4 record for creating lasting relationships. American Idols who
were astounding last season are lost in the stars. And how did Erin
spend her money? Did she really need it? How about Chad, bless his
heart, did he make it? Was his name Chad? I can't remember.
We may never know.
But one thing is certain. Tomorrow morning when our alarm clock yanks
us back into true reality, well get up and face the day knowing thatno
matter how ugly or fat or boring we may bewe arent as bad as the girl
who was dumped on last night's show.
Popcorn anyone?
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