Why Everything Feels Like Reality TV

Once upon a time there was a white Bronco. It captured our attention and stirred up our imaginations. It sucked us into an “unfolding narrative” we just couldn’t believe was possible. It was exactly like the stories we bought at movie theaters and video stores (remember those?) except for one difference. This one interrupted our lives, freely giving us permission to drop whatever it was that was so important just moments before. It was both thrilling and casual, the way it invited us to be there without really “being there.”

All stories must come to an end. Shortly after a jury declared the man in the white Bronco “not guilty” the country’s narrative-buzz eventually wore off leaving an empty, yawning void in its absence. If only for a little while.

Just three years later, a new type of story made its way into the mainstream media. The success of programs like Survivor, American Idol, and Big Brother coined the phrase, “reality television” and satisfied our thirst for the kind of story we could talk about around the water cooler, one that was true, unraveling right in front of us, and perhaps most importantly, allowed us to voice an opinion. Not only did these stories offer distraction, they gave us a say. More than a voting process that rested in the balance of a hanging chad, we were now part of the narrative. We were important. And it was enchanting.

If there was ever a lull in the connection reality television made us feel, what happened on September 11th, 2001 glued us back to the power of the real-time narrative. Every one of us became journalists that day, investigators desperately diving into a story frantically searching for clues, demanding our “whys” be answered. This time, we weren’t excited to be a part of the story, we were angry because we didn’t understand it. No one could give us simple resolutions to such a complex plot, so we reacted by plugging ourselves into easier narratives we could comprehend, uncomplicated stories about underdogs-turned-pop-stars and bachelors a suitor problem.

As time went on and our screens got smaller, the line between reality and fiction began to blur. Entertainment became more serious. Headlines seemed more hyperbolic. Make Believe looked a lot more like Real Life (consider the superhero films of the 80’s versus ones released this year).

Today, I get my current events on Twitter using their “moments” feature. Scanning through “moments” is addicting. It’s a rush to be let in on what sensational thing just happened.

But before our screens got so small, there was a difference between moments, or should I say, types of moments. There were political moments and entertainment moments. Moments that amused us and those we took seriously. Programers assumed the responsibility of compartmentalizing our screens for us. There was a news hour, a comedy hour, and an hour-long drama.

Now, my phone gives me Netflix, news, memes, gifs, and games all packaged together in a constant stream of “moments” designed to give me pleasure.

If you’re like me, you’ve opened up your screen, thumbed through all the political moments right alongside another Kardashian posing naked, and wondered, “how did we get into this mess?” How come the most reasonable voices are the ones that go unnoticed? Why are the most outlandish, the ones that keep rising to the top?

Ever since the Bronco, we’ve been conditioned. Now, it’s harder than ever before to decipher the difference between Entertainment and Reality, Show and Substance. This is why the simplest, most entertaining, most distracting, and most shocking stories continue to win. It’s why a reality TV star is successfully running for president. We crave entertainment more than we want leadership.

This poses a tough internal challenge for journalists and those who make the media. It can seem like their job is to dig for the conflict, carry it to the surface, and bring us along for what happens next. That’s what makes a great story. That’s what electrifies an audience. But there’s a difference between conflict and controversy.

Conflict acknowledges friction between two opposing forces. Controversy pits an idea against an audience. Conflict is what happens when two reality TV characters are in a disagreement. Controversy is when producers manipulate a plot twist to exacerbate that disagreement for our amusement.

And speaking of plot twists, here’s one to consider: We may not be journalists, but it’s also unfair to say we’re simply consumers. We make the media too. With every share, like, and retweet, we become willing and responsible participants in “the unfolding narrative.”

It’s up to us to do the mental siphoning that programmers used to do for us. It’s our responsibility to check in with ourselves at any given point to determine whether we’re looking for entertainment or for leadership, and to know the difference. No one will accomplish this for us. It’s a discipline we have the option of baking into our lives and teaching our children.

The good news is, there are a number of tools out there designed to help us take control:

Filter your Facebook settings. 
Use Twitter lists. 
Curate an RSS feed. 
Read to alternative and balanced media. 
Listen to podcasts.

Above all, consider the one-screen-at-a-time rule. If you’re like me, you’ve been guilty of watching the news or a debate on television while simultaneously browsing social media for commentary. That’s a whole lot of pressure on our brain to compartmentalize information from entertainment. The sacrifice of putting one screen away?: Temporarily removing ourselves from participating in “the unfolding narrative” when it’s so much more enticing to react.

Believe me, I get it. It’s unashamedly easy and equally understandable to look at everything happening right now and respond, “Have you seen this yet? Is this real life? Can you really believe this is actually happening?”

The truth is there are about ten Broncos whizzing down the freeway during every debate or town hall…. ten endorphin-inducing distractions from any significant, meaningful conversation that could actually move our world forward.

Once upon a time there was a child. She couldn’t tell the difference between real and fake. Until someone turned off the screen and began to teach her.