Why I Fiercely Defend Reality Television
It is hard to flip through the television channels without coming across a reality television show of one kind or another — real housewives battling it out in a major U.S. city, chefs duking it out with their best dish, dance battles, singing competitions, and more. There is never a shortage of a trashy reality television show, and I love every single minute of it. I love reality television, and I will fiercely defend it.
I used to be embarrassed to talk about my love of reality television. When conversations with friends or coworkers inevitably turned to what we were currently watching, my brain went into full-on panic mode searching for something socially acceptable to say that didn’t include reality shows. Ozark? Watched it but didn’t finish it. Game of Thrones? Nope, didn’t see that. Sons of Anarchy? Again, no.
I was embarrassed to say that I wasn’t watching these shows because I was currently binge-watching all of the previous seasons of The Real Housewives of New Jersey, and I wanted to find out why Teresa Giudice and her husband went to prison and not knowing was consuming my thoughts and free time. I was also deeply embarrassed because there is a pervasive idea that reality television is only for the dumb and vain.
Then, something unexplainable and magical happened — like the women on these shows, I began to not really care what people thought. I couldn’t understand why the opinions of meaningless people made me embarrassed to talk about what I loved.
I started telling people all about my obsession with reality shows. If they thought that I was unintelligent or shallow, that was their problem and not mine.
This genre of television became popular in the late 1990s and early 2000s, and from the beginning, I was hooked. I didn’t miss an episode of the first season of American Idol and cried tears of joy when Ryan Seacrest announced that Kelly Clarkson won. I watched with anticipation as week-after-week, the contestants of Survivor battled to remain on the island.
These shows claim to be real and unscripted events in the lives of real people, not actors. Reality television has thrust some previously unknown people into the spotlight. If not for the MTV series Jersey Shore, it is likely that no one would know of Nicole ‘Snooki’ Polizzi, DJ Pauly D, or J-Wow.
Ever since Jersey Shore aired in December 2009, I have been obsessed with the Guido and Guidettes, inspiring such poetic phrases as “Stahp it, Rahn,” “G.T.L, baby! Gym, tan, laundry!” and “Cabs are heaaaa!”
Despite the high ratings — more than 18 million people watched the season four premiere of The Bachelor — reality television faces pretty harsh criticism. Many people claim that there isn’t much reality in reality tv. There are rumors of spliced clips and timeline sequences that are altered to create controversy or tension.
While some question the reality, others feel that reality tv exploits participants, and it is difficult to dispute this claim. Fear Factor, a competition reality show that ran from 2001 to 2005, had contestants eating bugs and performing extreme stunts to win the $50,000 grand prize. Even feel-good shows like American Idol exploits the less talented people who try out for the show — airing their failure for the world to see.
Seeing someone fail horribly can often be more entertaining than someone who does really well. In 2004, William Hung tried out for American Idol singing Ricky Martin’s catchy tune, “She Bangs.” Simon Cowell asked him, “You can’t sing, you can’t dance, so what do you want me to say?” Hung kept his positive attitude by responding, “Um, I already gave my best, and I have no regrets at all.” He didn’t make it to Hollywood, but 14 years later, Hung performed “She Bangs” on stage in Las Vegas with Ricky Martin.
I experienced first-hand how the producers of these shows manipulate the truth for entertainment. In 2013, A&E premiered a series about a disgraced former politician and his much younger wife. At the time, I went to church with this man’s youngest daughter. She and her husband frequently attended church activities with my husband and me. In real life, the daughter was kind, gracious, and compassionate, but on the show, she was portrayed so differently. The show made her seem angry, conniving, and vicious. It was hard to rationalize that this was the same person I knew and loved, but it made so much sense. An angry woman was so much more interesting than a kind and agreeable one. Without the tension, it would be far less appealing.
I get it, I understand everyone’s criticisms, but it still doesn’t make me love reality television any less. When Bravo decides to launch their newest franchise called The Real Housewives of Temecula, I will be the first one in line to star on that show. I am okay with it being scripted, and I understand that there isn’t a lot of reality in reality television.
What I love about it is how flawed everyone is. For years on television, I watched the Tanner Family on Full House and envied how perfect their life was. I didn’t understand why my life wasn’t perfect, and why I never got the ideal closure that they seemed to achieve after every episode.
Every show I watched growing up featured people facing adversity who managed to fix everything in under half an hour, and even as a young child, I knew that this wasn’t realistic. Reality television doesn’t give a false impression that everything is going to be okay, because sometimes it just isn’t. In an hour of The Real Housewives of Atlanta, women will celebrate their victories and cry over their defeats, and when the show is over, it isn’t always better — sometimes things are worse, but there is always next week. These are real women, facing real issues — parenting, divorce, conflict, work problems, and the struggle of trying to have it all and do it all.
On the surface, these women do have everything — big houses, fancy cars, beautiful clothes, yet they still have problems. In a materialistic culture, it is comforting to see that money won’t buy happiness and all the beautiful things in the world won’t make people like you.
Maybe reality television isn’t real, and that is okay. Most people aren’t watching it for stellar role models, and at the very least, we can learn that fame and success is not the path to true happiness.
