My Twisted Love Affair With Reality TV

Sitting on the couch with popcorn watching reality TV

Reality TV shows are wildly fascinating. Mostly rubbish. But fascinating. I’m ashamed to admit this, but lately, I’ve been foolishly drawn to the mad hype and the over-dramatised, cringe-worthy dialogue, inflicted by Channel Seven’s latest head-spinning series: First Dates. 

It’s a filthy, IQ decreasing habit, but one that satisfies a deep internal craving for something that I still can’t put my finger on just yet. It’s the same type of pleasure I would probably associate with perusing the occasional trash mag at the supermarket checkout.

I love seeing people’s weirdly curated emotions unravel on screen. It’s ironic that these TV shows fall into the category of ‘Reality TV’ when the presence of cameras automatically subtract the element of real. I mean, we’re all guilty of ‘putting on show’ for the cameras, feeding our egotistical need to be accepted by the public eye. These people that we’re watching on screen are merely moulding our perception of them.

To add to this reality nonsense, the directors and producers strategically edit their masterpieces to portray their puppets in a particular light. Take MKR for instance. There’s always the infamous loud mouthed contestant who stirs the pot and pushes our buttons. If these individuals themselves don’t produce a performance or character worth talking about, then you can bet your bottom dollar that the producers are going to dissect the dialogue to create something that sparks our attention and feeds our all-consuming need for drama. What a twisted evolution of manipulation. But yet, we’re sucked in. Go figure.

Don’t worry, this is not a full-blown addiction that requires an intervention, just a rant about my complicated relationship with reality TV. I’ve boycotted it all my life and all of a sudden I’ve been sucked into this whirlpool of free to air TV. Let’s face it, despite the manipulation and cringe overload, it’s intriguing. After all, it’s essentially people watching, from the comfort of your own home, minus the potential creep label plastered on you when caught in the act!

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