Reality television, a moral dilemma
We binge. We binge-eat, we binge-drink, and we binge-watch. We inhale content without question—especially when it’s fiction hiding under the cloak of reality. And who’s to blame? The viewers, or the participants?
Moral dilemmas surface for both parties, yet the rise and rise of reality television continues despite evidence of unauthentic practices and ‘strategic’ editing. For an environment almost entirely created by those behind the camera, it’s incredible how we lap up the scripted stories we’re sold.
Watching ordinary individuals step into the societal spotlight for a chance at stardom is addictive. It’s escapism, combined with powerful intimacy. A match made in pretend heaven, where we can live vicariously through real people going about their fake routines.
Under its category enticement on Netflix, reality TV is quoted as “You need to keep it real, in life, and in what you watch,” while proceeding to offer you The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and Bear Grylls in You vs Wild. TVNZ sells the genre by saying…
“Don’t lose touch with reality, no matter how odd or outlandish it can be. Watch the real mayhem unravel right here.”
Scrolling through the provided content, the hypocrisy is baffling.
Almost everything we see on a screen is some form of reality converted into a digestible stream. Instagram stories, YouTube vlogs, Tik Tok videos. We’re sucked into superficial snippets: glances into a life we could possibly live ourselves.
It’s usually a charade. MasterChef and My Kitchen Rules, for example, make us believe we’re watching ‘home cooks’ hoping to win the grand prize for their lower-class family. When in actuality, they’ve been working at their parent’s restaurants since they were twelve before attending culinary school or hospo management. Or take The Block, where it was “such a random idea to apply” for the preppy North Shore couple, even though she’s a professional interior designer and he’s a tradie. The label is slapped on and boy, do we believe it. The sob stories and choppy editing manipulate our heartstrings, making it simple to stay emotively engaged.
Bikinis, bitching, and blondes. Dieting, drama, and douchebags. Sound familiar? Love Island is set to make its post-COVID comeback next month, so we can watch public humiliation from the comfort of our couches. This real-life Tinder is reality television on steroids. Turning one summer into lifetime success, the contestants need to ‘couple-up’ by ultimately falling in love in order to complete their holiday in the Villa and win the grand prize. Easily seen as a 1950’s-esque simulation, this style of screen-time is so absurd, no wonder it’s popular. But the mental health repercussions for participants of this dating show surely aren’t worth the 15 minutes of fame.
“Is it the unethical industry and producers, the manipulative media, or the naïve participants that come out worst? ”
I’ve actually seen it first-hand (dialled down, Kiwi style); my cousin was on Married at First Sight and I attended her ‘wedding.’ The extended family group chat bubbled when she broke the news, all genuinely excited for her to embark on a crazy new journey. Young, charismatic, and single, with a primary goal to find love and a secondary goal to find money. It made enough sense that not even my eighty-five-year-old Gran was particularly shocked – she actually sat front row, flirting with the groom! After a quick ceremony, slightly touchy speeches and too much beer, the awkward tension disappeared faster than the slightly budget cheese platters they served.
But from that moment on, the audience was no longer friends and family. The entirety of New Zealand had their knives and forks out, ready to dig into my cousin’s most intimate moments. In the absence of any real drama between my cousin and her new partner, the manipulated editing of footage became increasingly negative as the producers created issues within the group. They capitalised on personal information that caused mental health issues and affected her well-being.
As a passive consumer of reality TV, I’ve found that the true authenticity takes place off-screen. Every party involved, on both sides of the camera, has to battle with their definition of morality, and take some blame for fuelling the fire. Participants sign contracts, and we subscribe to the television outlets. It’s all a means to an end, to purse better living—whether that be financial security, entertainment, or true love.
My cousin has stayed with her partner from the show, and they’re building a house together. She’s beyond happy with the end result of her foray into reality TV. Does this mean she recommends the show, encouraging this form of live social interaction? Not in the slightest.
But hey, each to their own. She’s a very rare winner in a battle where everyone is usually the loser.
Words — Maddy Hunter
Image — via Pinterest
