An ode to reality TV (Part I.)
Watching other people live their lives, since we ~ cannot ~
Anytime someone asks me how lockdown is going I think of this iconic moment of Dorinda Medley from the Real Housewives of New York City. The amount of lines from that show and hundreds of other reality tv shows that live rent free in my mind is ~ impressive ~.
In the last months, after having watched everything on German Netflix and Amazon Prime, I discovered HayU (this is not a sponsored post, but dear God, do I wish it were). HayU is an add on channel for Amazon Prime where you can watch almost EVERY BRAVO TV SHOW OF ALL TIME WITH NO COMMERCIALS. Your girl fell off the Bravo wagon when she moved to Germany, as most Germans do not understand nor appreciate the absolute madness a Real Housewives weekend trip can bring to the world, yet alone how much one can learn from a Bravo Reunion show, but ya girl is back on the bandwagon, riding shotgun and loving every damn second!!!!
(Note: I once told a colleague, “I don’t even want to know the details of that conversation because I’ve watched the Real Housewives and know how knowing shit you shouldn’t know can come back and bite you in the ass big time.”)
It is with great joy I announce I am back on the Bravo wagon to a frighteningly intense degree and have caught up on multiple seasons missed in the span of only a few months.
But I digress. Today, I’d like to say thank you to the reality shit shows of absolute gold that have entertained me most of my life. My hats off to you, garbage television, I’m so glad to live in a time when reality tv exists. So let’s do the damn thing.
1990s: Let’s stop being polite, and start getting real.
I was a mere 6 years old when I fell in love with the Real World San Francisco. My mother will dispute this, but I had a TV in my childhood bedroom and am the youngest of 4. Of course we watched that shit, and of course I was way too young to do so. But it ignited my love of MESS and watching people be people for the sake of TV. As I was so damn young, I don’t remember too much, only being in awe of their brazenness, the legend known as PUCK …
… and the fact I do recall thinking, “Huh, not sure my parents should let me watch this.” They literally wonder why I grew up to be a progressive when I spent most of my year in Kindergarten watching 20-somethings stop being polite, and getting real. I understood the Aids Epidemic better than I understood which colors you combined to get other colors. 6-year-old me KNEW we had bigger issues to worry about than mere shapes and colors.
But it wasn’t as outwardly scandalous as one of my other favorite shows at the time:
I vaguely remember Singled Out, sometimes thinking my memories of it must be a fever dream, but alas, twas a real show my 6 year old self was obsessed with despite never having understood 99% of the things they were talking about or any of the innuendo. It was hosted by Jenny McCarthy and I remember my cousins making our Barbies partake in a similar dating game. Which makes me feel even more certain we should NOT have been watching Singled Out. Luckily, for my parents, it didn’t result in my turning out to be a rebel or cool girl, nah, it simply created a REALITY TV MONSTER who needed to watch people be fools as much as possible — and the only kid who wanted to discuss MTV reality tv on the playground instead of play with the other 8 year olds.
When I wasn’t watching MTV, I was watching daytime television, usually with my mother or sisters, and don’t think daytime TV didn’t pack its own punch of wild …
(True story: I have a weird aversion to pure cotton. It makes my skin crawl and I gag. Don’t ask. It’s called sidonglobophobia. No joke. ANYWAY. My cousins once chased me around and held me down rubbing cotton balls in my face after we watched this episode of Maury about exposure therapy. I will never forget that day. Also, where tf were our parents for 90% of our childhood?)
… and these are the mildest of moments. Trust. Formative, nonetheless.
When I wasn’t wading knee deep in the garbage of MTV television or daytime television debauchery, I was devouring the GOLD that was Trading Spaces on TLC. Saturday nights at my cousins, with our Papa John’s pizza courtesy of a weekly coupon deal, spent at the foot of the bed absolutely roasting the shit out of the decor choices on Trading Spaces. Pure bliss. Take. Me. Back.
Trading Spaces, as you probably surmised, was about families or friends swapping houses to decorate for each other. And it went about as well as expected. And as it was the early 00s, it was pure CHAOS.
Case in point:
In addition to the abysmal decorating, which even my 10-year-old self could critique, it was the reveal that provided the most joy. The meltdowns. The passive aggressive thank yous. The attempts of trying to not seem disappointed. Truly inject those moments into my veins. I beg of you. That shit was pure joy.
They brought sand. Real sand. Into the house. And poured it everywhere. Then. THEN! They stapled circus curtains to the wall. INCREDIBLE. I remember screaming NOOOOO at the TV with my cousins.
Actual footage of the “friend” that traded spaces, about to pour the sand on her friend’s carpet, realizing this was the end of that friendship.
I highly recommend you google Trading Spaces if you’re looking for a rabbit hole to dive face-first into. There are loads of recaps and articles out there dissecting this incredibly perfect 00s artefact.
I have had this in my drafts too long, which is why I’m sending it out as is for now, and will build upon this beast of walk down memory/trauma lane. the next part will feature such iconic moments in television history as The Osbournes, Breaking Amish, NEXT, Room Raiders, etc. So keep your sweet little eyeballs peeled.
Miss me in between posts? I get it. Follow my consistent shitposting on Instagram (@aeallen) and Twitter (@agingpoptart).
SMOOCHES. Off to watch more TV!
BONUS: This was a scene from a real TV show I LOVED as a kid. What tf is wrong with the adults who created this show. Lock them up!
