My roommate loves The Bachelor and American Idol. And America’s Next Top Model. And Hell’s Kitchen. And True Beauty. In fact, she loves most reality TV and I have to admit her enthusiasm is rubbing off on me in trace amounts. I was horrified when Jason dumped Melissa after six weeks of engagement, only to pick Molly, the Fakest Tart In All The Land. Apparently, they’re happily engaged and I’m glad. They deserve each other. 
Reality TV is mostly harmless and some of it is compelling (the first and second seasons of The Real World come to mind, as does Discovery’s Everest miniseries), but as an aspiring writer and devoted reader of fiction, I’m worried by what the ascendence of reality TV might mean for American taste in entertainment.
Reality TV, at least, the Reality TV my roommate adores relies on pageant-like challenges to create tension throughout the episode while using manufactured personality clashes to create micro-arcs of drama, all set to over-excited music in gaudy sets. The cumulative effect over the last decade – and this is not an original insight by any means – has been to create an alternate reality where reality TV is understood to occur. You know the now-tired, familiar elements: the sumptuous mansion that looks like it was decorated by a drag queen Jim Henson on acid, the generically attractive women and muscled, dim guys, the angry/sarcastic judge and the eminently forgettable host (I hate you Chris Harrison, with all my tiny, cold heart).
So, what, if anything, does reality TV mean for taste and expectations when it comes to narratives, character, and plot? Unlike dramatic television, the best of which can approach the experience of reading fiction (The Sopranos, for one) reality shows employ the basic elements of storytelling but on a level so superficial that it almost doesn’t count as plot. It is gleefully, mercilessly shallow. I’m not saying this can’t be entertaining, but ultimately it’s like eating food conjured by a magician’s spell – it’s sleight-of-hand, not calories. I worry that the effect is not unlike fast food: it’s entertainment that requires zero investment and offers almost no return. It is literally killing time. And if people come to prefer that over the immersive experience of fiction, I’ll be out of a job I don’t even have yet.
I wasn’t at all concerned about the degrading effects of reality TV (Gawd I sound like a reactionary old fool at 23) until my cousins, ages five and sevens, introduced me to Total Drama Island on Cartoon Network. It cleverly satirizes the conventions of shows like Survivor, and when I turned to my cousins, face a-grinning and diaphram a-chortling to share in the absurdity, I was horrified when they told me to quiet down. They were totally engaged in the fake manufactured drama. This, I fear, does not bode well for the generations who are too young to remember reality TV’s humble (and real-er) beginnings, and realize how over-the-top it’s become. At least my friends and I can mock the overblown silliness of Bachelor – as we grab snacks and settle in to watch, week after week.