I remember very clearly a Saturday night spent at my Grandmother’s house with several of my older girl cousins. They were watching the Miss America pageant. It was around 1971 or 1972 or so, back when the Miss America pageant was a really big deal. My cousins were older teenagers or in their twenties. I recall how they were critiquing every little detail about these women: their clothes, talent, appearance, poise…no detail escaped their notice. My cousins were at times effusive in praise but often scathing in criticism. What would they think of
The Bachelor, ABC’s “reality” show where 25 NFL cheerleaders, lingerie models and kindergarten teachers/former Miss Hawaiian Tropic swimsuit contest semi-finalists compete against one another to find Mr. Right? Men watch football and baseball to watch competition; these are the activities at which men excel. Women, however, excel at relationships, and for women, now that beauty pageants have fallen out of favor, televised relationships make up their competitive sport and the Bachelor final is their Super Bowl.
What follows below is far more thought than anyone has ever given to one of the shows driving American culture into
Trotsky's dustbin of history—The Bachelor. More thought even than its producers. Which is odd, because all total, I’ve seen about 30 minutes’ worth of this show. But it only takes one sip to know if the wine is good. Or takes like head cheese. By the way, Miss Birdie loved watching this show, to my chagrin. She’d talk to my sister-in-law on the phone throughout. Now my little nieces watch.
This show takes spectacularly beautiful women, who for some reason have never been able to find the right special guy, and pits them against one another for the chance to win the heart of some purportedly fantastic guy. Who knew these women had so much trouble finding a good man? Oh, and they go
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane on one another, which is pretty much the whole point and makes for entertaining viewing for women 14-48 (and every gay man on the planet). Its like Survivor, but with adapted old
Dynasty scripts and costumes.
Dating shows, of course, are nothing new.
The Dating Game pioneered the genre in the 1960s. Like every other
Chuck Barris show, it was awesome. One bachelor got to question three bachelorettes anonymously, and got to pick his favorite for a fun-filled weekend date. The questions were provocative for the time. The show made for occasional fun by throwing in some nerd contestant, or some midget or toad. Then again, Tom Selleck was on and he never got picked. But you never got to see the dates though. After they gave the audience a big kiss, that was the last you ever saw these people. I always wondered what happened on the date. The show would send them to places like Las Vegas, Santa Barbara, or Taos. You knew the show was going down the tubes when they started sending couples to Galveston. Generally, finding yourself moving to Galveston is a sure sign you need to reevaluate your life choices, because yours have been dreadfully unimaginative. You never knew what would happen on the date, but the guy's 1973 Magnum PI mustache, Members’ Only jacket, and gold chains dangling in his shaved chest hair said “you’re getting in the clothing optional hot tub and taking the high hard one” within 10 minutes of arriving. Cheers!
The 80s saw a new kind of dating show,
Love Connection. This was a fairly innocuous show, and actually kind of dull. It gave contestants a chance at a date with one of three people based on profiles. It was a little more complicated, but essentially the show paired people together for dates, then they’d come back on the show later and talk about how it went. Generally these were ordinary people, not glamorous or special. Goofball Chuck Woolery would ask each participant questions on the date and get wacky answers. The contestant could either have another date with the first person, or go out with whoever the audience selected for them. Hilarity ensued. Generally questions focused on the weird things the guys would do to interest the women, and how dull as dirt Chuck would blush in embarrassment.
The 1990s ushered in a more contest-oriented show,
Singled Out. This provided for the rise of
Jenny McCarthy, tomboyish, teasing, taunting coquette just a few months off of achieving “stardom” as Playboy’s Playmate of the Year. Later replaced by Carmen Electra. Singled out featured one young woman selecting from among 50 men, and then vice versa. The show would ask questions about various dating traits to the contestant, who would answer. Everyone not possessing the trait given in the answer would be forced off, though the contestant could exercise some sort of call-back option (sort of an NFL free agency “franchise tag” that keeps someone from leaving your team). As the field of 50 was narrowed down, the contestant got to ask a couple of their own questions until a final match resulted. Noted tool Chris Hardwick, a poor man’s
Craig Kilborn without the charm hosted. Hardwick asked wacky questions and made wacky zingers, McCarthy flirted and teased, and hilarity ensued. But still no one saw the actual date that the show ostensibly arranged.
Blind Date, of the early 2000s, solved what we thought was the problem of not seeing what happened on the date. Unfortunately, it proved that watching two people on a date is more of a problem than not seeing them. Watching people with whom you have no connection go out on a date is much less entertaining than prior date-arranging shows. Blind Date was a cross between Pop Up Videos and being forced to watch every one of the worst dates you’ve ever been on in your life. The show actually filmed relatively average people on dates arranged by show producers. The matches appeared designed to give the daters what they wanted but also in creating a match designed to get a good match. By “match” I mean a complete train wreck. Sarcastic little comments were superimposed on screen, pop up video style, over the daters as the date progressed and the conversation became more agonizing. Finally, the audience saw just how dreadful the dating process can be. These little vignettes showed us the guardedness, over eagerness, goofiness, craziness, and outright awkwardness that exists on dates. It was like watching a recreation of the car wreck you were in once, but this time you weren’t actually in it even though it had that feel. You know how when you watch a tape of yourself speaking or performing and notice all kinds of mistakes you don’t notice when you’re actually doing the activity? That’s what watching Blind Date was like. All those lines you think are so great? Uh, not so much. Your sweet dance moves that never fail to charm the ladies? The ladies aren’t charmed after all. Entreaties to “loosen up,” do shots, or engage in other party-time activity that so many of us have committed on dates just look plain ridiculous when you see others doing it. For me, Blind Date was a half-hour cringe fest through my past. My heart always said “please God, tell me I’m not that bad on a date,” and my mind always answered, “Sorry, you’re at least this bad, and generally worse.”
The Bachelor combines contest and date elements with a beauty pageant and cat fight. Was there any chance it would not have wildly succeeded? The women compete with one another even as they go on dream dates with some good-on-paper, touch of grayish dolt. It stars with 25 and is quickly narrowed to 12 who live in a house while they all fight for their Mr. Right through a series of group and individual dates. Along the way, said dolt gradually narrows the field while getting cozy with as many of the contestants as possible until two are left for the final round where he selects his one and true soul mate. Right. Some one always gets kicked off on each show, so for the women its survive and advance. Its like March Madness but with cocktail dresses and dream dates.
But these aren’t just dates, they’re nuclear explosions. They’re the Big Bang of dates (metaphorically speaking). These people don’t go to Red Lobster and then to the latest Hugh Grant chick flick. No sir. They go hang gliding. In Maui. Then have dinner. Under a canopy. On the beach. By candlelight (which somehow doesn’t get blown out despite being at the beach…maybe it’s a CGI thing). There’s even an episode where they fly out to whatever backwater each woman is from just to meet her family. These episodes contrast the family’s stultifying ordinariness with the woman’s Maxim Super Bowl Party Hostess action. Why the guys never think to ask “why are you not like anyone in your family at all” is beyond me.
The show devotes a lot of time to showing the girls’ relationships and interaction during “down time” when dates aren’t happening, which of course is most of the time. We get to meet these ladies, find out their history and interests, and see how they play the game. Every one of these women of course have exactly the same history (some college, quit to follow career as dancer/actress/model) and interests (settling down with the perfect man and having a family, by which they mean landing a role on a soap or a hosting job on the E! Network). That’s appropriate because its very clear from the fact that after all these years exactly one couple have actually gone on to get and stay married that from the contestants’ perspective, this show is about getting publicity. Getting the guy, or fooling him long enough for him to keep you around so you can get more exposure, is only a means to that end. So in a sense, the dolt plays the same role as the judge on other dating and game shows. (Want to increase ratings? Have an audience call-in vote, like on American Idol, and the winner gets to stay no matter what the bachelor himself wants. That’s no way to match couples, but neither is this show). Its not clear why contestants would still think scoring big on The Bachelor will result in that
Eve Harrington-like push over the top. Which Bachelor contestant has gone on to star on Broadway or in the movies, even with an “as seen on TV’s ‘The Bachelor’” title? Being on this show can’t even get you on basic cable, or even a recurring role on
Two and a Half Men as one of Charlie’s daddy-issues-having girlfriends. That’s quite remarkable, because if winning The Bachelor doesn’t convince producers you’re good Sheen material, I don’t know what will. About the best any of these girls could possibly hope for is the role of traffic girl on Good Morning Birmingham. Or a six month run on the covers of Us and People, which Andy Warhol would find richly ironic.
But the ladies play on, God love ‘em, using their finely honed “backstabbing them with kindness” skills learned in sororities, cheerleading squads, and
Kings of Leon backstage parties near and far. Watching the game reveals two dynamics playing out: besting the other contestants and interesting the sap long enough to stay around (and hence on TV).
Besting the other girls has two dimensions: psychological ops and using them with the sap. Psychological ops is fascinating. Watching the Bachelor for five minutes is like watching an MI6 interrogation video. Subtle digs, casual asides, outright insults, abuse, self-effacing statements which camouflage insidious cut-downs (“oh, I’d love to have your full figure, clothes just tend to hang on my frame”). Langley should really send some of these girls down to Guantánamo to help break al Queda. The other is digging up and using dirt on the other girls to stay alive. Put 12 women used to being the center of attention in a house for several weeks, and if backstory-revealing drama doesn’t break out, you’re just not trying. Even without there being an actual contest. (Hey, back off, I’ve seen “
The Women” and “
Mean Girls,” so I know how this works). One girl has a child she inexplicably forgot to reveal to producers. Another has a secret boyfriend. Still another was in jail. Sweating the secrets out is never a problem—left with plenty of time for nothing but talk, drinking wine, doing pilates, and getting in the hot tub, secrets are bound to spill like jello shots on the white carpet at the last party these girls attended before coming on the show. That said, the contestants can’t really blackmail each other or drive someone away directly, so it’s a matter of knowing when and how to use the information with the dude. Or, as the Wicked Witch of the West put it, “these things must be done
delicately.”
But then there’s the dating aspect of this dating show. This is where what little humor this show possesses comes out. Because, and I hate to say this because I love all of you, but most women just don’t know how to pursue a man. I know that’s sexist. I know its 2010 and y’all can do anything a man can...but most of you can’t. Not pursuing men at least. Especially beautiful girls used to men lining up outside their door and down the block. Faced with the shoe being on the other foot, its interesting to see these ladies’ approaches. Some are open to anything (“fun girls”). Some are kittenish and bratty. Others come off as three minutes to desperate. Some try to be the “best friend,” while others just go man-style and jump right into the hot tub. All the while, these women sport an “I’m not really sure what to do next” look which usually clashes with their Revlon makeup. The problem is, none of these people have a Plan B (the subject of my next post, by the way…everyone needs a viable, well-devised Plan B). All overplay their various roles, and when they don’t immediately gain their ephemeral goal, they often descend into pleading or blatant self-hucksterism. But before they abandon ship and swim toward Desperation Island, its easy to see the calculation, diagnoses, probing, parry, and counter going on. The constant re-evaluation and over thought, with the ladies often punching at shadows and phantoms they perceive in the Bachelor. Consider the following remark:
Man: “I’m hungry, let’s go somewhere to eat.”
What do these woman hear:
“You’re fat so I know you must want something to eat.”
“I’m tired of listening to you.”
“You’re boring so I want to be around other people.”
And so on.
Maybe, but usually it just means the guy is hungry and wants to go eat. Women are complicated. One often must listen to a woman extremely carefully for the subtle nuance in her utterances. Men, however, are not so disposed. If a man says something that on its face is innocuous, he usually means it literally; there’s generally no fiendishly clever hidden meanings, and therefore no implied, passive aggressive messages signalling that the woman should adjust her approach. Which leaves a lot of these women wrongfooted more often than not.
There’s at least one exception to the mind numbing interaction that precedes hot tub time—the razor-like line of questioning that precedes the reveal of their rival's secret. These women, most of whom count reading
Vanity Fair as a major intellectual achievement, all of the sudden become F. Lee Bailey cross-examining Mark Fuhrman when working up to this point. A proto-typical roll-through: “You’re honest, that’s what I like about you. I’ve tried to be honest too. Do you think so? You would want that from anyone you’re with, right? Because a relationship with lies at the start can never succeed, right? Have you been with a dishonest woman? It’s terrible, isn’t it? I’ve been with dishonest men, and it’s heartbreaking. So you want all of us to be honest with you, right? And you would want to know if someone here wasn’t being honest with you, wouldn’t you? Because that’s just wasting your time, and could hurt you if you had a relationship with someone who’s not honest with you. So if I knew someone wasn’t being honest with you, you’d want me to tell you, wouldn’t you?” Magnificent. And so, with inquisitive skills normally reserved for Suspected Cheating Boyfriend, the girl leads the dolt down the path and gets him to ask her what she knows. Blurting it out is for amateurs. Bring that weak game on over to
Rock of Love Bus. On The Bachelor, we’re playing for keeps. Even if ratting out these other women is a punk ass move.
Which leads us to the putative prize at the end of the rose-lined rainbow: the man. Generally, he’s very good looking and possesses a title (“prince” or “Captain”) or money (“heir to the Firestone fortune”). A cool job could suffice too (we know that being
David Carr’s backup in the NFL means you’re holding a clipboard and running the scout team, but not these ladies. Jesse got out of the League though, which was inevitable. When you find yourself behind the Two Glove Warrior on the depth chart, you probably need to give that old friend who owns an insurance agency a call). Once they let a normal guy be the Bachelor, but he immediately turned into a douche upon becoming the object of female attention. Which demonstrates the conundrum for the man. In real life, even these guys have to take steps that all the rest of us do to get women. As are we all, these guys are used to having to (1) single out the desired target, (2) separate her from the herd, i.e. the girl posse with which she constantly surrounds herself (whose main function appears to be driving away eligible male suitors with biting remarks like “you can do so much better,” or “ he’s such a jerk,” or “he’s too short,” or “he’ll only date you a couple of months and then move on,” or so I’ve heard), and (3) work your action. Men not named McConaughey or Pitt aren’t used to the line of hot babes following their every move and laying it down like a wet tarp during a
Camden Yards rain delay. In the animal kingdom, the baby ducks always swim away from the alligators, not right to them. To the actual Bachelor, the game must seem like being Albert Pujols and seeing nothing but hanging 80 mph sliders (i.e. always batting against Brad Lidge). It’s comical watching these guys, faced with such a bounty, blow it when cast in the role of prey rather than hunter. That’s why Rock of Love is so awesome.
Bret Michaels is the ultimate mating shark—always moving forward.
Given the inherent awkwardness of having a date while one or more cameras film everything, the conversation (or at least, the part you see that isn’t clipped to enhance the drama) becomes incredibly stilted. If you think a Harlequin Romance sets the standard for great dialogue, you’ll feel right at home. “I want a man with feelings, who cares for me as a person.” “I want a woman who can be my best friend.” This is the dating equivalent of a politician promising “good jobs at good wages”; how do you argue against it? Ordinarily these statements might mean the woman wants a man who cares for her, and not her chemically processed hair, photochemically enhanced tan, and surgically enhanced rack. On this show, that just means “can we make some bubbles in the hot tub now?” For though these people have the apparent conversational skills of two 16 year olds who’ve borrowed an older brother’s 1985 IROC Z to go make out at the park, the inevitable point is that the bolder play results in more dramatic tension, and therefore higher ratings. At one level, its hard to fault these people; you try doing anything on camera. On the other hand, are these people really that boring?
I love the picks these guys make. Guys invariably profess throughout the entire run of the show to be looking for their soul mate and someone who will be their life partner. Who will support them emotionally and spiritually, who has the right values, and who wants a family. Apparently on this show that means “pick the hottest girl.” Actually, that’s unfair. They generally pick the second or third hottest girl, because invariably the hottest girl is excessively crazy or insufferable. (You see, Timmy, to increase rating and produce requisite drawing of sides, the producers invariably place one or more totally crazy chicks into the cast, thereby guaranteeing that the women will take sides to combat the villain. To ensure the villain sticks around, they make sure she’s the most smokin’ hot girl on the show. This perfectly illustrates the hotness-craziness scale in action: a woman can be crazy as long as she is at least equally hot.). So the second or third hottest will do. Oh, and each every time, its been some extremely white woman just off the bus from that fake town in
The Truman Show. What message does this send to American women? I’ll answer that: “Get to the gym. Then swing by the plastic surgeon’s office.” You may be smart, dynamic, creative, caring, sweet, loyal and sensitive. But that muffin top says all those qualities better start running and doing dumbbell supersets or you’re spending another Saturday night with your best gal pals wondering where all the good men went. They’re wasting a third of their income chasing after cross-training bunnies who, unfortunately, have mastered the power of speech. My favorite was the guy who picked no one in the end. He didn’t want either of the final contestants, so he picked no one. At least that was honest. Albeit humiliating. But give me a break. Like none of those chicks had ever shot down a guy? Child please. I also loved the guy who proposed to the girl he picked, then later realized he loved the other girl that he dumped, so on an “after the show” special he dumped his fiancée and asked out the other girl, to whom he’s now married. That’s just what you call a sound hedging strategy. Well played, sir, well played.
I also like how they follow the girl who doesn’t get picked right out the door and into the limo, and go with her for a ride. She runs through the entire spectrum of emotions in one three minute monologue. First, she’s crying and professes to love the dolt. That first turns into cursing him for his poor choice. This gives way to pitying him for the pain he will suffer when he realizes what a mistake he made in letting her go, giving way to careful analytic reasoning that he will eventually contact her again but she’ll have moved on, concluding with a Gloria Gaynor-like burst of self-esteem as one can almost hear “I Will Survive” as a faint echo in the distance, confident that a better man is waiting just around the corner than the man who three minutes ago she was in tears over losing. In other words, this is her audition for daytime TV.
Lots to consider here in just one dating show. But it’s a dating show that reveals much not about ourselves, but what we’re offered as some idealized relationship reality. If this represents actual dating and relationships, we may be in trouble. But I think, through the mist of time, with the changes of the last 40 years, my girl cousins would have approved of The Bachelor. They’d have been huddled around Grandma’s TV watching it, cheering on their favorites, mercilessly excoriating those they found wanting.
Because winning the game is the American Way.
And to answer the title question, an old friend actually nominated me to be on the show, without my knowledge. Its plain shocking they didn’t at least contact me.
