The Bachelor. Has it really been on TV for eight years? At one point, I can remember actually being entertained by the show in an earnest way. Of course, I was a mere 23 years oldish. A train wreck of a girl. I identified with the same desperate obsession--to find the man of my dreams, marry, baby-make, and settle down into timeless bliss and related fantasies--it seemed many of the "Bachelorettes" competing on the show appeared to have.
Now being the ripe old age of 32, while setting up the DVR to tape The Bachelor Finale (On the Wings of Love edition, for you thankfully unaware folk out there), I felt a sense of melancholy. Is it because I'm almost a decade older? I found a new wrinkle yesterday. No, I realized that the entire concept of this seemingly innocent show, guised as a vehicle to help people "find" true love, is actually a contest to determine how worthy each woman (or man) is to be loved.
TRIVIAL DISCLAIMER: Since the first show premise was based on women (and honestly, the only seasons I've watched are the ones with the women competing...blame it on the same-sex schadenfreude I must revel in), I'll comment only on those seasons.
Now, back to that Finale. While watching Jake the Pilot "choose" the black sheep Vienna to be his soul-mate, over the much more audience-friendly Tenley, I became sick to my stomach. If I were in Tenley's position (at the age she was...early 20's), at the moment Jake the Pilot started vaguely referring to "not knowing" what was "missing" from their connection, I would have felt my entire sense of lovability quickly melting into nothingness. To reflect on all the previous seasons, that's pretty much what most of the rejected, deflated women who didn't get the rose, or more tragically, the ring, reported feeling.
And then there was the spectacle of beautiful, young, lithe women stacked up as if on bleachers in front of the Bachelor, just primed for the pickin'. The sacred opportunity to find your ultimate romantic love connection: trivialized into a process that chooses teams for volleyball. Except, instead of being picked for a team, these women are picked to be A LIFELONG MATE. The preposterousness is only hitting me now: at an age and life-point when I'm finally able to have a sense of myself that isn't precariously hinged on approval, being desired, or being liked.
The "chosen" women seemed to be on a perpetual Sally Field Oscar "you like me...you really like me" speech high after they received that damn rose. And for those unlucky enough to stand there empty-handed, after all the American Beauties have been doled out? Well, I guess you just didn't float his boat, toots. You didn't rock his world. You didn't cut the mustard. Maybe you should try a different means of looking for love, say...in reality? Maybe there you'll have a little more equality on the playing field, perhaps even get to have a say in whether a man is suitable for YOU (not just whether you're rose-worthy to him).
Now comes the part that's even more absurd. The scenarios this show sets up for the potential lovebirds are painstakingly false. Who "gets to know" the "real" you whilst hang-gliding in Tahiti? Or on a gondola ride in Florence? Or, in Jake the Pilot's case: realizing his passionate, undeniable connection with Vienna while almost pissing his pants on a bungee cord jump? Are you kidding me? These are the tests of relationship mettle that the Bachelor needs to have put in place to make sure he'll be set for life with The One? These people have been voluntarily thrown into a pressured, fabricated situation for a short period of time. When the hoopla, intensity and competition ends, what actual footing does the couple have to stand on? Though there are a handful of "lasting" Bachelor/Bachelorette couples (Trista being the only one who seems like she might be settled in for the long-haul), I'm interested to note that a huge majority of the relationships met their makers not too long after the cameras ceased rolling.
And then there's good ol' Jason and Molly. Aren't they so cute with their on-air nuptials? I'm sure the rain was a good omen. The fact that he ORIGINALLY ASKED THE OTHER WOMAN TO MARRY HIM really doesn't have any significance anymore, right? I mean, if only we all had that option: to propose marriage, or actually get married, and then suddenly have it dawn on us that someone we've rejected was actually The One. That, I believe, might be the essence of selfishness. Now, let's say Jason married Melissa, had children with her, and then left her for Molly. Yes, that would be way worse. But, let's say Jason, um, didn't ask her to marry him in the first place? That would have been awesome. Again, the pressure to get engaged during the finale is such bunk! Ratings are more important than listening to your gut, I suppose. Especially when it comes to things like making a lifelong commitment to someone else's trusting heart.
And yet, here I am. Watching these shows over the past eight years. Something in the makeup of this show reels me in. Is it the game-show thrill factor? Is it the voyeuristic factor? Maybe. But, I think the biggest reason---and the reason I continue to watch other shows like this---is because there is something enthralling about watching someone getting their sense of worth denied. It resonates with the terror most humans have of being rejected, of not being approved of.
Being rejected instinctually resonates with humans as not surviving; If we're rejected by our parents as babies, we're pretty much screwed. If we're rejected as adults, who will love us when we grow old? These people aren't getting their hearts broken, they're getting their sense of self smashed. And who among us doesn't know and/or fear that feeling? Watching it happen to someone else is strangely cathartic...and also strangely comforting. "Ah, ok. It's not just me who has tried to gain love, approval, acceptance...and had their ego demolished into smithereens." Even if the person who did the demolishing is no more than a random dude you're on a TV show with, the damage stays in your psyche, and that feeling of core-rejection doesn't just disappear. YOU were rejected. Not your talent, not your clothing. You.
Sitting on the couch, watching someone else grapple with that face-flushing, rock-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach, uncontrollable-tears-welling-up rejection makes everything (maybe just for that moment) seem fair in the world among us survival-seeking humans.
TODAY'S ROXY SHOCKS RX: Do the unthinkable, and purposely do things you anticipate will be rejected. I like to call these things "self experiments." Getting used to being rejected not only takes the sting out a little with every rebuff, but it also helps prove false a gnawing fear that we need others to prove our worth. We're not helpless infants anymore, dependent on our parents for survival; our worth is inherent. And it's definitely nowhere to be found in the (often transient) opinions of others.
TODAY'S ROXY SHOCKS RADIO RX: "Save Me" (AIMEE MANN)
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