Sweet escape

I never really understood the appeal of soap operas. Sure, I went through a 'Passions' phase in the early 2000s (who didn't), but for the most part I just didn't get why such terribly-acted, overdramatic, unrealistic shows were so popular

Then tonight, as I was sitting on the couch watching The Bachelorette finale, hosted by the melting beeswax candle that is Chris Harrison, it dawned on me: reality TV is this generation's soap operas. The Bachelorette is a soap opera. It's essentially the same as General Hospital or Days of Our Lives—only better because actual emotions and reputations are at stake! Now I get it. Whether it's scripted upfront or heavily manipulated through editing, these genres offer us the same precious gift: dramatic narrative.

Nobody was ever watching soaps because they're good. They watched them because they're incredibly basic. They follow a formula. They're easy to consume and easy to forget. They're shallow and surface-level whist pretending to be deep. It's the fakeness we love. It's pantomime. It's a break from the mundanity of our daily lives. It's an escape.





All this led me to another sudden epiphany: reality TV is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, inventions of the past twenty years. What? Is that overboard? OK, at least admit that it's a defining invention of our era. I seriously can't believe it didn't used to exist. We are so lucky to be living in a time where aspiring actors sacrifice their dreams and dignity for the sake of our entertainment.

Unfortunately that's all I can write tonight. The Bachelorette lasted about four hours and it's now just three minutes to midnight. I need to get in bed and rub my Digiorno-filled belly (they were out of Freschettas -- boourns).

Best,

Marge