My Secret Vice

I can’t stand most reality shows. I think they’re mindless crap, exploiting the human weaknesses of voyeurism, cruelty, and stupidity. That, and since the first episode of The Real World on MTV (I refuse to link either of those—specifically because of what I’m about to write), the word “reality” has nothing to do with them. I think they should be called taped-live-carefully-controlled-utterly-contrived-total-lack-of-reality shows. TLCCUCTLOR shows. See? It’s too long an acronym. And frankly, when they come up to you asking if you want to be on The Surreal Life, you are one step away from performing on cruise ships, baby. Does anyone remember the episode of the Simpsons when they were in Branson, MO and saw the show “We’re the Celebrities You Thought Were Dead”? Note how many of them have actually been on The Surreal Life. It’s pretty funny…and sad.

However, my secret reality pleasure is…America’s Next Top Model. I love it. I watched the marathon over Christmas and couldn't get enough. All the drama, the flaring tempers, the different shooting locations, the wimps, the bitches, the beauties, the ugly ducklings, the transvestite runway trainers…. I don’t know why I got hooked; maybe because they don’t have the horribly embarrassing videos of the models who didn’t make it, a la American Idol. Is it the girl inside me who secretly loves clothes and makeup and pretty pretty pictures? Is it the voyeur in me who loves to see who they’re going to cut next? It’s not any latent love for Janice Dickinson’s overexposed cleavage. I don’t know why…I just love it.

Now, ‘fess up! You know you love at least one of them. Don't you judge me; you know you TiVo Wife Swap.