Sometimes I take a break from my studies to ponder the more important questions of life, namely
WHY THE HECK DOES "THE BACHELOR" STILL EXIST?
This question demands serious contemplation, because, when you think about it, that whole show has got some messed up crap. It's like one big, throw pillow and candle laden psychosis trip. I don't know if the show itself is more disturbing or the fact that so many women religiously devote themselves to it. Some of you blog about it.
My reactions to "The Bachelor":
1. Wow, her dress is ugly.
2. She's still here?
3. Ugh...I hate her.
And before some of you go all Mama Bear on me, I've got my reasons for hating on "The Bachelor," namely that.
But let's start where it all starts: premiere night, AKA: big judgy judge fest.
"The Bachelor" always begins with a colorful montage, rife with excessive objectification of the male figure.
Seriously, though. It's like a product promotion for an abdomen. First the abs are running on the beach, then they're sitting in a very important work meeting, then they're working out with the guy's shirt conveniently crumpled on the floor and they're macro-shot into the ground. Then the man's talking about love and how he hopes to find that special someone, and at that point, everyone should be saying, "Woah, it has feelings? It has a face?"
WHY DO WE JUSTIFY THIS?
Because we're sick, that's why. Sick.
Next come the "introductions," AKA: the "make the gaudiest scene you are capable of, short of dropping a nuclear bomb to make the Bachelor remember you" portion. You know, since you're a plain and forgettable wench. Be yourself? Pssh. Boring. He's more concerned with parades than actual substance anyway.
Real men like being humiliated by women on live television. Didn't you know?
And, ahhh. If only it stopped right there. But it doesn't. Ever.
Cue producer-induced romantic fruit bowls, fountains, rugs, chairs, benches, throw pillows, romantic swings, swimming pools, and dark corners. You know, just like a friggin' monkey exhibit at the zoo.
This is what we're getting from the first twenty minutes: love requires abs, parades, and seductive objects.
And apparently, a whole harem of women.
Some are there for love, some are there for abs, some are there for fancy trips, and some are there to break into the wide world of Hollywood. Add to the recipe of love: agendas. Agendas everywhere.
Of course, it's perfectly natural for girls to fight over one man who they will all date at the same time, kiss at the same time, and expect to marry/exploit/humiliate in the end. That's just how dating works, right? That's why we watch this show, right? For true love? Nothing could go wrong with this whole scenario, right?
Lest you actually believe that tripe, let me disillusion you with more problems.
PROBLEM #1: The producers are essentially stuffing 24 hormonal women into a hotel and telling them to fight for one man. It's like a friggin insane asylum that the general public enjoys watching. THIS IS MADNESS. Like, an emotional Hunger Games. No sane human being could live in this situation without turning into a beast.
And we wonder why the house is always a source of contention...
I always crack up when someone inevitably whines, "You're not the same around him as you are in the house. You're, like, two different people."
Gee, maybe that's because said "house" is a silk-sheet filled, perfume drenched, endorphin bubbling cell filled with angsty grown women who sit on the edge of their plush couches biting their nails, talking about what he looked like, speculating on who he'll take out, and pumping their eyes full of mascara in an attempt to stand out among a sea of blonde-haired, death-to-your-spine stiletto-wearing wannabes. Yeah, at that point, I'd be close to murder. We are watching women go into psychosis. No joke.
PROBLEM #2: Those same women get to watch him date and kiss other women, which, gee, might contribute to the fact that so many Bachelor alumni have major commitment problems. Just a guess. It's major, MAJOR emotional manipulation. It's not normal dating. This is emotional abuse, people!
The lucky girl:
Does he love you? So what if he does? He probably loves two other girls. Take that slice of comfort pie.
Also, a side note: you're not going to go to Asia on a Friday night when you're home and dating this guy seriously, so lower your dang expectations.
|Isn't this such a great date that I didn't pay for or plan? |
PROBLEM #3: Feeling pressured to stand out, to mean something, all of the women start unloading all of their emotional baggage and basically sacrifice their privacy for a chance to stay for one more fancy trip. Like, how many times have we been told to not unload everything about ourselves on a first date? More than these chicks.
"Once I was an orphan."
"Once, I hated men, but that all changed when I met you."
"Once, I got dropped from an airplane on my head and didn't trust another soul."
Someone always pulls the "I love you" card out waaaaaay too early out of panic and desperation.
Or maybe they just lie. "We weren't talking about you! We were talking about the size of that Pagoda in the background. So beautiful." Yeah. Riiiiiiight.
It's just an emotional wreck. AND THEN! And then, in an attempt to provide entertainment value, the producers manipulate everyone's emotions by encouraging and allowing stupid, insane plot twists.
Oh, look. The cute one's got a boyfriend at home.
Oh, look. The one everyone hated is back for drama purposes.
Oh, look. The one girl is stalking him outside of show hours.
You always wonder about what home is like for those ones after they've left the show...
PROBLEM #4: Inevitable heartbreak that everyone knows will happen happens. And the girls are still surprised about it, maybe because they're getting their feelings manipulated on national television. We all know it happens. We enjoy it, because we're sociopaths.
You know it's happening before she does. Bachelor breaks the news.
Cue denial and then sobbing and then sobbing and then sobbing:
Cue anger and a reference to romantic dates on the backs of elephants in Tibet that she thought meant something:
Cue demon rage in the back of a fancy limousine with makeup streaming down her face:
Cue the phrase: "I GIVE UP ON LOVE. HE WAS THE LAST MAN IN THE WORLD. MY LIFE IS OVER."
Meanwhile, all of the other heartless cretins making it to the next show are like:
Eventually, the Bachelor picks his favorite girl, people cry, people get their heart shattered and quite possibly don't have real trust in love again. And we sit on our couches with smiles and tears like watching people get used is the most natural thing in the world. TRUE LOVE. HASHTAGBEAUTIFUL.
Welcome to America.