REALITY TV - NOT!

Ah, reality TV—a genre that has somehow managed to make Australia’s wildlife look tame in comparison. Crocodiles and snakes? Child’s play. The real drama unfolds in a poorly lit mansion filled with aspiring influencers and one too many bottles of prosecco. But let’s be fair, reality TV isn’t all bad. It’s just mostly ridiculous.

Reality TV provides a public service, really. It’s an outlet for the masses to indulge in their voyeuristic tendencies without violating anyone’s privacy laws. Shows like The Bachelor offer us the opportunity to watch adults awkwardly attempt romance while wearing ball gowns in hot tubs. It’s like Shakespearean drama, but with rose ceremonies and far fewer syllables.

And let’s not overlook the talent discovery aspect! Sure, it’s mostly talent for yelling during dinner parties (Married at First Sight, anyone?), but isn’t that a skill in its own right? Plus, reality TV can be surprisingly educational. Thanks to MasterChef, we all now know the importance of plating presentation, even if our personal best is a toastie on a paper towel.

Reality TV is also democratic. It takes everyday Australians—teachers, tradies, even the occasional sheep farmer—and transforms them into household names. Sure, they may be famous for sobbing in a confessional booth or flipping a table, but hey, fame is fame.

But let’s talk about the "reality" part of reality TV, which is about as authentic as a fake tan. Critics argue that these shows reflect reality in the same way a sideshow mirror reflects your face—distorted, exaggerated, and just a bit unnerving. Deal or No Deal makes you believe that the contestant for the night is totally surprised by being selected to play the game when in fact they would have been told beforehand and had time to prepare for it. Among other trip-ups, contestants have often inadvertently let slip that they spent days deciding on their special number in preparation for the game or they have provided family video footage to be shown during the game. Yet they continue to show utter surprise when their name is called.

Editing wizards stitch together hours of footage to create compelling narratives, turning mild disagreements into full-blown vendettas. Did that contestant really hate her roommate, or was she just out of Vegemite that morning? We’ll never know because the producers have already added dramatic music and a slow-motion glare.

Then there’s the issue of coaching. Participants are often nudged—if not outright shoved—into behaving in ways that are more entertaining for viewers. Reality? Not so much. It’s more like a poorly scripted soap opera where the actors are paid in exposure and Instagram followers.

And let’s not forget the ethics—or lack thereof. Shows often humiliate contestants for our amusement, turning human vulnerability into prime-time content. Whether it’s a contestant having a meltdown over a burnt soufflé or another being “unexpectedly” blindsided in tribal council, the humiliation is the point. The tagline might as well be: “Watch people’s dreams crumble while you enjoy your evening snack.”

Finally, the cultural impact. Reality TV glamourises materialism, petty squabbles, and an unhealthy obsession with fame. It’s hard to take the moral high ground when the national pastime seems to be watching people argue over who deserves the nicest room in The Block.

Reality TV in Australia is like Vegemite—polarising, sometimes hard to swallow, but undeniably a part of the culture. It’s a genre that offers escapism, entertainment, and occasionally a bizarre kind of inspiration, even if it’s just resolving to never audition for Big Brother.

So, whether you’re a devoted fan or a reluctant viewer, let’s all agree on one thing: Reality TV might not reflect life as it is, but it sure reflects life as we sometimes wish it wasn’t. And maybe that’s its real charm.