by Andie McCoyd

Created on: April 23, 2009

Everybody - EVERYBODY - watches reality television. I don't care how much Proust you've read, how many different ways you can dissect Blue Velvet, or how deeply you appreciate the avant-garde musical stylings of John Cale. I don't care about your law degree, or how badly Harper's wants to publish your essays. Philosophers and Philistines alike, we all watch reality television because - philosophers and Philistines alike, reality television feeds our perversions. We like to believe we subsist solely on the finer things, and our desires are baser than we'd like to admit. Take one part schadenfreude, blend with voyeurism until incorporated, and that's how you make dessert for your ego.

Reality TV is basically scripted, and, when not, directors encourage participants to at least guide their conversations to a certain plot point. The thing is, though, the finished product that fills our living rooms with bleeped-out swear words and asinine observations is really the work of the editor. Come on, you really think they pay these people? Not a chance in hell! So, to a point, these are real people you're watching. Why do they do it? Two reasons. Kick up a big enough stink every episode, and there will be loads of promotional work to follow - recognition sells, irony is back in fashion, and what's more ironic than a cat-fighting reality show star selling you car insurance? The other reason: because they know you'll be there, every week.

It's the thrill of watching, of being watched, and reinterpreting what you see so that it pleases you. Don't try to tell me that watching Bret Michaels lumber through a sea of bikinis and fake breasts like a stoned bear doesn't give you a little chill. Who doesn't want to live in a world where a beer-bellied man who not only has never done a single thing of consequence but also has blonde hair extensions can spend two months on a tour bus full of women vying for his affection? Reality TV doesn't reflect how real life plays out - of course not; who the hell wakes up to Ray J. wheeling a breakfast cart up to your bed in a Las Vegas resort? And who watching Survivor can ever say, "Ah, yes. I remember when I had to jump over a series of boulders on a remote island in Micronesia to acquire a large sum of money. So glad I quit my day job!" No, reality TV reflects something a bit scarier: who our Everyman has become.

The Everyman, and in later years, when people actually started to pay attention to the fact that women are human beings with thoughts

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