It is so easy to laugh at people crying in a perfectly staged villa on Love Island, but it feels much harder to admit how invested we are in the couples and whether or not they stay together. It seems silly— why do we care so much if two strangers who met through a wall on Love is Blind make it to “I do”? Why do we have such strong opinions about couples we have never met? How come we spend so much time on the internet dissecting these reality stars’ every move and pointing out every flaw? Why do we watch them evolve into established figures in pop culture?
The reality is (see what I did there) that reality TV isn’t dumb— it’s revealing.Â
Reality television is a mirror to what we see in everyday life: the people we interact with, the relationships we perceive, or the dynamics we participate in ourselves. We pretend that it is mindless, shallow, and rots our brains, but then we spend hours analyzing whether two people were ever really in love. That contradiction is interesting to me. If you strip away the dramatic music and the cheesy games being played, you’re left with something deeply compelling: humans wrestling with identity, power, belonging, and love in real time. Whether we admit it or not, we are endlessly fascinated by human behavior. What better way to judge and consume these behaviors than from the comfort of our own homes, watching people who seem far away from our own lives? I would argue that reality television has become one of the most revealing modern forms of storytelling we have.Â
If you’re curious about how people behave in situations where there’s panic, love, pressure, or a mix of the above, reality television is the perfect combination of it all. It showcases people in vulnerable states within heightened emotional and drastic environments. Essentially, it’s human behavior, just with better lighting.Â
For example, this last season of Love Island was a huge topic of conversation among my friends and me, consuming much of my summer. Analyzing the contestants and their relationships with one another became a daily ritual. Everyone banded together in calling out Huda’s toxic behaviors and relationship dynamics, especially how they impact female friendships and her own relationship on the island. Or Amaya, being called out by the majority of male contestants for being “too much” and “too loving”, phrases that many viewers felt mirrored experiences in their own lives. Over the course of the season, you see redemption arcs, villains becoming heroes, heroes becoming villains, and cautionary tales. Unlike scripted characters with an ending made up for them, these are real people experiencing real emotions. The messiness, and dare I say realness, is what draws people in. It reflects the real world we live in.Â
Perhaps this is why reality television perseveres. No matter how much hate the shows get, people continue to tune in. Even though the shows are dramatic spectacles, they are also painstakingly human. They reveal how people want to be perceived, their desires and insecurities, along with how quickly circumstances can change. It’s a screenshot of the constant tug between being authentic and preserving image, a tension in modern life.Â
Calling reality TV “dumb” is less about true cognitive ability and more about culture and how it is consumed by the general population. Documentaries signal complex thinking, while reality TV signals frivolity. But intelligence is less about only consuming media that is complex and solemn, and more about engaging thoughtfully with whatever you choose to watch.Â
Reality TV doesn’t rot your brain— it reveals it. Â