The Bachelorette and Moral Outrage

Recently I’ve been in a number of discussions with well-educated folks on the topic of reality TV.  At least some of these people have taken these discussions as an opportunity to flex their cringe muscles.  The very mention of the genre induced visceral disgust.  Their humanity and intellect was insulted by the mere existence of such programming.

I’m not really so ashamed to admit that I’m a fan of the Bachelor and Bachelorette and have been for some years now.  I find some of the characters on the show endlessly entertaining.  Some have received my sympathy, some my love, some my hatred, but rarely my indifference.  Certain things about the show grind on me and I’m usually glad to be able to fast forward through commercials, but there’s no doubt that I’m sucked in.  Upon saying this to the cringing intellectuals I receive looks of shock and worse- pity.  How could I possibly be so obtuse? 

In this post I’m not so interested in defending the show.  In fact I’m not sure I could.  If pressed far enough I find it difficult to pinpoint the show’s moral contribution to society. What I have to say about The Bachelor/ette is more descriptive than defensive.  I want to make some observations that illuminate some of the particulars of a rather contentious pop cultural battleground.

I think a discussion of the show has to begin with this question: Is The Bachelorette a competition show? In one sense- yes.  25 men are “competing” for the affections of a single woman (in the current season her name is Ashley).  The men are all structurally provided opportunities to impress her.  They go on a slew of individual and group dates in which they have limited time to show her why they are the man worthy to be sliding an engagement ring on her finger by season’s end.  The men are sly: they give Ashley tidbits about what other guys are like when she’s not around, they ask her to chat while she is already mid-conversation with a competitor, and they work to establish a relationship ASAP knowing that they are on the chopping block.  It’s all quite strategic.  When the show’s host Chris Harrison posts blog entries applauding certain men for “rising to the occasion,” the competitive aspect of the show is made rather explicit.

But what of a man who comes on the show and is strictly interested in winning?  Outrage.  “Winning” the competition is not a morally sufficient reason to be there.  We see this over and over again across seasons.  This season it was the oh-so-handsome Bentley who declared his lack of interest in Ashley immediately upon his arrival to the mansion (playing field?).  Nonetheless he stuck around, convinced Ashley he was “there for the right reasons”, poured on the romance, and totally wooed her.  Having full knowledge of Bentley’s intentions, Harrison tried to warn Ashley but failed- she “followed her heart.”  When eventually she learned the full thrust of his gamesmanship, Ashley was furious that somebody could have taken advantage of her attempt to see the good in people. 

So in some ways there’s an irony: on a competition show Bentley became widely seen as the season’s slimeball villain for being a “player” whose sole interest was competing.  The full thrust of the irony is appreciated when we look at a twitter account which celebrates Bentley for turning the show into a “real competition”.  Presumably in attempt to take jabs at Bentley’s many haters, this tweeter misses the point: if you wanted a real competition, then you’d properly hate Bentley for leaving the show right when it seemed he was in a position to take the game over.  It would be like celebrating Kobe Bryant as a competitor after he walked off the court in the midst of a key playoff game.

So where does this leave us? The men are competing, but they had better be doing more than “merely competing”.  The men should be there to “find love”.  Consider how un-gamelike that is.  People don’t “find baskets” on the basketball court or “find points” on the tennis court.  They actively seek them out.  Well love (or bachelorette’s version of it) works differently.  It should be something that just happens.  It’s a connection that two people “just have” or perhaps- build together.  All the strategy in the world should not contribute.  It’s something that Ashley and her suitors need to find, but NOT play games with.

Therein is the tinge of reality in the show.  What they are competing over (love, marriage, romance) has relevance beyond the boundaries of the competition.  In fact, the whole point of the competition is to end up with a partner who will be with you for the rest of your life… a much more “real” victory than outscoring an opponent 75-70. 

But then we have to ask, what’s real about proposing to a girl after 2+ months?  Even the winner has had what- 8 dates with her?  Spent just two nights together? The clock is ticking on all the relationships and if the men don’t move quickly enough (who can drop the “L-bomb” first!?!) they may find themselves heading home prematurely.  There is also a very intense asymmetry in the relationships.  While Ashley is openly dating multiple guys and constantly comparing them, the men are expected to focus on her alone.  This season, even an off-camera allusion to internet dating sent one guy packing.  So the men are supposed to show faith in the process and put everything into the relationship while Ashley gets to pick which guy’s devotion pleases her most.  We expect more equality and symmetry in our romantic lives.

So the show, like much of reality tv, lies at the cross road of competition and real life.  And why might that be so infuriating?  I’d suggest it offends people because they see it as a cheapening of real life, real love, and real marriage.  If love can be found on a game show, then what does that say about the viewer’s own relationships or marriage? 

But people can’t just hate it because it’s a stupid or unrealistic concept.  Sponge Bob Square Pants depicts a sponge and a lobster living together at the bottom of the sea and that show receives no such moral vitriol.  I think people see pieces of themselves in the show- pieces they’d rather not confront.  The truth is that all relationships are built up with some competitive and game-like sensibilities.  Don’t return the text message or phone call too fast, lest you seem desperate.  If you’ve done the inviting three times in a row, you wait for her/him to invite you to the next event.  You hint at your feelings or desires without coming right out with it.  A whole genre of dating-self-help literature has built up around these kinds of strategies.

All the little cat-and-mouse maneuvers are perhaps part of the fun of dating.   But people are often morally attached to an honest, upfront, and forthcoming version of their relationship self: “I don’t play games”.  So when The Bachelorette takes those gamey elements and magnifies them, adds a competitive structure, rules of play, and strict time limits, people are forced to confront versions of themselves they’d rather not look at. 

What kind of story is Abby Wambach telling?

In case you missed US women’s national soccer team defeat Brazil on Sunday here’s what happened:  The US scored in the 2^nd minute.  The 1-0 lead stood until the 68^th minute when Brazil scored on a penalty shot that was riddled with controversy.  The American goalkeeper Hope Solo made an impressive save but the referee called a relatively mysterious encroachment violation that allowed the Brazilians a second chance which they promptly converted.  The Americans faced an uphill battle.  The penalty shot was accompanied by a red card and the US would have to find a way to score while playing the rest of the game shorthanded.  After 90 minutes of regulation the game went to extra time.  Then, just two minutes into overtime Brazilian superstar Marta scored a magical goal.  It looked like the US was done for.  Time ticked down, hope began to slip away.  And then boom.  In the 122nd minute this happened:

Pretty wild.  Just a few moments later the referee blew the final whistle and the game was decided on penalty shots.  Hope Solo came up with a brilliant save and the Americans converted all 5 of their shots.  Incredible comeback victory.

For the last 48 hours I’ve become obsessed with Wambach’s last minute heroics.  I’ve probably watched the highlight video over 20 times.  The perfect cross, the Brazilian goalkeeper’s horrible mis-read, the perfect header, an authentically ecstatic celebration. 

I’m not the only one.  I’ve read a number of columns in which an incredible amount of meaning is taken from Wombach’s goal.  It is part of a “fairy tale” about American “heroes”.  It has been called “one of the toughest, most inspiring displays the sport has ever seen.”  Others have gone as far to say that the goal reveals something about the American spirit through a never-die attitude.  Julie Foudy, an ex-national team player and an ESPN commentator tweeted this soon after the game:

What I luv about sports/soccer. If Abby hadn't scored, 1 min later, the world wud've forgotten the courage displayed 2night. Thank u #uswnt.

Foudy is picking up on what we all intuitively know about sports.  The meaning of a play is drastically different depending on where it happens in the game.  What Foudy is not saying is that if Abby had scored 1 minute earlier, the memory of the game would have been slightly different.  Or if Abby had scored 20 minutes earlier?  Or if Abby had scored first and Marta had scored the last second goal?  Very different.  It’s not just whether you win or lose, it’s how you win or lose.  It’s how the story, or narrative, of the game played out.  In this case the story has a climax at the end that allows us to re-interpret earlier portions of the game.   We extract meaning about country and nation and spirit and heroes because of how and when Abby scored and not just that she scored.

Sports like soccer are a weird beast in this way.  The game marches toward conclusion regardless of what actually happens inside the game.  The clock provides all players and spectators with a definitive sense of “how much is left”.  So the tension that’s built has a unique character.  Not only do we NOT know what will happen, but we DO know precisely when it will have happened.  The knowledge of the precise quantity of game remaining transforms the qualitative meanings of what happens.

Compare this to a sport like baseball which has a slightly different dynamic as the game winds down.  It is the bottom of the 9^th inning, 2 outs, the home team down by a run, 3 balls, 2 strikes, nobody on base.  After the batter fouls off several pitches the pitcher delivers a ball and the batter takes his base.  The tension that built up during the last at bat is momentarily relieved. The game could have ended with the previous at bat but it was extended for at least one more batter.  The same dynamic actually plays out with every pitch.  Because a batter can foul balls into the stands ad nauseum the fans and players can never be positive that the next play is their absolute last chance.

While the difference between baseball and soccer narrative “count downs” are subtle, it points to different experiences of gaming.  Tension is built in different ways.  Baseball builds tension in a herky-jerky style while soccer’s tension builds in a slow and steady hum as the clock marches toward completion.

So when Julie Foudy finds “courage” in the American performance she is doing a reading of just these dynamics.  She makes a curious claim, though.  She says that if Abby hadn’t scored, we would have “forgotten” what was obviously there: the courage.  I actually think that if Abby hadn’t scored we would have taken a different set of meanings from the game altogether.  We would have reinterpreted the overtime as a “coming up short” not a “courageous near miss”.  This sounds close to what Foudy is saying except she wants to believe the courage was there regardless of the goal, I'm saying that we see courage because of the goal.

So things that happen toward the ends of games help us reinterpret the sequence of events that happened up until that point.  Lots of things in social life are like this.  The verdict at a trial, for example.  While we might have thought the defense’s opening statement a bit bizarre, after the not-guilty verdict suddenly it seems rather brilliant.  The climax at the trial is, by definition, the end of the narrative.  And the end tells us what happened in the beginning.  As we come to the end of a great novel we may begin to sense the urgency of the ending coming toward us.  But we also rush to find out what happens on page 300 partly so we can know the full significance of what happened on page 10.

Writers know these dynamics and play with them.  The most obvious example is writer and director M. Night Shyamalan.  Many of his movies give the audience one set of impressions all movie long before he throws in a last minute twist.  In the Sixth Sense we find out that Bruce Willis is actually a dead ghost (and has been all along).  In The Village we find out that this 19^th Century New England village is actually some kind of historical project that exists in a wild life preserve in the 21^st Century (and it has been all along).  Unfortunately for M. Night, his last second heroics are a little too overbearing.  Audiences have started to expect them and they have come to seem corny.  It’s as if Abby Wambach had played cowardly all game long just so she could have the pleasure of making you realize it was actually “courage” that she was doing.