Core Post #4 - Daniela

 This year has marked quite a few amount of "firsts" for me. It marked my first time using zoom, my first time teaching a class, and most importantly, my first time watching an episode of the Bachelorette and the Bachelor. The Bachelor also experienced a first. After 25 years, the show finally featured its first ever Black bachelor, Matt James, a  28-year-old real estate broker. This occurred after being on the air for only 19 years, 25 seasons, and over 5 spin-offs of the franchise. Phew! The show has not been without its criticisms over the lack of diversity that it is chronically complicit of, but this year this lack is on screen and the audience is thus forced to consider how the rules of the game change when Black is no longer mutable and becomes center stage.

In Sabrina Strings & Long T. Bui's "She is not acting, she is", the authors discuss the ways in which gender is problematized while race is either rendered invisible or naturalized, gender appears to be mutable, but race is made to look 'real' or natural" (Strings and Bui 822). In the case of The Bachelor,  gendered norms are what are made to look "natural" and expected, while race is generally rendered mutable until race becomes palatable (and marketable) through "one-on-ones" with Matt James and a female contestant. Race really takes center stage when you take the show out of its on screen quarantined context and move it beyond into social media where the fans are able (sometimes unfortunately) to share their opinions on the show as well as dig up old instagram posts. First, I want to briefly discuss the heavy weight of gender in the show. 

The female contestants on The Bachelor play heavily into "catty" feminine stereotypes (that are actually somewhat subverted in The Bachelorette). Much like contestants on RuPaul's Drag Race, the women on The Bachelor play into this idea of a "real" feminity, one in which the women are beholden to a single man (much of what we see on camera is seriously just the women waiting to see Matt). They are rarely without make-up (even when they are lounging around, waiting) and during the rose ceremony they are dressed in gorgeous, shiny gowns that are rarely ever worn more than once. The environment of the show practically forces the women to perform in such a way in order to "win" the engagement ring from the Bachelor. A similar pressure to perform in order to win the competition is discussed in with Strings and Bui, but in the case of The Bachelor it is far less twisted as the women do to some extent retain a form of agency, one that is not afforded to racialized members of the LGBTQ community. They are not twisting or deconstructing any norms, but rather reaffirming them: "reality TV has been known to contribute to the naturalization of stereotypes, often done in an effort to create gossip-worthy moments on a show" (Strings and Bui 824). The women are reduced to being available and catty, while Matt often finds himself on display (often shirtless) less as a human being and more as a prize. Are there any real winners on The Bachelor?

In terms of race, as I mentioned earlier, Matt James's race is hardly mentioned on the show until James sits down with the women on "one-on-ones" (James talks privately with one other contestant) or when the fact that he is a novel exception to the extremely white history of The Bachelor is mentioned, most often by the host Chris Harrison. Recently (to my personal delight) blonde-haired, blue-eyed Chris Harrison has come under fire after defending one of the female finalists after an old instagram post has surfaced of contestant Rachael Kirkconnell attending an antebellum plantation-themed ball. Kirkconnell faced immediate backlash from fans and observers alike. Rather than recognizing or at least questioning why the photo is racist, host Harrison immediately defended Kirkconnell, alluding to the fact that she is being "victimized" by "cancel culture". Cancel culture, of course, is merely a phrase thrown around predominantly by the privileged in order to reformulate the narrative in a way that will make them appear to be victimized when in reality, even the "canceled" predators with power manage to re-emerge (think Louis C.K.'s return to stand up). Harrison is just another example among the many white men/women/non-binary people that when faced with consequences of their actions backtrack, "educate themselves", and eventually return to the public eye with an alleged re-education. As discussed in last week's class, whiteness is the invisible race that goes unnoticed in order to assert its definition of what is "normal". For Kirkconnell, the antebellum South was a period in time in which women dressed in gowns and attended cotillions. She is "not constrained by the history of racial marking in the same way as the black and brown persons" (Strings and Bui 832) are.  Kirkconnell, at least in 2018 when she attended to plantation party, thought of the party as simply that- a party. In the end, I see no real winner of The Bachelor in sight. Not now, not in 2 weeks... possibly not ever. In my lifetime at least.

Supplemental Post #1 - Laura Broman. unnecessary extended metaphor

 I keep thinking about Ouellette and Hay’s evocation of Louis Brandeis’ “laboratory of democracy,” as they “emphasize this experimentalism and ongoing effort to test limits and to manage failure” (220). I was initially resistant to the notion that any of what Ouellette and Hay discuss qualifies as democracy, but heck, the whole concept of “democracy” is so malleable, so ill-defined, that why not.

Ouellette and Hay make it clear that their exclusive focus is on reality TV, but I am reminded of the Andrejevic reading of a couple weeks ago, in which one of his TWoPper respondents described audiences as TV producers’ “constituents.” There is something I find kind of abominable about that statement (like, should artists really be considered your elected representatives?), but nevertheless it shows that the production of narrative TV, too, can be viewed as a democratic or participatory process in certain ways.

I’d like to temporarily set aside the theme of self-governance/neoliberalism and take the “democratic television” idea as a chance to think about the other parallels between television participation and theories of democracy. Reading Ouellette and Hay I started thinking about James Madison’s Federalist 10, in which he discusses the danger of the faction, a portion of the citizenry united by interests that go against the interests of the group at large. Factions are natural, and you can’t destroy them without destroying liberty itself. He argued that a democratic republic would mitigate the dangers that faction poses to a functioning state. And, as history has shown, it all worked out perfectly!

The notion of faction as natural to democracy makes me think of the toxic wasteland that is 21^st-century fandom culture (apologies to Henry Jenkins). Certainly we could describe the ideologically opposed groups within fandoms as factions that reflect how the American democratic system has historically operated: we can see how the producers of Star Wars chose to respond to the racist faction of the fandom calling for Kelly Marie Tran to be excised from the cast rather than the faction calling for queer representation. Faction is natural, as Madison argued, and when left unmitigated it becomes corrosive to the whole system.

I have no real point here. But Madison argued that the best way to mitigate faction was to have a republic, and as I’ve already said it was fucked from the very beginning worked out pretty well for us. So how do we work through this problem when it comes to fandom? If that TWoPper sees themself as a "constituent," are TV writers their representatives in a democratic republic? Is this really working out for us? Am I just blabbering at this point?

Core Response #4 - Laura Broman

One of the classic symptoms of late capitalism is manufactured solutions to manufactured problems. My personal favorite version of this is the range of wildly silly “As Seen On TV” kitchen products that are supposed to save you time and money in the kitchen, two things which are surely scarce in your life due to your low-paying, energy-draining job. The language of the marketing on these products tends to target working women, promising to alleviate guilt over not having enough time to spend with your kids/in the kitchen. If you just brought the product, your problems would be solved.

We can see another form of this symptom play out in Anna McCarthy’s essay on the “Neoliberal Theater of Suffering” that is reality TV. Traumatic suffering belies the myth of liberal utopia as dreamt by Hegel and all the others, since trauma transcends our capabilities of self-governance and defies logic and rational explanation. Feelings don’t care about your facts, in other words. The traumatic subject, Bruce the amputee in the case of Random 1, suffers under detached neoliberal governance, his inability to function under self-governance rendering him abject in the eyes of civil society.

Yet, of course, the solution to Bruce’s challenges are not identified in any kind of policy reform or shift in governance from the self back to the state. Rather, he is given a superficial gift from the benevolent hosts of Random 1, his challenges transformed into a mirror with which the hosts and viewer can self-actualize as successfully responsible members of this private-civic sphere. The traumatized subject is recast as a product for consumption, and the myth of neoliberal self-governance is reaffirmed. The whole thing is a bit of a yikes.

Ouellette and Hay’s chapter on TV as democracy fits into these ideas in an interesting way. The illusion of choice is another component of capitalism, one which Ouellette and Hay don’t explore very deeply in this piece yet which is very much present. Yes, on American Idol you have the opportunity to vote for your favorite, a basic tenet of democracy (a word that desperately needs defining here, but I assume that happened elsewhere in the book). Yet whomever you choose to vote for, your affective labor and active participation in this private/public forum is ultimately to the benefit of the show, the network, the company that owns it, and nobody else. You have freedom of choice, but that choice ultimately has the same outcome whatever. American democracy at its finest.

Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I’ll pull up one of those kitchen product infomercials on YouTube. I find them strangely soothing: at the most conscious level I can laugh at the terrible food they make using the products, which they insist tastes good, and I can shake my head at the gendered insinuations about nuclear families and responsibilities of child-rearing. But on another level, the one that takes over as I slip back into sleep, I can imagine that if I just bought the product, I would be a fully functioning, self-governing member of the state. And then everything would be okay.

Core Post 3 - Charlotte

 McCarthy’s analysis of the neoliberal structures embedded within reality television, as well as the connection of such systems with trauma, is very compelling. McCarthy argues that the form of reality TV is structured around individuality, centering narratives around an individual or small group. Series like Random 1, What Not to Wear, and The Swan center around transforming the life of one individual, while game-based competition shows promise a contestant a prize. Even more verite style shows (shows like The Real Housewives and Dance Moms, where there is no game or makeover and the cast remains relatively consistent over seasons) offer individuals the promise of fame. McCarthy also notes that, while these individuals are presented with the pretense of ability to transform into ‘model citizens,’ little is actually gained or changed from the televisual intervention. The draw toward reality series, then, is watching the pain and suffering of others.

As I read McCarthy’s piece, I found myself drawing connections to The Anna Nicole Show, which aired on E! for two seasons from 2002 to 2004. The series follows Anna Nicole Smith, a figure who would likely fit into Rafael’s categorization of a minor celebrity (or, at least, somebody who has experienced intense fame without the respect that comes with stardom), in the years following her career peak modeling for Guess and Playboy. In many regards, Smith’s life and career follows the logic of neoliberalism: despite being born into poverty and abuse, she used her resources to climb to the top of the socioeconomic ladder. However, due to her marriage to a billionaire oil tycoon in his late 80s, this wealth and success is viewed as largely illegitimate. The entrepreneurial citizen is offended by Smith’s ‘cheating’ to climb to the top; her breast implants and bleached blonde hair point to the superficiality of her beauty, and unconventional marriage and work as a stripper place her in a culturally low (even “white trash”) status. Her ascension to wealth is viewed culturally as undeserved, thus rendering any respect that would normally accompany such status illegitimate. At the time of shooting, Smith was significantly heavier and was largely unable to conceal her struggles with addiction. Stripped of her conventionally attractive looks, she is represented as a joke. The opening credits of each episode feature an animated version of Smith’s life, framing her as a gold digger and emphasizing the poverty she grew up in. The series frames her from unflattering angles as she goes about her daily life, frequently including shots of her eating or sleeping. She is frequently visibly intoxicated (her struggles with addiction were relatively public at the time) and incoherent, a representation incongruous with the silly credit sequence and the glittery pink transition wipes. While initially successful, the show was cancelled after two seasons due to a continuous decline in viewership. This is likely in part because while it may be entertaining to watch suffering that is relatively contained (and frequently hopeful), The Anna Nicole Show lacks the veneer of hopefulness McCarthy detects in other reality series. While Random 1 presents an unrealistic though complete narrative of overcoming trauma and becoming a model citizen, The Anna Nicole Show is transparently bleak and empty.

Core Response #4 - Sebastian

    I want to preface this by noting that the only time I’ve actively sought out a reality television show was during a couple weeks in high school when I watched episodes of Hell’s Kitchen that had been uploaded to YouTube. This isn’t at all because I disdain the genre, it’s just because my parents discouraged all forms of television when I was younger. That said, this week’s readings made me contemplate something about Hell’s Kitchen that I hadn’t when I was younger – Why is Gordon Ramsay so mean? On the surface, that seems like a childish question. Gordon Ramsay is mean because that’s part of his persona and a key part of the show’s selling point. In “The Political Economic Origins of Reali-TV,” Chad Raphael notes that this genre partially emerged from the networks’ need for cheap programming during periods of labor unrest (128). As a result, reality television drew substantially on the approach of tabloid journalism, focusing on “lifestyle, human interest, and celebrity news” (133). Given these origins, it is unsurprising that a show like Hell’s Kitchen revels in the drama of contestants who feel humiliated and ashamed. But the host of a reality show does not innately have to be cruel for the show to create scenarios wherein the contestants will embarrass themselves. So perhaps a better way to phrase my question would be: Why is the host’s cruelty such an unquestioned cornerstone of Hell’s Kitchen’s format? 

    In “Reality Television: A Neoliberal Theater of Suffering,” Anna McCarthy writes, “It seems to me that it’s impossible to talk about trauma’s place in reality television without talking about torture and violation” (30). This statement feels very applicable to Hell’s Kitchen. I don’t remember the show ever really trying to teach the spectator good cooking techniques or how to responsibly run a kitchen. The weekly promise wasn’t “You’ll get to see some people compete in a cooking challenge,” it was “You’ll get to see some people reduced to tears when Gordon Ramsay lambasts their cooking skills.” In keeping with McCarthy’s observations about “violation,” Ramsay’s tirades were never just hyperbolic constructive criticism; they were often personal attacks. I recall middle and high school friends making similar observations about Simon Cowell’s tenure as one of the judges on American Idol. Whenever they would talk about the show, it was always about how scathing Cowell’s barbs were. Yet what I find striking about both Ramsay and Cowell is that the spectator is never expected to question their behavior. Their petulance is simply one of the shows’ baseline assumptions, somewhat like the weekly format or the recurring graphics. 

    McCarthy suggests that one might read the dynamics of reality television – and neoliberalism in general – in terms of anxious attachment. She describes it thusly, “Researchers condition rats to expect food whenever they press a lever, then chance the rules abruptly, dolling out the food at random intervals. The rats go mad and spend every waking moment banging the levers, hoping with every atom of their rodent being for the fix they were trained to expect” (McCarthy 34). Although it can be easy to miss in a show like Hell’s Kitchen, Gordon Ramsay does dole out praise every once and a while. But it's always unexpected and, as often as not, unexplained. And I wonder if this isn’t key to the show’s own mobilization of anxious attachment. It is impossible to predict when Ramsay will be enraged and when he will be pleased, so the contestants scurry about, desperately trying to elicit the latter response. 

    Yet I also think it is worth noting that Ramsay and Cowell clearly embody a certain understanding of white masculinity in these shows. As I previously noted, Hell’s Kitchen could find other ways to show the contestants under pressure. Yet perhaps it could not find an easier way. After all, who better to endless generate the drama of reality television than white men like Ramsay and Cowell, exactly the kind of people whose behavior our culture tends to never question or scrutinize. Hell's Kitchen permits the spectator to be critical when the contestants are sexist, racist, or just generally abusive. But while the show frames Ramsay as harsh and domineering when he exhibits these same traits, I never recall it presenting him as wrong or reprehensible. Somehow Ramsay was always exempt from the standards of decency. Likewise, it’s telling that some viewers – such as my middle and high school friends watching American Idol – don’t just accept this vision of white masculinity, they embrace it. Ramsay and Cowell are somehow “cool” for being cruel. And while I have no experience whatsoever with The Apprentice, I can’t help but wonder how this all relates to the way in which Donald Trump’s supporters responded to his vindictive actions as president.

    Returning to the land of reality television, though, I wonder how the precedent established by the likes of Ramsay and Cowell shapes a show like RuPaul’s Drag Race. As Sabrina Strings and Long T. Bui note in “She Is Not Acting, She Is,” RuPaul is occasionally quite critical of the contestants. Describing one season in particular, they note that “RuPaul constantly criticizes Stacy for not giving enough ‘personality’ in her drag performances and costumes” (828). But, on the whole, RuPaul appears to present himself as somewhat less volatile than his white heteronormative counterparts. Thus, it would be interesting to further explore how the cultural conception of the aggressive and implicitly white masculine reality television host interacts with the competing discourses about gender and race that Strings and Bui describe in their essay. 

Note: I would like to credit Daniela for getting me thinking about some of the ideas I address in this post.

Core Response #3: Julia

I really loved this week's reading of "She Is Not Acting, She Is" by Strings and Bui, especially because it helped me formulate some ideas I have had after watching everything from the RuPaul cinematic universe during this past year in quarantine. The argument in this text is clear, while Drag Race is known for encouraging gender play and parody, race takes on a contentious role that differs according to contestants. While white and light-skinned queens are frequently able to transcend one specific racial identity, black and brown queens struggle with constantly being encouraged to play-up racial stereotypes in order to find success on the show. However, 10 more seasons and many spin-offs of Drag Race have aired since this 2013 discussion of Season 3. While their argument about racial authenticity and the boundaries of racial play are still very much relevant, the show has since further problematised its depictions of gender and class. 

Firstly, I'd like to talk a bit about the show's treatment of its trans women cast members. RuPaul came under fire for making statements in the press saying that trans women likely did not have a place on a show like Drag Race, despite the fact that drag balls historically welcomed varying gender identities. While playing the gendered role of a woman is allowed on Drag Race, seeking the full "realness" of womanhood is off-limits. Therefore much like the discussion of race in the Strings and Bui piece, the question of gender and authenticity becomes just as contentious. Despite these statements, popular queens such as Gia Gunn and Peppermint joined the show and revealed their identities as trans-women in later episodes of their seasons. Their trans identities became their pivotal narrative arcs, which the show somewhat-exploitatively promoted to gloss-over RuPaul's controversial interview statements. Since so much of Drag Race promotes the idea of "serving realness," it is odd that the gendered and racial expectations of that reality are so often manipulated to portray contestants in ways that may feel inauthentic to them. 

Additionally, the role of class on the show has also evolved with Drag Race's newfound elevated production value. The idea of play and authenticity within class is a bit harder to map out. The origins of drag balls and pageants are very much rooted in the idea of portraying personas from different class backgrounds, and often giving the illusion of wealthy women dripping in opulence. This illusion of opulence should be created through one's creativity and design skills, essentially opening up drag as an accessible art form to anyone. However, this idea of class becomes problematised when queens of considerable means take part in contests like Drag Race. Many recent queens, such as Jan Sport and Gigi Good, have boasted their ability to afford designer clothing or to commission their looks from actual design teams. While the privilege of this kind of financial support is never broached on-air, RuPaul systematically shuts down any queen who might try to use their lack of financial means as a justification for the simplicity of their look. In this case, queens who are able to afford authentic wealth are no longer playing a part, while queens who cannot afford these same looks struggle to keep up. With regards to class, the question of authenticity is never truly addressed, but is in fact a constant hinderance to queens who cannot afford the "realness." 

Ultimately, I found the Strings and Bui piece extremely enlightening, and I would love to see some of their more recent thoughts on the show's evolution. The idea of authenticity and who is allowed to seek it is an important one to consider in the context of reality TV, but also in our understanding of intersectional queer theory. 

RuPaul's interview on the inclusion of trans contestants: https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2018/mar/03/rupaul-drag-race-big-f-you-to-male-dominated-culture

Peripheral Post #3 - Sebastian

    I finally got around to watching the first two episodes of WandaVision, and I couldn’t help but immediately think of the “Betty, Girl Engineer” episode of Father Knows Best. In particular, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed these two episodes in direct contrast to how much I disliked “Betty, Girl Engineer.” It seems to me that WandaVision isn’t just trying to recreate the conventions of 1950s/1960s sitcoms; it’s also trying to make them more palatable to contemporary audiences by scrubbing away the overtly reactionary politics of a show like Father Knows Best. 

    On the one hand, this was part of what made WandaVision appealing to me. In the midst of this pandemic, I found that there was something oddly comforting about the insularity and banality of the 1950s sitcom format. Almost the entire action of the first episode takes place in the protagonists’ house, and the biggest problem they face is pleasing Vision’s boss during a dinner get-together. Likewise, while the pandemic has certainly wrought immense change and upheaval, the day-to-day experience of trying to always stay at home and be responsible can sometimes feel incredibly insular and banal (I should acknowledge that this is obviously shaped by my distinct position of privilege. On any given day, the most exciting dilemma I personally face might be whether or not my sister or I get to use the washing machine next. 

    On the other hand, I wonder if WandaVision is simply repackaging the conservative ideology of 1950s sitcoms without actually changing its core DNA. This is most noticeable when it comes to the portrayal of Wanda as a housewife. Unlike “Betty, Girl Engineer,” WandaVision makes no explicit claims about how women belong exclusively in the domestic sphere. But it also doesn’t really subvert this trope either. Instead, Wanda dutifully occupies the role of sitcom housewife. In fairness, I am only two episodes into the show. Not only will the television reference points change (as I understand it, the next episode will harken back to the 1970s), but the show might eventually explain why Wanda acts the way she does in the first two episodes. But, for the moment, I can’t help but wonder if my own enjoyment of these episodes is making me complicit in the very ideology that I so vehemently objected when it was simply more explicit in “Betty, Girl Engineer.”