It wasn’t until 10pm that we turned the TV off.

Only a show like Love Island could keep my eyes glued on the screen and my butt glued to the couch for seven hours straight. An island resort, glorious summer weather, hot women and men strutting around the joint asking each other for a “chat” to see where their “head’s at” – I couldn’t look away.

As I’m waiting to watch the latest episode tonight, the lives of a bunch of attractive, funny and at times extremely shallow strangers on the other side of the world are the only thing that has been on my mind.

What’s more, Married At First Sight (MAFS) starts tonight, which I’m sure I’ll be tuning into.

There are so many elements to reality TV that makes it a guilty pleasure many of us can’t refuse. But there’s one reason I wish I could quit.

We are addicted to the cliffhangers

“Next time on Love Island…”

Currently my least favourite words in the English language.

But the key to a good drama-filled story is a cliffhanger, something to keep us waiting and wanting. If part of a story or a TV show ends unresolved, most of us won’t rest until we find out what happens.

A study at the University of Buffalo found when storytellers – writers, editors, producers – deliver a cliffhanger, it keeps the audience engaged until the next episode, movie or book.

“We don’t like suspense,” said Lindsay Hahn from the University of Buffalo and author of the study. “We like when suspense is resolved, and resolving this novious state makes it more likely for an audience to move to a story’s next instalment.”

If all episodes are available, cliffhangers will most likely make us binge a TV show for hours on end. Likewise, if episodes are drip fed, released every week or so, cliffhangers will stay on our mind for days until we can find out what happens on the next episode.

The only reason I switched the telly off yesterday was because we had run out of episodes on Love Island UK: All Stars. The next episode comes out tonight, and if the wait was any longer, I would’ve lost my mind.

We are addicted to the reprieve from “reality”

Reading the news can be emotionally exhausting. Watching heavy drama shows or movies takes a lot of effort.

But trashy reality TV takes minimal mind space. Plus, reality TV gives us a break from the real “reality” – war, hate, crime, poverty, social injustice and so much more.

That’s not to say we should completely ignore what’s going on in the world around us and only concern ourselves with the relationship statuses of Love Island contestants. 

All it is is another way to navigate the ongoing challenges our generation faces. It’s a way to decompress, escape for 40 minutes in the episode, get mad about the pointless argument Arabella started with Chris, complain about how annoying Anton is.

Then turn the TV off. Return to the real reality, your reality. Get mad about injustice. Complain about the patriarchy. Repeat.

We are addicted to the stars

Reality TV only came to our screens as late as the 1990s. Before then, people who watched TV felt the more technology advanced, the more their lives were commercialised, and the more their world was becoming artificial.

The first reality TV shows emerged on screens to respond to demands for more authentic televisions, more relatable content.

That was 30 years ago. Now, technology is even more advanced, commercialism and consumerism is even more deeply ingrained in our everyday lives. 

And even though reality TV shows appear more unrealistic by the season, we have greater access to the real lives of the people who come onto our screens. Why? The answer is social media.

The people that appear on these shows have thousands, if not millions, of fans following their social media accounts. As the show airs, they may post about how they feel now after certain moments in that episode – that argument, that kiss, that elimination.

But even after the show finishes, fans stick around and follow the lives of reality TV stars intimately. They’ll know the moment a couple gets engaged, they’ll know the moment a relationship ends, they’ll know everything about every stranger they once saw on their TV screens and they now watch on their phone screens.

The accessibility to the lives of stars on social media makes reality TV more real to viewers. This parasocial relationship is nothing short of addictive.

We are addicted to the story

Strip away the fancy resort, the Prada sunglasses, the extravagant dates and parties, and a show like Love Island is simply a love story.

A group of young, single and unfairly attractive people have been unlucky in love and have come to a foreign place to find “the one”. There’s heartbreak, there’s conflict, there’s drama, tears, laughter, hugs, friendship, fights.

It’s a story of the human experience, and apart from being famous and most likely quite wealthy, the stories of the people on screen are relatable. The heartbreak, conflict, drama, tears, laughter, hugs, friendship, fights – we know it, we’ve experienced it, and we enjoy seeing our experiences reflected on TV.

I guess it’s just nicer to watch your story be played out by women in bikinis and men with abs.

The bad side

There’s one part of watching reality TV that I can’t stand – it’s the judgemental thoughts that come to my mind.

I’m judging the outfits, the hair, the style and the personalities of the real people that come on the screen. And it’s only a matter of time before that judgement turns on myself. Suddenly, I’m judging my outfit, my hair, my style, my personality and, worst of all, my own body.

It’s a side effect of watching reality TV that we could really go without. But I wonder if it’s the real reason that keeps me watching the next episode.

The post Four reasons why we watch reality TV – and why I wish I could stop appeared first on Women's Agenda.

I have a lot of wisdom to share when it comes to this and believe others can learn from me. And I genuinely would love some support in finding my man. 

I have never seen a person like me on the popular Australian reality TV show, The Bachelorette. I rarely see someone like me in the media and this is really quite disheartening and disappointing, especially when I believe I’d be a pretty cool bachelorette, with my genuine and authentic self. 

With some seeing my disability before my personality, my hope is to challenge this.  I want to show that just because I’m quite different in the physical sense, doesn’t mean I’m not attractive and beautiful. And I’m deserving of an equal chance of finding a meaningful, romantic relationship. 

I also think if someone with cerebral palsy becomes The Bachelorette, it’d help eliminate bias, break current barriers, raise expectations, and encourage inclusion in society. Which is why I’ve been seriously thinking of applying one day. I feel I am deserving of equal opportunities just like the next girl on the list. And I’d like to confidently lead the way. 

There’s a long way to go when it comes to disability inclusion

I do think society is gradually progressing towards a more inclusive society, but there’s still a lot of work to be done on all ends. People with disabilities are sometimes misrepresented in the media and are mistakenly seen as incompetent and incapable. Further, some people with disabilities are infantilised and disrespected.

Including more women with disabilities on The Bachelorette would show us the incredible possibilities and capabilities that women with disabilities exhibit. It could let us into their world and make people understand what’s it’s like to have a disability and change perspectives for the better. Hopefully it will also help us realise that most women with disabilities are just as capable and strong as any other women in the line. 

Just like everyone else, most of us have big aspirations and dreams and want to travel and do all the normal stuff. We want to try new activities and get outside of our comfort zone and experiment. And also express our sexuality with freedom and choice. We should have more choice and control over our lives and this should be represented in the media. 

Like others, we have emotions and feelings. We feel alone at times. We long for love sometimes. We long for true belonging and acceptance. Which is quite challenging to find as we live in a world that are somwhat programmed to ostracise people who are deemed outside of the norm. But we need to redefine the norms and include others with diverse experiences because diversity is so beautiful and it’s what makes the world more exciting and attractive. 

We need to build a more inclusive society. And having a Bachelorette with a disability would be a great starting point and I wouldn’t mind doing it. So Channel 10, come and get me. I can be your girl. Let’s talk more about how we can make this happen. 

Let me end with this heart warming quote by Jodi Picoult:

“Love is not an equation, it is not a contract, and it is not a happy ending. Love is the slate under the chalk, the ground that buildings rise, and the oxygen in the air. It is the place you come back to, no matter where your headed.”

And everyone should be given the equal opportunity to find it. (Wink, wink) 

The post Could I be the first person with a disability to become “The Bachelorette”? appeared first on Women's Agenda.

Earlier this week, MAFS producers forced the 29-year old Sydney make-up artist to shut down her account after one of her pictures (labelled ‘racy snaps’ by The Daily Mail) was discovered by another bride.

The photo was apparently shared amongst the cast without Calarco’s knowledge or consent, and widely believed to be an act of revenge by fellow contestant Bride, Olivia Frazer. 

An aggrieved Olivia, (who’s already spent a significant chunk of the season bullying Dom for having a voice too loud and not expressing herself well enough– another plot line slammed by hundreds on social media as casual racism toward migrant Australians), was apparently trying to dig up more dirt on Domenica when she discovered her OnlyFans account, “and saw it as a way to humiliate her rival”.

“Olivia is just trying to tarnish Dom’s reputation and paint her as the bad guy to save herself,” one contestant told Channel Nine.

And while we’re used to the term ‘scandal’ being used more and more loosely across the reality TV diaspora, this particular storyline is so tired, so backward, so depressing to run the week after International Women’s Day, that it needs to be commented on.

In a particularly infuriating clip from tonight’s much anticipated dinner party, contestant groom Cody Bromley (a man described by his own blood uncle as a 30 year-old with the brain of an 18 year-old) is shown berating 29-yo Domenica about the issue: “We’ve all seen an image of you pretty much naked… does Jack know you had an OnlyFans?” referring to Jack Millar, Calarco’s on-screen groom.

The judgemental line of questioning continues, with the majority of the table turning on Domenica over her life and financial choices. Choices that she, as a contemporary adult woman, has made on her own terms and with her own agency.

Of course, Bromley’s question is more of an accusation than anything else. It suggests Calarco should be ashamed of her OnlyFans account, and afraid of her fake husband’s judgement; that she ought to expect Jack’s value of her to diminish after this piece of her lifestyle is ‘exposed’.

The money Calarco was making was apparently needed to pay for her rent, but the producers of the show were adamant she take down her account — they also allegedly convinced her the controversy would be ‘good for her.’

Observing the way a woman’s actions and behaviours are adjudicated online can be a very searing (often unwelcome) confirmation of our collective inability to value a woman on her own terms. 

The lesson young women and girls are learning with such egregious storytelling is that a young woman should be made to feel her worth is diminished if she chooses to monetise her body on her own terms. 

More than just an issue of sexual liberation and our collective discomfort with women seeking it, it’s society’s measurement and policing of a woman’s worth — that we still deem women with proud sexual agency as less worthy, less valuable, less eligible of our respect– that’s most gruelling in this plot line.

The post MAFS Domenica’s ‘nude photo controversy’ proves this country has a problem with women who make money off their bodies appeared first on Women's Agenda.

Now in its second season, the show and its stars continue to pedal some particularly damaging tropes about woman – and motherhood.

In season two, the three returning cast members and long-term friends, Lorinska Merrington, Jane Scandizzo and Rachel Watts welcome new mummy Iva Marra to join the ‘most elite group of mothers in Melbourne’.

At her first morning tea with the group, four weeks after giving birth, Iva is quickly complimented for her appearance.

What then ensues is a lengthy discussion about sex after giving birth, with Lorinska admitting to worrying that her vagina stretched so much after the birth of her daughter the experience would be like ‘throwing a sausage down a hallway’.

Iva proudly counters, “I could barely get it in every time [before pregnancy]!”

All complimented Rachel for being a member of the ‘perfect pussy club’ – referring to her son’s birth via c-section as a means to maintain her sexual desirability rather than its medical necessity.

The obsession with ‘tight’ vaginas is another form of slut- and body-shaming specifically reserved for women. (Not to mention, this tightness during sex can be linked to either a lack of arousal or vaginismus.)

Writer Nicole Bedford argues that women’s ‘worth’ is often still predicated on her vaginal tightness:

‘Even now some memes circulate about the value of a woman based on her perceived tightness by the man that’s entering her vagina.’

As the season progresses, self-appointed sexual advisor Lorinska repeatedly calls for the other mothers to ‘put out’ to maintain their husband’s interest.

“You don’t want your fella running off with anyone else, so, guys, you need to be putting out.”

The women’s fear of ‘losing’ their sexual desirability is particularly concerning.

It again draws on the notion that women’s worth is down to their desirability and their primary objective – besides raising perfect, attractive children – is to appeal to the male gaze.

All four women are conventionally attractive and lean but are entirely fixated on thinness and beauty.

Lorinska and Rachel ask Jane for ‘diet tips’ when they see her poolside in a kimono four months after the birth of her second child.

Meanwhile, Iva laments about needing a ‘boob job’ just four weeks after giving birth.

An article on ScaryMommy suggests new mothers are one of the most targeted groups when it comes to weight-loss advertising, and, coincidentally, research finds that women’s body image plummets between one to nine months postpartum.

Georgie Dent recently wrote about an incident in a change room – while in the postpartum period – that got her thinking about our unwavering obsession with thinness that permeates the self-esteem of all women, including those of ‘socially acceptable size’.

Whether or not Lorinska, Jane, Rachel or Iva are cognisant of their roles as both victims and peddlers of diet culture, their public platform is being used to perpetuate deep-rooted and unfounded myths on health and body image.

The main premise of the show, however, centres on the gobsmacking wealth and privilege of each of the women.

Yummy Mummies’ emphasis on blatant consumerism makes for uncomfortable viewing, particularly against the backdrop of the worsening climate crisis.

In a statement published in BioScience, research by a group of scientists found that consumerism is accelerating environmental degradation:

“The climate crisis is closely linked to excessive consumption of the wealthy lifestyle.”

Granted, it’s not nearly as extravagant as other reality TV shows, but their aspirations to have more money just to buy more things seems out of touch.

The first series saw Lorinska, Jane and Rachel all receive extravagant ‘push presents’ after giving birth to their children, in the form of a $99,000 rare diamond ring, a Range Rover and a Rolex respectively.

In series two, Iva is visibly angry when her push present arrives in a Louis Vuitton gift bag at her princess-themed ‘sip and see’ for daughter Milana.

“I gave [Stefan] three options [for designer handbags] and I have a wallet.”

She opens the wallet to find a $20,000 cheque and her mood instantly lifts.

Similarly, Lorinska expects a lavish gift for her three-year wedding anniversary.

She seems underwhelmed when her husband, Andrew, presents her with a leather travel bag and matching monogrammed luggage tags.

He then announces he’s taking the family on a trip around the world.

“Is it rude to ask, are we at the pointy end?” Lorinska enquires.

“Up the pointy end,” Andrew confirms.

Lorinska’s impressed. I am not.

The post Yummy Mummies: the reality TV show we really don’t need? appeared first on Women's Agenda.

The show also has an uncomfortable whiff of classism about it. We have one class of people (the producers, educated above the national average) pulling the levers to make another class of people (the cast, predominantly from working class backgrounds) appear stupid, mean, deranged, or all three.

And yet, I’m ashamed to say I watched Married at First Sight for several seasons. I watched along with the other 1.7 million Australians who tune in. I watched because I told myself it was just a bit of light fun. Because the cast were willing participants. Because I needed a break after a long day at work and from the misery of the world, and there’s nothing like trashy TV to numb the senses and switch the brain to autopilot. Married at First Sight is basically legal marijuana. You get to escape from reality for an hour, and when you come to, the sharp edges of the world feel a little bit softer.

Then one day it struck me. That feeling I get watching MAFS has echoes of ‘soma’ about it. Made famous by Aldous Huxley in his seminal work A Brave New World, soma was a drug designed to cure unhappiness, but it also had a greater purpose; to control and shape the collective, to insure against any potential uprising. I found myself asking questions better left to philosophy students. What does it say about our current world if we’re all using our precious leisure time to numb ourselves? And while I’m medicating myself with MAFS, what am I missing out on? What could I be doing with those hours of my life? The answer was simple; almost ANYTHING else would be a better use of time. Talking to my husband. Reading a book. In actual fact, staring at the wall would be more effective at quietening the mind.

Like many addictions, cold turkey was the only way. It’s been four weeks now, and I’m growing stronger every day. Where at first I banished myself to the bedroom to read, I can now sit in the living room in the evenings without the urge to flick the TV on. And like the most sanctimonious of reformed smokers, my commitment may be reaching vigilante proportions, because I have the ever-so-sneaking suspicion that most TV is a bit soma-esque.

I’ve realised I can count the number of TV shows that have stayed with me on one hand. They are, in no particular order: the Australian series Love my Way, The Wire, The West Wing and of course, the childhood classic made-for-TV film, The Shiralee. (The new Aussie kids program Bluey is a potential candidate but it’s too early to say for sure.) So, that’s a definite four shows in how many countless hours of mindless viewing? Those odds are embarrassingly stacked against me, and yet I have continued to pursue this form of ‘relaxation’ for most of my life. This makes no sense, obviously.

Of course, I’m not the first to grapple with this dilemma, nor indeed will I be the last. Critical theorists Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer were some of the first to articulate the drivers behind my penchant for wasting hours on mediocre ‘entertainment’, and they did it more than 70 years ago. In the age of Trump and tech addictions and pathological consumption, their work on the ‘culture industry’ is perhaps more relevant than ever.

The premise is simple: popular culture is used to keep the masses passive, content and controlled. If watching MAFS, or something similar, each evening satisfies you just enough to make it bearable to wake up the next day and the day after that and contribute to the capitalist machine, then that’s a job well done. In fact, according to their theory, my MAFS addiction is utterly predictable; the expected result of the hyper-technological, advanced capitalist society we live in.

The more you look for it, the more the culture industry’s sinister power declares itself. It’s there in the bottomless pit of entertainment options we now call ‘TV-on-demand’, a moniker that purports to give us, the consumer, back some agency when it only takes more power from us; forces us to apply increasingly high levels of self-discipline to protect ourselves from mindlessness. And it’s certainly no coincidence that a man who made his name on a rubbish reality TV show became President of the USA.

The unfortunate thing about educating yourself is that somewhere along the line you come to a cross-road where you’re forced to decide – shall I forge a new path? Or continue on, ignoring everything I now know? For me, the natural conclusion of Adorno and Hockheimer’s work is this – can life offer deeper, richer pleasures if one rebuffs the status quo and finds other things to do with one’s leisure time? What does life look like then? The short answer is, I don’t know yet, but I’m sure willing to find out.

The post Advice from a reformed MAFS addict appeared first on Women's Agenda.

On Tuesday author Maxine Benenba Clark posted an idea on Twitter for a reality TV show where non-parents have to get three children to and from school – without before or after school care – and still complete their full time job.

A reality television show where they give full time working people with no kids 3 school aged kids, and there is no before or after school care available, but they still have to do their job full time.

We will do our best for kids not to be harmed in the filming of the show.

— Maxine Beneba Clarke (@slamup) August 14, 2018

It struck fear in my heart because even though I only have two school aged children (my third is a toddler) this seemingly straight forward proposition is (most often) anything but straight forward and honestly I would pay to watch non-parents undertake it.

Not because I am sadist (well maybe just a little) but because it would genuinely be hilarious.

My theory is that parents of school-aged kids are the ultimate frogs in boiling water. There was a time, I’m quite sure, where we would have baulked at the idea of juggling the logistical demands of getting multiple kids into the appropriate uniform, packing lunchboxes, remembering library bags, projects, News days, lugging musical instruments and meeting the various scheduling requirements of sport practice, choir and reading groups for multiple kids, as simply beyond the bounds of reality.

But by this age we are accustomed to being beholden to myriad unreasonable requirements. We have forgotten there was any other way to live. Having emerged through the ages of 2 and 3 where we will literally do anything to keep the peace we are living our own version of Stockholm Syndrome.

Because I am still being held hostage to the relentless and stringent demands of a two year old, it’s territory that is far from unfamiliar. The lengths a parent will go to appease a totalitarian toddler are legendary. At least in our house.

You want your toast cut into stars? Sure!

You want me to pull the car over four times to keep finding the tiny trinket you are obsessed with that you keep dropping? My pleasure!

You need both sides of the bread equally spread with peanut butter? Of course you do!

You are two and can barely hold a three litre bottle of milk but insist on trying to every single morning resulting in a flood of milk on the bench? No worries. Isn’t development grand?

The responses on Twitter to Maxine’s pitch confirm a few things. For starters, plenty of parents are seriously funny but also? The juggle really is very often batsh*t crazy.

Oooh add in high needs, and one goes to kindy, one to primary, and one to high school. Also, large musical instruments twice a week. SO fun!!!

— Dr Anna Whateley (@AnnaWhateley) August 14, 2018

They need to get head lice…and then get them again just when the they've finished washing everything..

— Lenore Taylor (@lenoretaylor) August 15, 2018

And another says ‘tomorrow we have to come to school dressed as a character from our favourite book’

— Rebecca Davies AO (@radicalseven2) August 15, 2018

One of the kids is a 2yo but the size of a 5yo, and neeeeeeeds to be carried everywhere. He doesn't care that mummy is carrying a laptop so she can work while commuting, makeup she can apply while commuting, snacks for him to eat while commuting and 43 other life-sustaining items

— Hallie Donkin (@Halapalooza) August 14, 2018

For added degree of difficulty/reality, despite a three-year age gap, two of the children wear the same size clothing & have the same taste in clothes. Also, each child plays a completely different sport with matches often scheduled at similar times but in different suburbs

— Sarah Halfpenny (@SCHalfpenny) August 15, 2018

This thread is so fun to read until you realise you are basically reading an episode of ‘This is your life’

— Dianne Draganovic (@MsDovic) August 14, 2018

Can someone please make this reality show happen? God knows parents could do with the comic relief.

The post The twitter thread making parents laugh & cry appeared first on Women's Agenda.