The Death of Reality TV

I have to admit that I was one of the first to jump on to the reality TV bandwagon back in the day of the original MTV's "Real World." The idea of watching real people living together under one roof and all the twists and turns of human relationships was just SOO appealing to me as a lover of observing people and the psyche.

Part of what attracted me to psychology as a field, was of course the helping people part of it, but I also truly enjoyed learning about social science research and I guess you could say, the highly scientific versions of watching how people dealt with controlled (or some would say "staged") circumstances.

The Milgram studies from the early 1960's, for example, were absolutely fascinating and controversial experiments about the power of authority figures to cause volunteer subjects to apply presumably painful electric shocks to confederate "subjects" when they missed answers to simple tasks. It was mind blowing to watch the old black and white films of these experiments and wonder just how far each subject would go, simply because they were told to do so.

Or the classic Stanford Prison experiment from 1971, where 26 male students were chosen to perform the roles of 'prisoner' and 'guard' to test how human beings conform to role expectations. The new movie "The Experiment" starring Adrian Brody and Forest Whitaker was inspired by a book about this real life study where the subjects go farther than imagined in their fake roles and situation.

So I guess when TV began tapping into reality setups, they tapped into my own curiosity about what makes us tick and how far will people go.

Among the first shows I became hooked on was the phenom American Idol and later the Amazing Race and of course Bravo's awesome Project Runway and Top Chef.

And I have to admit that I was tempted into the seedy side of it all with Tyra's America's Next Top Model and even, gulp, Big Brother for a few seasons.

I could overlook Tyra's over-the-top hysterics in each episode, just to watch the inevitable fight between the "plus-sized" token girl and the "I'm just too in love with myself" anorexic.

Who doesn't tune in to Survivor just to watch them wear less and less each week as they exploit a little flesh for instant celebrity?

But lately, I've been finding myself too often on the disgusted side of the aisle, screaming aloud that the judging was FIXED or fast forwarding through the increasingly obvious product placement in almost every reality show these days.

Who doesn't know for example that American Idol is sponsored by Ford and Coke. Or that Jenny-O turkey is apparently the only meat allowed on The Biggest Loser?

Again, I could overlook a lot of the constant selling selling selling, especially on my absolutely favorite shows because I thought they were of a higher quality, with actual ethics.

Project Runway used to be in that camp for me.

The first few seasons of PR had me so hooked, it was one of those few shows that I absolutely could not wait to watch every week. If I could, I would brave those damned commercials on live, non-DVR'd TV, just to be absolutely caught up. It just seemed that truly, from week to week, you never knew who was going to win the design challenge and that the judges absolutely tried to remain fair and unbiased.

I waited patiently with them through the long break when they were fighting it out with Bravo and trying to move to Lifetime. I even made it through the slightly boring (and a bit confusing) year in Los Angeles.

I breathed a sigh of relief when they moved back to New York and even when they brought back super-orange Michael Kors and slightly constipated Nina Garcia as regular judges again.

Yes, I vehemently disagreed from time to time with them.

I so disliked the neck-tatoo guy from season three that I railed at the TV and swore to stop watching (which I of course didn't as my senses gradually returned) because I actually did understand that his clothes were quite beautiful and exciting, even if I didn't think he, as a person deserved it.

This year however, was very different for me and there was something not right with this season.

Several times, the winners just didn't seem right to me. Michael C was one of the sweetest contestants in a while, but I never quite saw a consistent voice in his designs. He was so honest about it too because he never could quite explain himself, endearing me even more to him.

Gretchen's early wins were puzzling as well, especially the jumpsuit thingy selected for the cover of Marie Claire. Ok, I get that it's different and "edgy", but she never really brought that kind of edge again in my opinion.

And then those darned producers.

They absolutely played up the affected manner of Gretchen, every chance they got. Maybe she wasn't always so overly confident, critical or enunciating, but it sure seemed like it. And no amount of editing could excuse her constant talking out of both sides of her mouth about the other designers and about her own flaws in front of the judges.

Aside from her wretched persona on TV, nothing about her designs excited or interested me during the entire season so when she won, I felt different this year, even a bit betrayed.

I am willing to give credit where credit is due. An evil personality can create beautiful and exciting clothes. Jeffrey Sebelia as case in point.

In every other season, I understood early on, that the eventually winner had talent and was doing something new and interesting. I am not a designer, but I know what I respond to and in almost every other season, I responded at least a little in a positive way to the creativity or the skills or the choices of the ones who made it to the top.

This year, I felt nothing for Gretchen or her designs. I mean nada, zero, zilch.

Maybe it was just me, but when I logged on to the PR website and the PR Facebook page, I wasn't the only person shocked by the result or has such a negative and visceral reaction to her bland and monochromatic separates.

So it got me thinking.

Michael Kors and Nina seemed to dig their heels in during the "discussion" by the judges. Even Heidi, and fashion icon (just kidding) Jessica Simpson, could not convince them to change their minds.

I started to wonder if perhaps, the little disclaimer at the end of the show that states that

"The judges considered both the scores and input from the producers and Bravo in reaching their elimination decisions"

means that in effect, Gretchen was selected early on in the show and that what I am watching is less of a reality competition and more of an entertainment show.

I've watched the product placement so blatant in other shows slowly creep into PR over the seasons, from the Piperlime accessory wall to the Garnier Fructis hair products.

This season, of all others, has caused me to sit up and take note.

Maybe Michael Kors and Nina Garcia really don't have good taste. Or maybe they did but now their opinions and tastes are passe and it's time for new judges. I have to say that the two Michael Kors shirts that I own are among my least favorite, feeling rather cheaply made and showing signs of wear after just a few months of laundering.

But maybe, just maybe, PR has fallen into the pit of cash and ratings and this was the year to "shake things up" no matter how gross the result or how untalented the winner.

So, if this unhappy result can happen to my cherished PR, you know that it's been happening to the other reality shows too. Only beautiful people seem to be selected more and more and if I see one more close up of a product label, I'm going to puke.

American Idol has lost it's glitter and the Bachelor is just a mess.

On the upside of the evidence, we have better scripted TV shows than we've had in a long time.

I never miss GLEE of course and Modern Family actually has decent writing!

So here's to you, reality TV, don't let the door hit you on the way out.

You Don't Have to Die

I read about the suicides this week of Tyler Clementi and Asher Brown in the SF Chronicle, but it took the Larry King Live show this week with Wanda Sykes, Kathy Griffin and Tim Gunn, for me to realize that there had actually been five altogether within a week.

Anytime I hear of a teen suicide, for whatever reason, something inside me rips a little. A girl who thinks she's too fat, or a boy who didn't make the baseball team, takes the final step to end their suffering and never has the chance to experience what could have been.

When I hear about a child who takes his or her own life because they thought that they could not face living as a queer youth, the rip is more like a shred.

Hearing about five similar stories in a short amount of time is beyond painful. Paying attention to each individual story is just too much to bear.

The sad truth however is that although we are fortunate to have a heightened awareness that lgbtq youth still suffer and are more likely to take their own lives because of it, there are thousands more stories that did not make the paper or the media and the real reasons behind the suicide were never explored.

When I was 13, I knew that I found other boys attractive.

One day as a hormone-driven early teen, while looking up any topic that related to sex in the family Encyclopedia Britannica, I found the word "homosexual" and my mind virtually exploded. As I carefully read the words explaining the term, it so deeply resonated that I literally shook. Before that moment, I had no idea that there was a word to describe what I felt.

More importantly though, in that instant, I knew there must be others like me out there.

I did, however, know that I had to hide this reality and that everyone in my little world at the time would view me as horrible and disgusting if they knew. How I knew this, I have no idea since I have no memory of any discussions about gay people prior to that moment.

So, I did what I could to hide this emerging part of me by acting like people wanted me to act. I pretended I liked girls. I attended the fundamentalist church of my parents and I said nothing to anyone. I prayed to God to take these feelings away and to make me "normal". I called my gay self "disgusting" and told him to "shut up" and I was afraid and lonely and frustrated.

Back then, there was no internet. There were no books about it in our local libraries. There were no TV characters or role models.

At 17, I met someone older who told me he loved me.

I fell fast and hard, and I finally understood what my straight friends were talking about when they talked about romance and tingling naughty parts and fireworks.

And then, my parents found out.

After four years of suppressing and hiding and emotionally self-mulitating, I could not hide it any longer so I admitted to them how I felt.

They were not happy. In fact, they were livid. They said things that parents should never say to a child. I remember them like they happened yesterday.

In small fundamentalist Southern towns in the late 1970's, gay people were not welcome. What I had been able to find out about homosexuals at the time was not good. They were mentally ill to many people and sinners to the others. For rednecks, they made good punching bags. For scientists, candidates for "treatment."

For months, my super-religious parents made my life hell. They took away my freedom, removing my driving and phone privileges and blasting me with Bible verses. Anita Bryant, anti-gay crusader of the moment, was on TV regularly, and my mother often turned up the volume loud enough for me to hear every hate-filled word. At breakfast, she would leave readings from her right wing religious propaganda on my plate for me to find when I arrived at the table.

I had no place to go, no one to talk to, and no other options, so I spent many hours locked in my room, so angry and lonely that I begged Jesus to take my life.

After several months, my parents arrived at a possible solution and I was given three choices, namely, to begin meeting with the fundamentalist preacher at the church, to see a mental health professional or to get out of their house.

Because I knew that praying had not been the answer thus far, and I had no resources with which to support myself if I left, I chose the shrink, who after two evaluation sessions, ended up telling my parents that I seemed to be a perfectly well-adjusted gay person. He went on to tell them that if they were having trouble accepting me, they should consider coming in for some sessions.

In the flash of that instant, my life changed.

For the first time in my life, an adult in a position of authority told me that I was ok and that society was the problem.

It was a moment that I will never forget.

Since then, I have spent much of my time trying to live authentically and sorting out the messages in our society that makes sense and those that are based on fear, hatred and evil.

I have learned that being gay does not make you unworthy of love.

Being gay is a normal part of life.

You love better when you love honestly.

The bad times will pass.

There are more of us out there who will understand you and love you and support you.

Do NOT listen to the hate messages from your family, your religious institution or your government. They are wrong and sad and corrupt.

Choose to live and be strong.

You have a choice and you have options.

There will be a day when you look back and be grateful that you survived. I never thought this day would come, but it did and now I am truly free and happy. You can be too.

If you think you are lesbian, gay, bisexual or trans, and you are alone and afraid, take the first step by calling the Trevor Project at 866-488-7386.

There's a whole lot of love out there waiting for you.

Check out my video blog on this topic here.