Watching for the Right Reasons: Rookie Reflections on the Latest Bachelor TV Cycle

So you watched a complete cycle of The Bachelor—what does that mean? 

It means I watched a complete season of The Bachelor, followed by the subsequent season of The Bachelorette, then the culmination of both shows, Bachelor in Paradise.

How long did that take? 

The Bachelor and The Bachelorette each last about ten weeks, and then Bachelor in Paradise lasts about six weeks. The overall run of all three programs stretches from about January to September. So this time now—September to December—is sort of like the offseason.

Ah, so you’re finally free now. 

Huh? Free from what?

Well now that the run is over, you don’t have to watch anything related to the Bachelor ever again. You’re free.

Oh, no. I’m going to start this ish all the way back up in 2017, you kidding me?

Are you kidding me? You had a positive experience as a rookie in the universe of The Bachelor?

Oh my gosh, absolutely. Can I make sports metaphors in this hypothetical interview about reality television? This was a stronger rookie season than Mike Trout’s, Connor McDavid’s, Magic Johnson’s, or Amari Cooper’s. It was awesome. Things only look to improve from here. (Notice that was one example for every major sport, because if The Bachelor and its spin-offs have taught me anything, it’s how to please a crowd.)

How to please a crowd? Please. We’re talking about trash television here. Trash television is for the pop-culture peasantry. It’s only crowd-pleasing because it shoots for the lowest common denominator. 

What’s wrong with that?

Why watch The Bachelor when you can watch a prestige drama like Mad Men, or a thriller like Stranger Things, or even a new highbrow comedy like Atlanta? You’re just wasting your cultural capital on garbage.

I beg to differ. I think it’s totally possible to balance your TV habits between many different sectors. I’ve seen all of those shows you mentioned (because this is a hypothetical internal dialogue, but still) and I’m still committed to The Bachelor. I’m eating my dessert right along with my vegetables, thanks very much.

As for “wasting cultural capital,” I’ve had more conversations about this run of The Bachelor/Bachelorette/Paradise then I have about any other show I’ve watched. It’s sort of like following a season of Game of Thrones in terms of social pervasion, only more fun because the stakes are lower and the show is much less serious (though The Bachelor also does a bang-up job of manipulating its viewers with unnecessary drama). Plus, nobody shushes you during watch parties.

Finding someone else who watches The Bachelor—aside from being super easy—is a total delight. It’s like learning you went to the same college as someone else, while also finding out you cheer for the same sports team and grew up in the same hometown. A discussion of The Bachelor is such a rich foundation for conversation—you learn about people’s attitudes, perspectives, and tastes in a wonderfully honest way. A discussion of a single episode can cover opinions on fashion, hair, physique, gender norms, outdoor activities, drinking habits, alcohol preferences, snacking preferences, personal human-animal relations, travel, competition, athletics, gamesmanship, treachery, family life, and of course overall tastes in men and women. It’s delightful. Addictive. Marvelous. You learn a ton about people while talking about The Bachelor. Game of Thrones doesn’t go far beyond, “Who’s your favorite character?” or “What do you think will happen next?”

Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re talking about stupid people doing stupid things. Two people sharing a common interest doesn’t mean they’re talking about anything intelligent, or talking about it in an intelligent manner.

True, but why is that necessary to valuable interaction? The vast majority of Bachelor co-watchers that I’ve met are with me in a peaceful state of self-awareness. The Bachelor as a show and an audience community knows it’s trash television, and any initiate who sat in front of the program for even ten minutes would see that the overdone drama, heightened editing, and sappy manipulation all points to a show that knows it’s feeding you straight-up sugar but won’t stop for the sake of your health. If someone went up to a KFC and tapped on the drive-thru window and said, “Hey, by the way, did you know your restaurant is really insubstantial and unhealthy?” it’s not like the KFC would have an epiphany and shut down its franchises. Garbage things know they’re garbage, but they also know they taste effing delicious, and if that’s what the people say they want, then the garbage things are going to stick around and give it them, because that’s how you earn dollars in America.

And the awareness of The Bachelor’s garbage-ness extends to the audience. The first thing any doubter says about the series is, “Ugh, that show’s awful.” Duh, brah. Of course it’s awful! We’re watching a show that climaxes in a sincerely-presented marriage proposal between two people who barely know each other! There’s no misinterpreting anything—these shows are detrimental and ugly and gross and horrible, but they’re also entertaining as hell and are a total blast to talk about at parties, so who cares?

I just feel like you should hold yourself to a higher standard, is all.

I don’t think you’re allowed to say that. There’s something to be said for comfort television. I love prestige dramas as much as the next person, but after a while, there’s only so much I can take. TV’s Golden Age was a pop culture blessing, no doubt, but a world that only wants to speculate over Don Draper’s past or Tony Soprano’s dreams grows a little weary after a while. Watching great men fall and mythical mysteries solved is excellent, but sometimes you just want to chase it with a grand illusion of true-love-by-reality-show. If The Bachelor weren’t so produced and staged and egregious, it would be almost innocent.

I despise this conversation.

Come to the next watch party. The Bachelor is necessary television. Not in the same way as one of the highbrow shows on HBO or AMC, but in the way that a home-cooked meal is after a long trip, or a soft pillow is after a tough day, or a cold beer is after a day in the sun. Comfort television has a place in our culture as a palate cleanser, a shot chaser, and a brain drainer.

Together, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, and Bachelor in Paradise are the most enjoyable facepalms to be found in pop culture. Watching them is fun. Talking about them is better. Entering this world for the first time was the best. Their bizarre world of too-good-to-be-true is a staple of my cultural diet now—the slim section of fats and oils on top of my TV food pyramid. The plate’s clean now, but wow, does the craving hit hard. More, please.