Reality TV rustles my jimmies.
Don’t get me wrong, it can be entertaining, an interesting look into the workings of the world and the humans in it, but there comes a point where it begins to grate on my senses and my conscience.
Take Beauty and the Geek, for instance. The basic format is, we have sixteen individuals hand-picked to fit a perfectly polished mould of a stereotype—eight women, the ‘beauties’ (because who wants to watch a show about ugly women?) who are all bronzed and buffed and busty and notably lacking in the brains department, all with jobs like “Professional Bra Fitter” and “Casino Hostess”, each paired up with a ‘geek’, a man who has relied on his brains to get him where he is in life and not his looks or social skills, who have glasses and ill-fitting beards and “Fungal Scientist” and “Comic Collector” as their title cards.
Typecasting at its finest
The Afictionado 