will you accept this rose ? 🥀

how the wizards at ABC's the Bachelorette pulled back the curtain and showed us the machine.

As someone with a growing interest in anthropology, reality TV has been my greatest resource, even before my academic pursuits. It serves as ethnography at its finest—a simple yet effective means of attempting to understand ourselves as a society, our motivations, and often bizarre idiosyncrasies. But let us not delude ourselves into believing that "reality" is upheld at all times. The constant performance and self-positioning at play make it all the more intriguing. How do we choose to present ourselves to the world, and why? Reality tv isn’t just a means of entertainment; it’s a perfect stage for observing how we as a society negotiate and live within the confines of societal norms, gender expectations, and racial dynamics, all while revealing the truths about our values and inherent biases.

Then there’s you, the viewer, a participant in this arena, whether or not you knowingly contribute. We may take comfort in the screen—a physical barrier, a tangible separation—but the boundaries have long since blurred. We love it for the same reasons we became Sims 4 fanatics: it allows us to live out our alternate realities through the lens of another. Producers are all too aware of this, and it’s the ultimate gold mine of exploitation.

Jenn confronting Devin at this week’s finale & Devin doing whatever he was doing

I'll confess: I've been a fan of The Bachelorette since I was a teenager, and it's because I bought into the fantasy. The idea of twenty-five men pining over one woman was too good to resist. It's escapism at its finest, especially when many of us look around and see the exact opposite. Instead of grand gestures and pristine roses, we're met with endless "50/50" conversations, "gay son or thot daughter" jokes, and a growing incel presence infiltrating everyday conversations.

The real hook, however, is how they choose the women and what they represent. From the beginning of the series, they've selected a previous contestant from The Bachelor, its counterpart. More often than not, it's a fan favourite—someone who missed out on their chance at love, only to have the ABC fairy godmother swoop back in and offer them a second shot. Who wouldn't take the leap (again)?

Here, the show attempts to speak to its viewers, offering them hope: you too, no matter how "scorned" or, in this case, literally "rejected," can find happiness once again. It’s a sweet message, and one I genuinely believe in—if only that were the producers' ultimate goal, a fallacy they've managed to sustain for twenty seasons. At least until this past Monday.

So, what happened? I’ll skip right to the chase for those who haven’t watched it. Usually, viewers are shown a happy proposal, and the couple is brought out to talk about how great their lives have been since. Instead, Jenn, after being brought to tears while recounting how Devin treated her—leading to their breakup—was made to rewatch her proposal in front of a live audience. For our viewing pleasure (debatable), she had to relive her ex telling her he loved her (also debatable) and that he would commit to spending the rest of his life with her, only for him to ghost her and later admit he never loved her "for real" (still crying at this point). In a nutshell, the producers willingly led Jenn to the stage only to tear her down, as Vox so rightfully put it.

We've reached the crux of my issue with The Bachelorette and reality TV alike: the prioritisation of shock value and, inevitably, viewership over the emotions and well-being of the people they attempt to orchestrate like puppets. There was simply no need for any of it. But this isn’t The Bachelorette’s only misstep—the entire show can be replicated in very simple steps.

It’s considered common knowledge that to "do well" on this show, you need a compelling backstory, whether it’s past trauma or enduring a particularly tough time during the process. The show consistently finds a way of manufacturing such disclosures. Jesse Palmer, the host, is dropped in as a pseudo-confidant, though mostly as an excuse to televise these heartfelt conversations in an attempt to push forward the narrative. Perhaps we’ve become too accustomed to seeing pain packaged and commodified for the masses, but it’s incredibly difficult to relive your old wounds repeatedly while trying to figure out if you can truly love under these (ridiculous) circumstances. The men are often brought to tears in service to a greater purpose—a potential engagement, which many never reach—and maybe, as viewers, we find this cathartic.

Say what you will, but we are part of the problem. Each year, the series becomes increasingly dramatic as we grow accustomed to the contestants' antics. Ambulances are called, jackets are thrown into pools, books are handed out as intellectual insults, and if the next cycle of men can’t top the previous group’s somewhat toxic behavior, we dismiss them as simple and boring. As our tolerance for such theatrics increases, the producers loosen their grip on protocol and let it all run wild. Yes, Jenn should never have been put in that position, but someone on board must have believed there was an appetite for it, and we, the viewers, were hungry. To justify our consumption of The Bachelorette as mere entertainment, we rationalise it as a reflection of our wider societal values—such as the quest for love, companionship, and the idealisation of desirability. The facade of entertainment masks our own complicity and behind it all our thirst for emotional extremes grows.

Maria Georgas, Daisy Kent and Jenn Tran (the supposed ‘options’ for this years Bachelorette season)

It’s easy for The Bachelorette fandom to hold Jenn in high regard now that they’ve seen a more vulnerable side of her, but let us not forget the narratives circulating before the show’s premiere. A majority of fans were rooting for Maria to be the next Bachelorette after she became the standout ‘character’ in the corresponding season of The Bachelor, branding herself as the lovable villain of the series. When it became clear that she had no interest, viewers turned to Daisy. Obviously, it was none of these women; it was Jenn Tran. It didn’t take long before Jenn was viewed as the last choice—a replacement, if you will. As is typical with those who are overly invested in a futile narrative, the baseless justifications for the behaviour Jenn was about to face came in heavy and fast. “She just isn’t a Bachelorette” was a common one, or that she was simply boring. Let’s be honest with ourselves—beating around the bush does everyone a disservice.

What does it mean to be a Bachelorette? In essence, you are, at least in the eyes of America, desirable. You have to be, in order to convince viewers that you ‘deserve’ to have twenty-five men at your beck and call. While The Bachelorette has attempted to make strides toward inclusivity and broadening the perception of what is considered ‘desirable,’ having a couple Black Bachelorettes isn’t enough to shock viewers into acceptance. When they say Jenn “just isn’t a Bachelorette,” we understand what they mean. She isn’t someone the majority of viewers can easily ‘see themselves in’; she doesn’t fit the mold that Daisy and Maria so effortlessly slip into, as their whiteness is often the only qualifier.

Criticism and opinions are valid, but fictitious, ambiguous justifications for exclusivity are not. If it were simply a matter of finding Maria more engaging, controversial, or Daisy more ‘fill in the blank here,’ there wouldn’t be much to discuss. However, it’s the nasty undertone lurking behind every charged tweet and comment—coloured with just too much anger to be innocent—that is troubling. The Bachelorette franchise itself has admitted to its lack of care when handling the racist abuse their contestants face.

Like with many things, once it started, it was hard to stop, and Jenn faced criticism for most of the season. First, she was labeled boring, then unserious, and her decisions were called immature. Some went as far as to call her “The Worst Bachelorette Ever”. She was told, to her face, that some of the men came for Maria, Daisy, or anyone but her, yet she handled it with a grace that I would have struggled to muster.

It was starting to feel like Love Island UK (LI). When my sister asked why I don’t watch the first couple of weeks of LI, I told her two things: One, it’s boring. Two, I don’t have it in me to watch the UK fumble between pretending that the producers send in men who actually want to date outside their race and pushing Black couples together for convenience—for yet another year. It seems the Bachelorette producers took a page out of the same handbook, especially with the rumours swirling that they didn’t even bother to recast the men for Jenn’s season after Maria and Daisy "declined."

To make matters worse, when Devin ended things with Jenn after the show, he made sure to follow Maria shortly after, calling into question not only his original motivations for pursuing Jenn but the authenticity of the show itself.

Although this season wasn’t handled with the care it deserved, I can’t continue without giving Jenn the praise she deserves. Being the first of anything is not a task for the faint-hearted. Jenn Tran is the first Asian American Bachelorette America has been greeted with, and she did what was asked of her. She gave us entertainment, beauty, wit, and grace. No matter what those who pour their pitiful anger into reality TV have to say, she certainly isn’t the worst Bachelorette we’ve ever seen.

Perhaps America was expecting a different representation, one more in line with the portrayals they’re used to—how Western media has historically depicted Asian women, reducing them to flat stereotypes. Either they embody the fierce, hypersexual character, or they are cast as submissive and docile. Jenn addressed this many times throughout the series, and I commend her for opening up about what many women of colour have faced in their own way, especially as we navigate life outside our immediate communities.

With Grant Ellis from Jenn’s season cast as the next Bachelor, I hope ABC has taken the broader reactions to this week’s finale to heart. While increased representation is a positive step—and, admittedly, I will be tuning in—I am deeply concerned about the measures ABC will implement to protect the individuals who are essentially generating revenue for the network. The way producers and viewers treat reality TV stars often reflects our broader societal attitudes, and it raises a critical question: Can reality TV be produced in a manner that doesn’t come at a personal cost to its participants, nor compromise the integrity of the entertainment we derive from it? Are we ready to sacrifice sensationalism for the dignity of its participants ?

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Hope you guys enjoyed this week’s essay ! I decided to go back to my roots and do a bit of social commentary after I watched this week’s finale. I obviously don’t have all the answers, and this isn’t a long declaration to say I’m going to stop watching reality TV (if anyone wants to talk about Bachelor in Paradise you know where to find me.) I just wanted to do a quick exploration into the different things at play and give a brief introduction to why we should consume critically.

Don’t forget I have started the Dear X series where you can email in your writing prompts / queries and I'll write a letter to you in response. (all anonymous of course). Think of it as a literary agony aunt. If you want to participate, email me using onyiverse@substack.com / onyid2@outlook.com

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