Has this already been said a thousand times? That The Bachelor sets females back to the Ice Age? Watching it this season, I’m reminded of Clan of the Cave Bear wherein Jean M. Auel described how Cro-Mags made a gesture to females and they would have to get down on all fours, like animals, right then and there, be utilized and then get back to gathering.
Call the gesture a rose ceremony and you’ve got The Bachelor.
I accept the true point of the show is to introduce us to a fresh set of wannabe-starlets that will sell tabloids for a season. But millions of girls watch this show and walk away thinking that the female purpose includes backbiting for the affections of a mediocre individual. Shows like this define for them that true love comes from pleasing the dipshit boy MORE than the other girl pleases him.
It doesn’t matter that the Bachelor does nothing to be worthy of love in the first place. Or that he possesses not a single provocative, humanistic or barely homo sapien bent. He is just a bowling pin pretty girls should please. Impressionable female audiences are bound to repeat these behaviors in their colleges, workplaces and families to the detriment of feminine sophistication. It makes me want to write a letter to the daughters of America.
The same audience that watches this show will also heartily absorb the stories about the global subjugation of women but see no irony in gathering ‘round the campfire on Monday nights to watch women pour out of a limo in their slinkiest best to impress the same one guy. Just like prostitutes to a palace. Talk about female trafficking. They then spend the next several weeks harem style hoping to outdo each other for this “prize” of an insipid, wholly characterless character, the Bachelor.
This week was the Girls Tell All episode. We got to hear from all the poor slinkies that didn’t get a rose, and what a shock it was to “not get the rose” since they had shared such “an amazing time” and “thought they had found a real connection” and “felt it really truly was love” and on and on. During the tell-all, all girls report to duty by smiling through clips of their humiliating trysts, getting dumped at rose ceremonies, stumbling around drunk or crying around drunk. The audience nodding and sympathetic, in gentle understanding that humiliation is part of your role as a pretty girl, pretty girl. We appreciate your glowing and smiling, thank you. You will make a great wife one day.
The legions of toddlers in tiaras shows across the TV lands always bring around the question: what harm is really done exposing girls to competitions of rouge and ass-shaking rather than biology or math or just coloring, say? The harm is your daughter could grow up to be a girl like Tierra (Tiera?), the predictable villain of the show. Tiera, is marked for us in the first 2 seconds because “she gets the first rose.” All she had to do was slink out da car and Bachelor was so taken that he defied show precedent! “This has never been done before!” I’m pretty sure was uttered off-stage in bewildered, hushed tones.
Tierra proceeds to be an insubstantial girl who (like all the girls on the show) talks about what she is – generous, warm, kind, lit-up, ornamented, whatever the case – but rarely exhibits any actual qualities or a depth beyond gaming the “prize.” The girls all run around basically crashing into each other like blind rats under this pressure of making out with a guy who makes out with her 15 minutes later and her the next day and her the night after. And then they snicker sneer spittle and stomp around the palace in ever changing cabals.
Girls! They get each other! That’s why they hate each other!
Unfortunate self-fulfilling prophecy.
The tell-all show wrapped with bringing the penultimate-penultimate contestant to the couch. Sad-mascara-face-hair (AshLee) told the audience all about what a shock it was to “not get the rose” since they had shared such “an amazing time” and she believed she’d “found a real connection” and “felt it really truly was love.” After truly believing that she was The One but then being eliminated, this girl had had the gall to not want the requisite goodbye hug. She didn’t want to lovingly gaze into Saviour Bachelor’s eyes while he prattled on about how she’d “make a great wife to some lucky guy someday.” Instead she left in stone cold silence. She didn’t insult him. She didn’t break things. She just left. So, the show in its infinite compassion wanted to give her the opportunity to now “get closure.” i/e Go ahead and tell the nice Bachelor it was an honor to be nominated.
Instead she as all “wtf!??! you’re just a dumb fratboy in the end” This was a move tantamount to a betrayal of prettygirlhood. You are not supposed to question a guy. All the cigarette girls in the audience suddenly grew constrained, frowny, downright displeased because Ashlee we think you’re pretty and everything but don’t go asking questions of Jesus Fratboy. Yours not to reason why. Yours to do and die.
Traitorous twitter exploded with #heezjustnotthatintoyous. Really?
Dear daughters: if he’s not that into to, don’t roll around naked on a beach with him. You are not a bonbon. Don’t get popped. Don’t hate other girls. You have love already. Don’t go begging for it in the streets. Fight for ideas not for bachelors.