The Bachelorette/ABC/Mondays

by Veronica Wilks

I didn’t have a single good reason to watch The Bachelorette. I did not know, Jillian, the newest woman to search for love on national TV. I had not watched any of the last installments of The Bachelor franchise, nor had I cared to. I really only watched it because I was worried a lot of other people were going to watch it—and then, 12 weeks from now, after THE MOST DRAMATIC ROSE CEREMONY THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN, I’d be the girl who was not on a first name basis with the men who had made it to the finale. I had no impression the series would be good; I only figured it might be popular. I made no promises that I’d continue to watch it, but I did not want to be left out of any upcoming “watercooler” discussions.

Though I can’t say I really liked the show that much, it was impossible not to get into it. This is because the ABC casting team has a very great formula: make sure the eligible mates are a mix of good looking, and either arrogant or overly sincere, and make sure the lady who is choosing is into that. (Also make sure all of these people are white.) I couldn’t remember any of the men’s names, but I found myself screaming at them several times throughout the two-hour premier. “OH no you did NOT get out a guitar!” “What woman honestly wants a man who says TOE JAM on a show like this?” “WHY do I keep likking the BLONDE ONES?” “Oh look at that receding hairline!” and “Pick Juan! Pick JUAN!” (OK—I did remember his name, because he’s sexy, and because they played Latin music when he first entered the scene.) She humored them, gave roses to the ugly ones….I am greatly alarmed that ABC refuses to have a normal woman on this show—that is, a woman with a sense of humor, who, if approached with such cheesetastic displays of douchebaggery in any normal dating setting, would call them out on such behavior! Even the most good-hearted, looking-for-love girl next door knows better than to fall for some of their tactics. Forget the fact that it’s staged—for me, that’s what takes the “real” out of “reality.” Next time, ABC, cast a woman who makes us think of Chelsea Handler, not Charlotte York.

That said, given that a few of my friends have started to get married, I am continuing watching it under the guise of “research.” I will take dating tips wherever I can get them, even if it’s from watching people “date” in a completely contrived and improbable setting. The next time I am with three hunks on a ranch or sitting in a hot tub with five guys, I’ll know what to do. Well, I will in a few more episodes. The preview of the season to come promises some drama—does one have a girlfriend at home?! I am hoping one is gay—but I can’t see myself, no matter how popular the show gets, twittering about these kind of things. I’ll only admit I watch if someone asks me. I won’t learn any of their names. (Not even the pilot—he’s my secret fave.)