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The Times, They Are A-Changin’ … Even on The BACHELOR

When I rst started watching The Bachelor back in 2012, I did so as a joke and as a way to bond with my new roommate. I was 23, single, and had enough free time to spend it watching reality TV I didn’t care about. Now, almost 10 years have passed; I’m newly married, working full-time, have a 5 month old son, and … still make time to watch a three-hour episode of The Bachelor every week. Much to my chagrin, it’s no longer accurate to call my viewership just a lark. I’m invested. For those unfamiliar with the franchise, The Bachelor is a reality dating show that rst aired in 2002. A single, ostensibly “desirable” bachelor is provided with a cast of 20-30 eligible women who take turns vying for his heart through a series of one-on-one and group dates, over the course of six-to-nine weeks. At the end of that period, he’s expected to choose a wife and propose to her. (If you’re wondering how often this process results in lasting marriages, the answer is “not often.”) In 2003, the rst season of The Bachelorette aired, which shares an identical premise with The Bachelor but features a female lead and male contestants. Since then, the show has spawned even more spin-offs, including Bachelor in Paradise and dozens of international editions of the shows. But what’s become so fascinating to me about The Bachelor is not what happens during its weekly air time, but the life it’s taken on outside of that. Over the course of the almost 20 years that the franchise has been around, the show, its cast, and its viewership have undergone some massive cultural changes. When the show rst aired, and until very recently, both the lead and their roster of potential mates were selected from a very speci c pool of candidates: namely those who were white, t, middle to upper-class, and conventionally attractive. The female contestants were comprised of former pageant queens, girl-next-door types with jobs like “nurse,” or “dental hygienist,” hot single moms, and former NBA dancers. The men were buff and square-jawed and held jobs in real estate, worked as personal trainers or tness models, or boasted vague titles like “Sales Rep.” (Imagine a cast of former class presidents, homecoming queens, and captains of the football team.) Additionally — although they never overtly reveal cast members’ political af liations — I got the impression that many if not most of them were Christian, conservative, and right-leaning. It checks out: the show is based around the idea that romantic love is straight, monogamous, life-long, and family-oriented. What followed then was that the viewership was comprised of people (mostly women) who felt the same and were from similar demographics as the cast. Watching The Bachelorette was aspirational: “With just a little more money for hair, makeup, and implants, I too could date Chris S.” People who watched The Bachelor were people I made fun of — that is, until I became one of them. I’d always assumed viewers fell into one of three categories: those who wanted to be on the show, those who wanted to be like people on the show, or those who believed in its promise of happily-everafter. I can only speak for myself, but my own reasons for watching were two-fold: rst, the show provided good entertainment, and second, the contestants made me feel better about myself. I thought I was smarter, less shallow and more realistic about life and love than these women (albeit not as headturning in a bikini). Call it hypocritical or just call it low-key hate-watching, but I know I wasn’t the only one. As the viewership slowly shifted, so did the cast members. The traditionally all-white show started casting more contestants of color, older contestants, and even a contestant identifying as bisexual. In 2017, Rachel Lindsay made it further than any Black contestant had ever made it, placing third overall. In a history-making move, she was next cast as the rst-ever Black Bachelorette; since then, the show has had three Black leads. (As well as a 38-year old Bachelorette…because what’s more progressive than the idea that a woman over thirty- ve can still be found desirable and worthy of love?). Diversifying the cast means that the conversations on the show, though still largely inane, have at times taken on new weightiness. Recent seasons have touched on topics like sexual assault, grief and loss, suicide and mental health, and even the George Floyd protests. And show controversies — such as the coming out of former lead Colton Underwood, or the discovery of racially insensitive photos of recent winner Rachael Kirkconnell — means that all of Bachelor Nation (the name given to the vast networks of Bachelor fans) has had the opportunity to discuss more than just who got the latest group date rose. Whether you’re in favor of these changes because they signal a new age of progressiveness, or because they simply make for better TV, I think we can all agree these shifts are a step in the right direction. But The Bachelor getting more “woke” isn’t the only big change to hit the show. Since its inception, no single event or cast member has had a bigger impact than social media , and with it the explosion of “in uencer” culture. Because of social media (namely, Instagram) Bachelor cast members now have the chance to prolong their fteen minutes of fame and quite literally cash in on their potential popularity. Fanfavorites gain followers, and followers attract the attention of brands looking for fresh faces willing to endorse their products — and will pay them handsomely for it. No longer can we safely assume that the hunks and hotties stepping out of the limo on Night One are truly there to nd love. What’s equally likely (and frankly, more practical) is that they see a chance to make a living hawking products like “Sugar Bear Hair” vitamins and MVMT watches. This phenomenon has been the source of much con ict and tension among cast members. The accusation “He/She is here for the wrong reasons” can be a near death sentence when leveled at an unprepared party. The criticism of both contestants and viewers alike is that these “clout-chasers” have ruined the integrity of the show. While it’s hilarious to use the word “integrity” to describe a show that’s literally about choosing your lifelong partner from a batch of pre-vetted perfect tens via skydiving dates, they’re not wrong. As foolish as I thought they were, I truly believe that some of the men and women on past seasons arrived convinced they were going to meet their soulmate. Now, I believe they show up with dollar signs in their eyes and dreams of celebrity. And the evidence is there to support them. A recent contestant, Kelley Flanagan, admitted that she makes more money now as an in uencer than she ever did as an attorney. Past winner Madi Prewett was spotted shopping at Target with Selena Gomez. And runner-up/fan favorite Tyler Cameron went on to date supermodel Gigi Hadid and even appeared opposite Kim Kardashian on an episode of SNL. What all of this means is this: even as steps are being taken to make the cast more representative of “real life,” the pool of contestants is being ooded with wannabe in uencers: e.g., a large swath of people who can’t be honest about their intentions. And the showrunners aren’t helping — rumor has it that casting directors speci cally target these burgeoning in uencers when scouting talent. I’ve never had high hopes that The Bachelor or Bachelorette would result in two people nding true, lasting love. But I used to believe that for ten weeks, I’d get to see genuine interactions between real people open to experiencing chemistry, butter ies, and good old-fashioned sexual tension. That I’d get to watch authentic human displays of emotion, like jealousy and vulnerability, or even just enjoy the zaniness that results from dozens of loose-lipped twenty-somethings when they’ve had too much alcohol and too little sleep. But now, everything is so calculated — contestants are acutely aware, while lming, of what could happen after the show. Producers could give them a bad edit. A single comment made during a talking-head aside could get them canceled. Or, by exuding just the right combo of catty and caring, they could wind up Insta-famous and dating Zac Efron. In short, the fourth wall has been broken — the opinions of future viewers are taken into as much consideration as current cast members. So what’s my point in all this? I truly don’t know. Yearning for “the good ol’ days” is nothing new, though applying such a sentiments to The Bachelor might be. I think what I want — though perhaps it’s even more foolish than looking for love on a TV show — is for this one little slice of pop culture to exist independently of social media. To be convinced that the tears of Lauren P. are for Chris S. and not to win the sympathy of her 146K followers. To trust that a conversation about race is not a producer’s machination but a humble inquiry from someone who wants to do better. And to know that there are still people out there — dumb and hopeful enough — who believe their soulmate is a hunk wearing sockless loafers, holding a rose. 