How Reality TV Has Shaped Me

There’s a definitive kind of peace in turning your brain off and watching someone else’s life absolutely spiral into chaos. 

That is what I used to think reality TV was: background noise. Distraction. Scripted entertainment for the sake of it. A satire of actual reality where eyelashes were long, tempers were short, and everyone broke down in confessionals under suspiciously good lighting.

But lately, I’ve started to realize just how deeply it’s shaped me. Not just in the way I quote Snooki and JWoww when I’m trying to be funny, but in the way I have begun to understand performance, character, and the messy act of self-discovery. That is how I realized reality TV didn’t just captivate me. It formed me.

Not in the “I need to get Juviderm and fake cry on cue” kind of way (although Botched has certainly taught me what not to do to my face). But in the silent, hushed way that TV tends to slip into your brain. Reality TV trained me in reinventing yourself mid-season. It taught me that a storyline can change with the proper editing… or the proper outfit. That you can be both deeply flawed and deeply adored.

It made me curious about the line between who we are and who we perform as. Whether we’re curating our Instagram feeds or narrating our own lives in a voiceover, like we’re on Love Island, we have all developed into producers of our own reality. 

And maybe that approach isn’t a bad thing. I used to watch for the drama. But now, I watch for the humanity.

Reality TV, in its basic, primitive glory, taught me that identity is fluid. That people will negate themselves, get canceled, repair themselves, come back stronger, and still make the same mistakes all over again. And I see myself in that part. 

We all have our own deleted scenes and best moments. Our “I’m not proud of this but it made me who I am” moments.

Reality TV didn’t make me shallow – it made me observant. Reflective. Intrigued by how people choose to be seen – and how editing (literal and metaphorical) shapes the story.

Because at the end of the day, I don’t just love the show. I love the humanity in the mess. If there is anything I have learned from watching strangers fall in love on the third episode or cry over a poorly executed charcuterie board, it is this: We are all just trying to be seen.

To be appreciated. 

To find the confessionals where we can say, “This is who I am, and here is why that matters.”