I’m sure my husband is in this room

This past weekend I watched The Bachelorette and it was with something akin to sadness that I witnessed the state of single men and women in America. American singles are lonely and worldwide people are looking for mates on the internet. But how can the producers of the show think that they really want the best for the participants who have to put their feelings on display? Here is the thing; the more bizarre and the more sensational, the better for them. More viewers make for higher ratings and more money, and it is not the people at the production company whose reputations and feelings are at stake. It is the participants standing there looking like fools, waiting for a rose. The premise of the show is watching people getting rejected, and self-esteem and self-image taking a hit. The entertainment is watching participant after participant asking themselves are they good enough? Why did they not get picked? What is wrong with them? They had always felt good about themselves, but not getting picked is a huge blow to the ego and it is downright pathetic to watch grown men and women so desperate for a partner that they would go on a show to find someone to spend the rest of their life with. How desperate are we? And how sincere is the process?

You can’t be in a competition to search for a partner. What do they really know about each other? Most participants talk about the bachelorette’s beauty and how sensational she looks in a bikini. They don’t know if the girl has a brain in her head. All reactions come from the sensation between their legs. It does not matter. Winning is the important thing even if you wake up six months later next to the bachelor or bachelorette who has bad breath, can’t fry an egg, and is wrapped up in him or herself. The producers want drama and sensationalism. This is what people tune in for. It is living the Cinderella experience first hand, and all you have to do is tune in for your fix. And this writer tunes in too. Who can resist? When you watch this show you see grown men groveling for a bone. The rose is everything. It means you will stay one more week. Watching people getting rejected and watching them leave the premises with their head between their tail is a sad thing to behold – and is the same as people going to the Grand Prix or Formula 1 to see a crash.

Coming to Ellie, the bachelorette, who is dolled up and coifed, and looks like the fairy princess with her white dress and golden hair. Just two weeks earlier she had been rejected by the “bachelor” Jake who found more fun and spontaneity with Vienna, who no one liked, including Ellie. Jake was smart; he could see through the shallowness of the prize. As she stood there giving out roses, she said, “I’m sure my husband is in this room”. Just moments later she confessed to another rose recipient that she felt afraid, and loved so many of the participants, she didn’t know who she was going to choose. My question is: how can anyone think that six weeks with fifteen men, having single and double dates with them, everyone getting tongue-kissed and rubbed up in the pool provides the right environment and is a long enough period of time to possibly make the right choice for a husband? I sat there thinking it really is something to be super blond in America. The men knew nothing about her, but were salivating at the thought of receiving a rose. They felt hollow and empty when they did not get one and skulked off feeling completely crushed. You, the viewer, are supposed to find this entertaining.