You Can't Come in Here with a Big Banana and Expect Everything to be Peaches

Musings of an Anxious Millennial Writer #09: Gym, Tan, Hyperfixation

I am not a reality TV junkie. If you're shocked by that statement, you can see yourself to the exit, and don't let the door hit you on the way out. Sure, I've gone through my periods of binge-watching certain trash television, hours upon hours of Wife Swap, and I’ve been both enamored and enraged (OK, mostly enraged) with certain seasons of 90 Day Fiancé and its spin-off Before the 90 Days. I’ve found compassionate enjoyment in 1000-LB Sisters. Going back further, I even indulged in My Strange Addiction and had mixed feelings about Intervention, though I still binged it. But I've always been an interloper in the world of reality TV darlings, never sticking around for too long.

Except for one show, the only reality series that broke the mold for me. The one that has inspired countless rewatches and interests in the personal lives of its stars. That show is Jersey Shore, and I unabashedly and unironically love and enjoy it. But... why, though? I have difficulty pinpointing exactly why the Jersey Shore takes up such a dear place in my heart. I can't say I have much in common with any of the cast. Sure, J-Woww's birthday is the day after mine, we're all East Coast natives, and I am (albeit only half) Italian, but that's about where all the similarities end. Despite spending most summers in New Jersey, it was always inland, at lesser-known beaches, never the Jersey Shore proper. Their lifestyles and fashion sense, though a shared affection for leopard print and neon., we're diametrically opposed to my own. So, why, then, did I find them so damn captivating?

I’ll admit that it was mostly morbid curiosity mixed with a bit of hate-watching at first. The Gotti son-inspired Guido-mania touched down on not only the sandy shores of New Jersey, but permeated throughout the tri-state area as well. I wasn’t personally affiliated with anyone embracing that lifestyle, but I knew that they existed, just outside my orbit. And a bunch of doofus juiceheads and the obnoxious girls who loved them cohabitating together seemed like just the level of low-stakes drama I could get into. I wasn’t rooting these people on; if they were stupid enough to put their worst selves on display for my entertainment, then I had no problem gawking at their abhorrent behavior and rooting for their downfall.

See, that’s the thing about reality TV. It can push us to tap into the worst recesses of our brains.  We ghoulishly devour the personal lives of people we don’t know; find it boring when things are going ok and endlessly entertaining when they’re not. We justify our shitty behavior by comparing it to their willingness to show their worst selves for a paycheck. But we revel in it for free—so who’s really worse? That’s entertainment, baby.

Jersey Shore gave me plenty in terms of entertainment, and my rationalizing that these over-tanned jocks and mean girls (shh! Don’t let Snooki catch me saying that!) were probably bullies and people I wouldn’t like in real life anyway. This made my delight in their pitfalls and challenges acceptable—if they’re bad, it’s ok that bad things happen. The non-stop drama (mostly from Ron and Sam) was good television, even when it wasn’t. These weren’t people, merely vessels for booze, sex, saltwater, and shameless entertainment.

So, when was it, then, that I started actually caring about them?

Perhaps it was a simple case of absence making the heart grow fonder. When we weren’t constantly bombarded by Jersey Shore takeovers, be it local bar and nightclub appearances or Michael Cera getting a blowout and tan, it was easier to humanize them when we weren’t constantly seeing them as mascots for alcohol abuse and misogyny.

Maybe, somewhere deep down, I actually did feel a kinship with this motley crew of self-proclaimed guidos and guidettes, knowing that I was not any better by relishing in their turmoil. Either way, at some point, there was a noticeable shift from rooting for their downfalls to cheering them on for their successes. In another timeline, I’d be reveling in Mike “The Situation’s” tax fraud arrest, but (in part thanks to some heavy-duty editorializing from MTV), I found myself sympathizing with him and proud of the man he’s become since he’s gotten sober and his life together. When I learned that a Snooki Store was opening just an hour north from where I live, I made it a personal mission to pay a visit (I’d end up buying a few items—including an eye shadow palette that is easily one of my most used). And sure, Family Vacation is not without its manipulative emotional tactics, but it made me proud to see how the whole cast has grown and matured.

Well, except for Ronnie.

The ubiquitousness of social media has made believing in the “reality” of Reality TV a challenge. Unless the stars are hyper-committed to kayfabe, following Instagram accounts in real-time so often negates the TV drama filmed months prior. How invested can you be in the problem when you know the outcome? And the overly-produced “drama” of Family Vacation (the current reality series starring some of the JS cast and their respective spouses) just isn’t as palatable—these are, after all, Reality TV stars and not SAG actors. Though there is some comfort in knowing that drama must be manufactured these days, as most of their lives (except Ronnie’s) are commonplace. These are mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, and Angelina. Their lives are, to put it quite simply, pretty damn boring. And that, ultimately, is the best possible thing for them all.

But damn, if that real drama of yesteryear wasn’t good.

And that, ultimately, was the pull, and still is, for me at least. No, it’s not about taking delight in others’ misfortune; it’s instead the ability to hyper-fixate on “problems” with little to no real-world consequence on my own life. I can become an expert on other people’s issues without fearing the rug being pulled out from under me by a script (even if producers egged on some of it). In my countless rewatches, I find myself still captivated, playing armchair therapist, watching for every small tick and sign, and wondering how things could have gone differently. What if they just told Sam instead of writing the note? And now, thanks to Reddit, I can do even deeper dives, going further into the lore. I’m noticing the tells of Mike’s addiction and the stronghold that had over him, pushing him further into his bad behavior. I can see the cracks as plain as day in J-Woww and Roger’s relationship, something she’s thankfully free from now. I still get angry at how few of the roommates took her side when Roger pushed her at the nightclub. I’ve studied Snooki’s reactions and hypothesized what really went down between her and the Sitch that summer, something only they (and Ryder and Unit) will ever know. I could write dissertations on all the intricacies of every relationship. I could become a licensed relationship therapist just based on my assessment of Ron and Sam’s alone.

Jersey Shore ultimately allows me to forget about my reality when shit gets tough. It’s a world I can escape to and focus on, with compelling case studies of the human condition. It’s reality on steroids, and an homage to a bygone era we should be glad, in many respects, is bygone. My early 20s may be behind me, so I’m glad. And I’m doubly glad it wasn’t documented for the world.  But it was one of the last vestiges of a simpler time, one of the last proper “reality” shoes, and knowing the cast has left the worst of it behind them makes it a (slightly) less guilty pleasure. It’s escapism by means of escaping into the problems of others.

Maybe I’m not fanatically keeping up with their lives by watching the newest iteration of the TV series (though I still keep tabs on it on Reddit, a girl’s gotta fixate).  But there’s comfort in knowing that that note will always be there. That duck phone will always quack. And people can be their worst selves and still move on, grow, and change, except for Ron, and that closure helps put a nice, big, ol’ bow on it.

Actually, I take it all back. Sammi Sweetheart is coming back next season. Let’s open up that can of worms. I am ready once more to get crazy. Get wild. Let’s party.