It’s easy to get caught in the spectacle of our screens. From movies, favourite TV-shows, to new and digestible short-form content. We can’t forget about reality television either. What we do often forget is that just because something is being shown to us, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.
The line between authenticity and performance is more blurred than ever in our favorite reality TV series. Ironic, seeing as how these shows are supposed to represent, well–reality. But just because these people aren’t actors, doesn’t mean they aren’t acting. It’s the editors and producers who have final say in what is and isn’t shown to us, the viewers.
If you’re like me, you’ve been heavily invested in the new-age takedowns of reality TV. Take Reality Check: Inside America’s Next Top Model, for example. If you grew up on ANTM like I did, taking a peek beyond the curtain doesn’t only shatter any fond nostalgia you have for the show; it can completely shatter the illusion of truth that reality TV claims to portray. It’s shocking to remember just how different things can be behind the camera.
Contestants aren’t to blame for this disconnect; often, they’re the ones whose words and actions are being warped for clickbait or high ratings. I might even dare to say it’s not the editors who decide what’s in the final cut who are necessarily to blame for the uneven portrayals of truth versus fiction. It’s our expectations of television. We, for as long as the screen is on, believe what we’re being fed is real, even though we know these are actors playing pretend, reading from scripts that have been created from a team of writers. It’s not just easy to suspend our disbelief–it’s fun. And there’s nothing wrong with having fun, as long as we practice exercising our critical thinking about what we consume.
The same goes for what we see in the news and media. Next time you open Netflix, or tune in to an episode of Survivor, or read Buzzfeed’s latest hashing of the weekend drama, think about what you expect to find–and see if you can’t uncover where those expectations stem from: lived realities, or what somebody wants you to think?
Q&A with Sujin Witherspoon author of Bingsu for Two
The title Seyoon and Dean, Unscripted, suggests a tension between what’s real and what’s produced. What does “unscripted” truly mean to you in this context?
The title is an ironic jab to the fact that Seyoon and Dean have been scripted in literally every way: from their alliance that the producers ask them to pretend is romantic, to the way they’re edited and portrayed as certain archetypes. They both ultimately reject this idea and prove that they don’t want to–and can’t–be the kinds of people that the producers, their competitors, and their parents want them to be. They’re just them.
It’s also, of course, a nod to how a very real relationship forms between them from their scripted one. Falling in love was, technically, not part of the script, funnily enough.
What do you think audiences misunderstand most about the emotional realities of being on a reality show?
I think audiences forget these are real people. It’s so easy to view contestants on our screens as characters. We’re used to actors who put on a show, who have a barrier between what they’re portraying and who they really are. Reality TV contestants don’t often have that; the producers and editors really have final say in what parts of them are shown to the world. These aren’t actors. They’re regular, everyday people. It’s quite unfair, especially because the nature of these competition shows beg you to choose sides and villainize certain players. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.
How do small cultural details, family expectations, communication styles, and unspoken pressures shape the characters’ decisions?
The expectations they believe their families have for them is the very reason they’re here, and makes up so much of who they are.
We see this in how Dean thinks of what his dad would want him to do, and (at first) calculates his decisions to please him. Or how his sister he admires, Meredith, would react. Dean is used to being in their shadow. It’s his comfort zone. But soon he realizes he’ll have to play the game his own way if he really wants to make them proud.
Seyoon, on the other hand, is working to intentionally subvert what her dad expects of her. Her dad is her biggest critic, and she can’t let him be right about her, so she’s really always fighting back against his low expectations of her. At first, she falls into old habits of being competitive, but realises that’s what cost her everything before–her friends–and struggles to switch gears.
What do you think each character is really searching for: love, validation, or something else entirely?
They’re both striving to prove something about themselves. However, it’s through the love and friendship they find in each other that they realize they don’t have to win a contest to prove what kind of player they are. Some things are more important than winning.
What does “winning” mean in love—and do your characters achieve it?
It means choosing each other. For Seyoon and Dean, falling in love could cost them a million dollars – something they both can’t afford to do for one reason or the other. But no matter who comes in first place at the end, both characters ‘win’ because they’ve realised what they value most, and acted on it without hesitation.
About the author
Sujin Witherspoon is a Korean American author, artist, and lover of words she can’t pronounce. She gravitates toward stories that will either plague her nightmares or make her stomach hurt from laughter—no in between. She earned her degree in English from the University of Washington and now spends her time writing, thinking about writing, or exploring Seattle.