Book of Daze: DIY Reality Show Audition Day
Pascal warned that all of humanity’s problems stem from our inability to sit quietly in a room alone. Pascal never saw a season of The Bachelor. If he had, he would have realized that humanity’s problems also stem from our inability to resist the siren call of thirty seconds of televised humiliation.
Every year on DIY Reality Show Audition Day, ordinary people–middle managers, failed improv comics, women who own suspiciously many sequined bikinis–gather before their bathroom mirrors to rehearse the only line that matters: “I did not come here to make friends.” It is the credo of every self-respecting reality contestant. It is also the most honest thing anyone on television has said since Walter Cronkite retired.
The Sacred Bathroom Ritual of DIY Reality Show Audition Day
Unlike other holidays, this one requires no shopping, only a willingness to debase yourself for imaginary producers who will never call. Some participants stage full-blown confessionals: they pace the bathmat, spill fake tea about people who do not exist, and vow to “burn this whole house down” if eliminated before the talentless influencer with better teeth. Others settle for a more minimalist performance, muttering their grievances at the faucet while maintaining unbroken eye contact with the mirror–like method actors rehearsing a breakdown in a Walmart restroom.
Rules of the DIY Reality Show Audition Day Jungle
There are rules, of course. Authenticity is forbidden. Crying on cue is encouraged. Bonus points if you manage a humble-brag about being “a different kind of villain.” Triple points if you threaten to “go nuclear” over the last rose, shrimp cocktail, or parking space.
Sociologists may one day explain why we audition for lives we will never live. For now, celebrate DIY Reality Show Audition Day the old-fashioned way: alone, in your bathroom, shouting at a reflection that keeps trying to quit the show.
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