And Why The Ultimatum is a Step in the Wrong Direction
I am still relatively new to reality dating shows. My family didn’t watch The Bachelor in the early noughties because it went against our Southern American Christian background (how ironic, now, that The Bachelor is now a borderline Christian cult). As an adult, subjugating myself to that level of heteronormativity seemed more brain-deadening than a lobotomy. After all, I considered myself a real purist when it came to finding love. Certainly you were more likely to form a lasting relationship with a cute stranger reading the same book as you on the train than on a dating show. It shouldn’t be so hard to find love that you have to actually go looking for it! Of course, that mentality changed after my divorce. I started dating around for the first time, and realised the immense effort required to merely begin a healthy relationship.
A culmination of dating apps, therapy, too many relationship podcasts, and a Bachelor-obsessed flatmate resulted in my introduction to reality dating TV. What started as a Bachelor-binge, soon evolved into a psychological investigation of toxic relationships. The Bachelor gave me objective, real-life red-flag case studies– well, as close to real life as the producers can concoct with excessive alcohol and a lack of ulterior stimulation. Watching the contestants mimic toxic behaviours I was previously blind to in my own relationships helped me identify them in real life. I learned what gas-lighting was from Luke P. The extravagant love-bombing made me skeptical of any man willing to pay for a hefty cocktail bill after a first Bumble date. Peter’s codependence shed light on anxious attachment styles. Premature confessions of love were manipulative softboys run amuck– and there were softboys, a lot of softboys (apparently that was my type… shame).
With The Bachelor, two things draw people in: the drama, and the hope that against all odds, the couple may actually work out. However, there has been a shift in the last few years– from trashy drama that pigeonholes women as angry and desperate, to an attempt at educating young people on how to have healthier relationships. That is why The Ultimatum is such a step in the wrong direction. The premise of The Ultimatum is that several couples swap partners for three weeks to engage in a trial marriage. With each original pair, one is ready for marriage and one is not– thus, the ultimatum: the show either ends in a proposal, ends the relationship, or ends with the start of a new couple. Honestly, I can’t think of a more confusing scenario to throw an already confused couple into.
Let’s start with the hosts. Despite being background characters, the hosts of the show do set the tone for how the show will run. MAFS and Too Hot To Handle’s saving grace is that they hire “experts” to help the contestants improve. In The Ultimatum, the hosts of the show, Nick and Vanessa Lachey, are nothing more than half-assed narrators. They add no quality to the show other than their superstar status and a dose of late 90’s nostalgia (rippp Jessica Simpson). In fact, whenever they do happen to make a brief appearance, they encourage the contestants to cheat, expecting couples who weren’t ready for marriage to suddenly want to be married to a complete stranger after living with them for a mere three weeks– and ditch the partner they were previously in long term relationships with.
For me, the most triggering person in the show was Colby. Frankly, I struggled to continue watching after the sulky softboy gaslit Madlyn into sticking around. First, he lies about kissing another girl at a club, and in true narcissistic form he self-flagellates instead of apologising. Lying on his back, a forced defeated expression on his face, he mopes: “I am not worthy”. “But it’s still my fault?”, Madlyn asks. “Yes”, he claims adamantly, “This is your fault.” This interaction alone sent my blood pressure up like a mushroom cloud, but it was the unethical shotgun wedding that ended it for me. Seconds after she said yes to his proposal, he claimed he “couldn’t wait another minute”. To continue watching would be worse than plunging ice cream scoopers into my eye sockets, so I skipped the finale. Of course, I googled the spoilers. With his level of covert manipulation, I wouldn’t be surprised if Colby poked holes in their condoms to get her pregnant, locking her into his life for good. I found it utterly terrifying that no one intervened.
This show highlights more than others the dangers of falling in love too quickly. Not only are the contestants at risk of losing their own heads, but also the relationships they have spent years building. Many of them, naturally, get wrapped up in getting to know their “new” partner, which makes sense when comparing a three-week honeymoon phase to the difficulties that come with being in a long-term relationship. The show completely ignores the importance of intimately knowing your partner’s flaws that can take years to uncover. This is highlighted in Rae and Jake’s relationship in which their bond over menial similarities is interpreted as the stars aligning–We both love our moms! We are both only children! For fuck’s sake, that’s the same attitude I had when I was thirteen and saw a boy listening to the same song as me on his iPod mini.
Furthermore, the show preys on the young. Besides thirty year old Hunter who proposes before the fake break-up in episode three, none of the contestants that complete the experiment are older than twenty-six. Most of the Austin, Texas-based couples perfectly embody the Southern culture that I grew up in where strict gender roles are still relatively common. Several of the female contestants claim they are ready for marriage and kids at a shocking twenty-three years old; whereas the men are portrayed as noncommittal despite their girlfriends being the “total package”. Contestant Rae elaborates on this. She is incredulous that her original partner, Zay, won’t commit, saying: “I stay in the gym, I have a degree, I cook, I clean, and I know how to fuck". According to this show, the only thing every cis-straight Southern man wants is a hot body and a subservient attitude. Maybe I haven’t been home in a while, but I thought we had phased that bullshit out already. Either way, the contestants chosen for the show epitomise the dredges of traditional Southern marriage culture. Because women are taught that this is their only value, they idolise marriage. It is seen as a tick box that must be checked by a certain time, or else you are viewed as undesirable. Sadly, the consequences of merging your life with another’s are not fully understood by any of the contestants. This results in marriage being portrayed as more valuable than building a healthy relationship.
Don’t get me wrong– other than The Ultimatum I do enjoy reality dating shows, and, in some twisted way, find them educational. Identifying patterns in other couples has helped me identify them in my own. It provides a sense of power. If I can accurately identify what is going wrong for some random couple on TV, then certainly I can do that in real life?! Analysing the shows provided a sense of reassurance that I can identify red flags, that I know how to communicate kindly, to set boundaries, to have a healthy relationship. However, after Peter’s season, I stopped watching the Bachelor. My obsession phased out, mainly because the high-pitched squealing gave me unnecessary anxiety. But also because, putting all analysis aside, I realised that the only way to have a healthy relationship is to pull a nike and just do it.