Jordan Hamel is a writer, poet and performer. He is co-editor of No Other Place to Stand, an anthology of New Zealand poetry about climate change published by Auckland University Press. His debut collection of poems “Everything but you is everything” was published.
Opinion: Did you know that Sean “Dark Destroyer” Wallace is the stalker you’d most like to face if given the opportunity? Or when MasterChef contestant Alvin Qua presented his Drunken Chicken dish to the judges, it became an internet sensation and caused a shortage of Shaoxing wine across Australia?
Back in my 20s, I would have dismissed the idea of ​​being so rooted in the minutiae of a free reality show. Especially to develop a love of watching, discussing, and generally unbearable prestige college dramas, rather than developing real personalities (“Did you guys see this new Breaking Bad show? worry, you probably never heard of it”).
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My family, however, never shared my laughter at the endless conveyor belt of reality TV. My parents belonged to a generation before Netflix, Disney+ or even MySky. In their time, you sat down to roast lamb, watched Mother of the Nation Judy Bailey tell you about what happened in the Soviet Union, and sat down to what the mysterious overlord of TVNZ wanted to feed you. As for my sisters, maybe it’s the outdated patriarchal mindset behind the creation of an entire industry, or maybe it’s just a coincidence, but the mid-00s reality genre seems to fit right in with their interests (interior design, hot lonely idiots, body possession). Conscious people become more conscious.)
But none of these concepts caused me anything but detachment. The idea of ​​sitting in a leaky apartment in Dunedin and watching a young couple in The Block choose between copper or brass doorknobs seems like overkill. If you watch MasterChef or Hell’s Kitchen four nights a week and gobble up Sarah’s secret roast or Jono’s microwaved canned steak, the level of self-masochism reaches a new level. So I’m avoiding the whole genre, who cares?
But over the past few years, everything has changed. I’m starting to like reality shows. I originally chalked it up to my transition from a sarcastically poisoned 20-year-old to a morbidly serious 30-year-old with a new love for regional French cooking methods. However, on reflection, I realized that it was something more.
The positive thing about the past few hellish years has been the widespread use of remote work. This means not only less shirt ironing, but more family time in Timaru. There’s something special about letting yourself fit neatly into your family’s routine and appreciating the little things you might have forgotten or might not have seen on a hectic weekend trip. These little things that I have come to appreciate? you guessed. Night shows on family TV. For me, this is the same routine as drinking tea after a meal. A stable, reliable source of second-hand happiness.
What started as my passive acceptance quickly turned into a full-fledged investment. Have you ever seen a grown man cry over a perfectly cooked crab omelette? This year I saw three people at the same time: my dad, me and MasterChef Fans vs Favorites contestant/27-year-old firefighter Daniel from Darwin. Of course, I know that these shows are designed to touch my heartstrings and push the buttons of empathy, but at some point I think I just gave up, let it overwhelm me and decided to use all my ability to criticize. Forget it. all. Find solace in virtuous consistency. Now I have another bridge home, albeit an artificial one. I can be bored or sad on the other side of the Cook Strait, click on an old free radio for an hour, and then chat with my parents about the last chase. No one knows that Lake Baikal in Serbia is the deepest lake in the world, or Tell my sister how I didn’t expect Chris Parker to be so torn to pieces, or run so cute on the beach with a shovel.
Despite the gradual easing, I’m not a complete fool. I still can’t bring myself to take care of decorating or redecorating my home, and I still trade my TV taste for a real person. But as I get older and find myself spending more and more time away from home, I take some comfort in the fact that my family will still be secluded on the couch after they spend their day watching the way MasterChef enters its final stint or into another season. Dancing with the Stars is about to begin and hopefully wherever I am, I will be.