It would be funnier if it didn’t seem so true. Perhaps the only thing more depressing than discovering I’ve become the Wooderson of “Bachelor” viewing is the realization that most of the contestants weren’t even alive yet when “Dazed and Confused” came out in 1993. Ouch.
Not that I’ll ever let that stop me from watching it. I think it’s part nostalgia and part inability-to-look-away-from-train-wrecks, a seemingly innate human quality.
I started watching the show my first year out of college after moving back in with my parents, an escape from the real world I had so abruptly re-entered after graduation. It was the show my best friend and I watched separately together every week so we could stay connected after she moved to Chicago. It’s also one of the first things I remember watching with my sister-in-law—on my tiny tube TV that got five channels—when she and my brother began dating.
Sixteen years, two spinoffs and about forty seasons later, it’s evolved into an excuse to go to my brother’s house every Monday night several times a year. It’s a reason to drink funny-named wines with my sister-in-law—the more inappropriate the better. “The Bachelor” has become synonymous with delicious dinners and hysterical commentary. And despite my brother’s surface reluctance, I’m pretty sure Karla and I have convinced him of the series’ entertainment potential, even if he sometimes reads a book and pretends not to pay attention.
It’s not a show we watch because we take it seriously; instead, it’s something we enjoy so much for precisely the opposite reason. It’s ridiculous, hilarious and fun to make fun of.
After watching the first episode of the new season, I get the sense that won’t change anytime soon.
There’s Demi, the interior designer, who proclaimed, “I haven’t dated a virgin since I was 12, but I’m willing to give it another shot.” Classy.
How about Miss North Carolina 2018, who announced, “I’m here for an even better title,” before spinning her sash around to reveal “Miss Underwood” printed on it. Does that mean she wants to be his sister? Is she hoping to act out a weird “Game of Thrones” storyline? Or did she mean to write “Mrs.”? Hard to say, but I’m willing to stick around to find out.
Then there is Courtney, the girl who described herself as a Georgia peach, handed one to Colton to take a bite, and thirty minutes later lamented, “He needs to know I’m not just fruit.” Sorry, girl. Gifting him produce might have been the wrong move.
There’s already drama, cat-fighting and contestants wearing animal costumes. Not to mention Chris Harrison’s assertion that this will be the “most dramatic and unpredictable season in the history of ‘The Bachelor’”—which, ironically, is the least dramatic and most predictable thing he could possibly say.
Yes, it appears the only thing about “The Bachelor” that will ever change is my age while watching it. There’s a strange comfort in that…and maybe a little sadness. But for now, I’ll stay in my Wooderson lane and just keep livin’. Cheers to another season of “The Bachelor.”