When the first season of The Real World aired in 1992, I was a junior in high school and I was obsessed with this show. Obsessed. The idea of watching these seven strangers living together in some semi-crappy apartment in SoHo seemed like the most fascinating tv show ever invented.
Julie, Heather, Eric, Andre, Norm, Kevin and Becky were FASCINATING to watch. Why? Because they weren’t all whores. They didn’t all have sex in a hot tub within the first 2 hours of meeting one another. In fact, I’m 99.9% sure that nobody even had sex on that entire season… at least not on camera. I remember Julie, the naive aspiring dancer from Alabama, had a crush on Eric (and his abs) for pretty much the entire season, but nothing ever came of it. THAT was what was interesting to watch. The what ifs. The arguments about race. Watching these 20 somethings navigate NYC. Wondering if Andre (who I freaking LOVED) would ever, ever speak. (Seriously, did he?)
Fast forward to The Real World XXV. (TWENTY FIVE!!?!) Never in my life have I felt as OLD and prude-ish as I did while watching one episode of the current season this past weekend. My commentary to my husband went something like this:
Oh my god. Her poor mother is probably watching.
It’s only 8:00. Kids are watching this. My nieces could be watching this! This is so f*cking innappropriate!
Her poor mother. What’s wrong with these people? WHO RAISED THESE KIDS?!?
WHAT THE F*CK?!? Are all kids whores now? Don’t they realize their parents are watching? HER POOR FATHER!!
That’s it. LJ will never leave the apartment. I can’t take it. WHAT IF SHE HAS SEX ON TV?!?
This episode featured the following topics and activities: unprotected sex, chlamydia, pregnancy scare, “pulling out”, online male gay porn (performed by one of the cast members) and two female roommates having sex. On tv for everyone to see at 8pm… INCLUDING THEIR MOTHERS.
I’m not even going to MENTION the show Skins which has been deemed SO skanky that it borders child pornography, causing many corporations to pull their advertisements before it aired. That show gives me heartburn like a 90-year-old bitty. Is that it? Am I a crotchety old lady that’s totally out of touch? (Yep.) Or are we now living in some sort of bratty Ho Nation?
I’m now terrified of my daughter.
Can’t she just wear her feetsy jammies forever?
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Thank you, TV. I love you with all my heart.
You too, laptop. XOXO
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