It is a common criticism of reality programming to say that there is nothing at all real about it. Situation shows like The Real World, The Bachelor[ette], and Survivor, are highly artificial. More importantly, the people on the shows are aware of the cameras, and end up acting, rather than being themselves. In detractors’ minds, the result is completely stage-managed exercise in the Heisenberg Effect.

It is true that the people on these shows are acting, but that’s not the same as saying that the shows aren’t in any way “real.” The people on these shows generally try to play the role of themselves, and if not themselves, then how they want to be perceived. They push certain characteristics to the forefront, and hide a good deal of the rest. The result is they become two-dimensional cardboard cutouts of themselves: The Crazy Guy, The Bible Beater, The Good Girl, and The Take-No-Shit Bitch. Then, the editors of the show cut the end result to complete these caricatures.

And yet, in some way, the very elements of the show that make it unreal also make it real on another level. The people on these shows are certainly acting, but to some degree, most of us play “roles” in social situations, and occasionally lose ourselves in them.

However, the criticism is that this is not the kind of self-conscious artificiality found in everyday social encounters. These people are on TV in unnatural situations. And though that may mean that reality programming doesn’t offer us a glimpse into the life of an Everyman/woman, it does do a good job of bottling our celebrity culture’s Zeitgeist.

Year after year, our society values celebrity over talent more and more. So much so that it effects the day-to-day actions for many people. The people on Love Cruise: the Maiden Voyage are acting because they know they’re TV stars, but they’re not the only ones. As Neil Gabler noted in his book, Life: The Movie, because our culture enthrones celebrity as life’s highest achievement, individuals often subconsciously envision themselves as the star celebrities in the story of their life. In other words, celebrity worship warps some people’s reality, so they begin to perceive life as a drama staring them, and act accordingly. They lose a portion of themselves to the role, and since there are no cameras, life becomes a sort of dress rehearsal. Reality programs, in this way, are even more true to this type of life, than real life, precisely because they’re more artificial.

What makes reality shows interesting is how good the participants are at playing themselves. Of course, they should be experts because they’ve had a lifetime of practice and were the “drama queens” we all knew growing up. But it’s still fascinating to watch because we are aware that Puck, Aaron Buerge, and the thirty eligible singles on Temptation Island sort of consciously know that they’re acting, and sort of don’t. In this way, what we see on reality programming are semi-liminal performances, and it’s interesting to watch the principals slide back and forth though the different levels of consciousness.

Of course, some performances are better than others. Some play it straight, while others come off as hammy thespians fully aware of the cameras. What’s interesting is that the recent spin-off genre of “celebrity” reality shows feature the worst acting. On shows like The Bachelor, the people involved become a little phonier in the same way that we all become phony in social situations, and then they become a little phonier still because they’re “drama queens,” and even more so because they’re on TV. But still, at the core, there is some realness to it. On shows like The Surreal Life, the viewer sees the human who became “Hammer” playing ““Hammer,”” and the result comes off as a fake of a fake. That’s why I don’t watch. It’s interesting to watch the people on shows like Temptation Island, who you know will go back to being who they were once they’re done—maybe a bit dramatic in their day to day existence, but not lost to the drama. On the other hand, it’s pitiful to see “Cory Feldman” not Cory Feldman. It’s just too uncomfortable to see C-list celebrities who, in acting so inorganically, prove that they have lost a great deal of their identity to some long-forgotten cache of celebrity.

And besides, celebrities aren’t real people. You can take Cory Feldman. Give me the 28-year-old security guard who aspires to be Cory Feldman so he can do The Howard Stern Show—now that’s real.