These days, we’re by no means strangers to the phenomenon that is reality TV. It permeates every channel, every genre and every demographic. We laugh at the modern Victorian freak show that is X Factor, with their hopelessly deluded, fragile and fame-hungry contestants who are all on some sort of “journey”; we watch in awe as the country’s very best chefs conjure up some culinary magic before the occasionally smug Oliver, Pru and Matthew in the Great British Menu; and we wow at (and commiserate with) the Mary Berry/Paul Hollywood wannabes in the predominantly middle-class pastime of cake baking in the Great British Bake Off.
Oh, and let’s not forget the celebrity versions, including Strictly, Big Brother, et al.
And yet, in spite of this glut of reality TV, I discovered one show last week that not only made me cringe, it also made me shudder and actually worry. Worry for the poor contestants and their mental health in later life. Why? Because some of them were as young as two years old – and yet the pressure on them was every bit as present as it is for the adults (or teenagers, at least) who knowingly take part in reality TV shows, for whatever reason.
Toddlers & Tiaras is a reality show that focuses on the American beauty pageant scene. If you’re not already aware, these competitions feature girls in a variety of age groups all competing to be the cutest, prettiest, funniest and often wackiest little marionettes you can imagine in any redneck town…or horror film.
Whilst I’m not naïve enough to think that these teenagers or children are doing this purely out of choice – it can surely only be as a result of pushy parents – perhaps I am indeed naïve to think that there would be some sort of lower age boundary.
Toddlers & Tiaras had quite an impact on me, and frankly, some of it simply made me feel simply nauseous. One four-year-old, who I think was called Desiree or something, was being berated by her overbearing mother for forgetting one of her dance steps. Another three-year-old (and no word of a lie, I think this one had the stage name Superfreak) had gleaming white false dentures glued to her milk teeth to “improve” her smile.
But most upsetting was poor little Kailia. With her mother in the audience gyrating along with the music during the vomit-inducing swimwear routine, she bopped her three-year-old booty in the most disturbing way imaginable. If you’ve ever watched My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, with similar aged young girls imitating Miley Cyrus in what I understand is called twerking, then you’ll get the idea.
It paid off, however, and Kailia won the title of something convoluted like Ultimate Grand Supreme (which seems like an overdose of superlatives to me). Was she happy about it? No, the poor thing was so massively overwhelmed that she simply bawled her eyes out. The trophy – bigger than her tiny stature – was presented to her: the wailing increased. “Don’t cry,” soothed the overly made-up hostess of the show, presenting her with a fan of dollar bills. “I have all this money for you.” The sobbing ratcheted up the decibel scale even more. “Go away!” she repeated over and over again, in between gasps for air.
We’ve discussed at length the not so glitzy world of reality TV in the past in the Creativepool magazine, and how these shows appear to be the cash cows to keep some channels alive. Or at least, they appear to be vital in the ratings wars. But surely at some point a line has to be drawn in the name of taste and decency. Did Chris Morris deliberately shocking us with his paedophilia episode of Brass Eye teach us nothing?
Mind you, Isabella Barrett, pictured above, is apparently already a millionaire at the age of six years old, thanks to the show. So, every cloud…? But at what cost?
Even if it were possible to boycott such shows which exploit toddlers, would people actually to do so? For some reason, something is telling me no…although I really would pray for it to be yes.
Ashley is a copywriter, editor and blogger
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Jane Diamond November 27th, 2013, in the afternoon
No lower age limit. In the episode I saw one girl had been started at eight weeks old. Another family employed a full-time pageant coach for their 18-month-old. Dresses can cost up to $4,000. And they are all given what critics call "pageant crack" (mega sugary drinks) before they go on stage. All the better to aid their hiney-slapping. Oh, God, I'm going to be sick now.