Before I get in so deep you start to question my true feelings for this godawful franchise, please know: I hate The Bachelor with the fire of a thousand suns.
That fact alone prevented me from watching any second of the show for years. I’d go to extreme lengths to avoid ABC every Monday night, January through March (and May-July), for fear of losing a single brain cell to that show.
People would have actual conversations about the most recent episode and I’d roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they’re still in my head.
My Facebook and Twitter feeds were full of people shocked at the male or female lead’s choice in who stayed, and it would take every ounce of my being to not comment with snark so heavy you’d have to pay extra to check it at Eppley.
It is garbage.
And I know most of the people who tune in on the reg are aware of this, often watching due to that fact alone. But there are still the select few who give so many damns I fear for their futures.
By now you’re probably thinking, “Alli. If you hate it so much, why even blog about it?”
Because I watched this season.
And before you get all Judgey McJudgerson, guffawing at my willingness to waste 11 precious nights of my life—I had no choice.
A fantasy pool was created and if there’s one thing you absolutely must know about me, it is that I will jump at any opportunity to win.
SO HERE WE ARE. Fresh off the latest season with a head so full of thoughts it just might explode.
The one good thing about this experience—besides me winning—is that everything I ever assumed about the show was confirmed, thus cementing my hate for decades to come (because we all know this show will never die).
For one thing, the producers are total jerks. Brilliant, yes. But TOTAL JERKS. Their ability to convince you that some girl you’ve never met could be the worst human to ever walk this planet is art.
And you go down this train of thought with such a passion, you’re sure the feeling will never subside. But here’s the kicker: Not only do you suddenly stop feeling this way, you also find yourself ON THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE END OF THE SPECTRUM.
In the thick of the season, I would have sworn Corinne was everything wrong with this world. Then The Women Tell All airs and I’m suddenly obsessed with her?
And we’ll never know how they do this, because if that level of manipulation ever became common knowledge, they’d be out of the job. Because the wackadoodles they find to fill in as contestants would have their choice of guy (or girl) locked down by age 20.
Which brings me to my next point: These girls are what, 23 years old? And he’s 36?
I’m not saying the age disparity is an issue—love is blind and whatever—but they’re one, maybe two years out of college and already so desperate for “love” they’re going on reality TV to date a dude for three months (spending what, a total of six hours alone with him?), ultimately COMPETING for him to propose. All the while 100% on board to say yes.
Like, they come on this show and the first words out of their mouths and into that camera are “I’m here to find a husband.”
Oh cool. Well, we have THIS ONE GUY. HOPE YOU LIKE HIM.
It defies everything we learn in the normal dating world. Every girl is not automatically attracted to every guy. That’s not how this works. If that was the case, I’d have married Nick from St. Paul’s Preschool 13 years ago.
I don’t even remember his last name. Clearly it was never meant to be.
And there was this little baby glimmer of hope that one of the finalists would turn down the proposal! She had actual thoughts about diving headfirst into an engagement. Not just because she’d only known the guy a few months, but also because he was dating 20 other women at the same time.
By no means was this observation groundbreaking, but the fact that she realized it was kind of weird and would maybe be a problem down the line filled me with a satisfaction I can’t quite explain.
Mostly because any sort of satisfaction felt while watching The Bachelor is meaningless.
One girl actually had a chance to date this guy in real life but decided to come on the show instead. Like, had the guy’s number before the show ever even started. Could’ve called him. And spent real time with him. But applied to be a CONTESTANT.
I CANNOT MAKE THIS STUFF UP.
She did end up admitting this was a mistake and I lost so many brain cells in that moment I could actually hear the depletion occur.
So yeah, I watched Season 21 (are you kidding?) of The Bachelor and correctly guessed the “winner” without so much as a rose ceremony under my belt.
Was it terrible? Yes. Will I do it again? For another fantasy pool, absolutely.
But will it ever not be terrible? I hope not.
Title Credit: Mötley Crüe