So, by accident, complete accident, I have fallen headfirst into Vh1’s new crop of crap. The Pick Up Artist show (maybe that is the actual title?) is yet another reality show pretending to be full of virtue, when it is really really killing us all by its existence. And, yes, I do enjoy watching it.
The premise? A bunch of sad men with no “game” are schooled by a real life Hitch character. The cool part: mr. Ladie’s man is not a macho stereotype–he is more Tommy Lee than Brad Pitt. Skinny, flamboyant, and with painted nails and long hair, this ultimate ladies man is wonderfully ungendered. But, his name is also Mystery, which makes me want to punch him often. And, as sensitive and daring he might be with his fashion, he is a bit of a dickhead.
Why? First off, his co-hosts,err wingmen (their actual title), sit with him in bachelor leather arm chairs and the three of them talk coach the normal unaccesorized fellows that have come for enlightenment–they have their own fake business book jargon for their program. Words like “gambit,” “story,” and another I can’t remember, but it has to do with nicknames. They try to present hitting on a woman as if it is actually a classic scholarly endeavor–all telling stories really, and trying to delight and entertain. They never mention that this isn’t really about great literature or art–it’s about trying to get a woman to sleep with you.
So, the A1 thing that irked me? To teach the fellows how to talk to ladies, Mystery had them entertain a group of little girls–apparently if you can keep a 5 year old entranced, you have the key to success with grown up women, too. This was annoying because it suggested that little girls are different listeners than little boys, that these little girls would one day get to grow up and be hit on for real by men like these, and that women are really just little girls with makeup on. Over and over again, the men said they shouldn’t be scared of their weekly challenge (going into a bar under surveillance and applying their new skills), because the girls were the same challenge as the women.
Really? Can they hear themselves.
icky.
The other doozie is the Flavor of Love gone white, Brett Michaels and The Rock of Love. I only saw the end of this, but any time you have one man asking women over and over again as a sign of some faux invitation to join him on a journey of exploration and committment, “will you continue to rock my world” and not crack up as he says it, you have television gold. He also offers each lady a VIP pass instead of the requisite rose, or, giant watch. At least VH1 is willing to show that every demographic has its low taste high silicon element, and that the glee in the trashiness of women who lust after passe’ celebrities is quite a pile of fodder. It could almost look like a sign of equality, an apology for suggesting that it was only women of color (and the unfortunate Pumkin) that were “hoochies” for the cause. But it’s not. It’s just the presentation, again, that women are sad and funny, especially when they are a little bit despereate. Boo.
