(Originally appeared in Death + Taxes Magazine, February 2007)

With the final clock-pendant nestled snugly in the Most Elegant Gutter-Tramp’s bosom, the last remnants of poop and champagne mopped from the floor—we can officially say that VH1’s Flavor of Love 2 was the most brilliant television show of 2006. 

(I know, I’m sure I’ve already lost half of you.) 

Not only is the FOL series unquestionably financially profitable, but the show’s second season managed to intellectually stimulate viewers while serving up revolutionary socio-psychological commentary. 

(And now I’ve lost all of the show’s semi-retarded target audience.) 

For anyone unfamiliar with the show, the premise is fairly simple: Take Flavor Flav, the clownish foil from politically charged rap group Public Enemy, and deposit him on the set of The Bachelor. Replace all the classy ladies vying for our leading man’s love with the trashiest, skankiest aspiring actress/singer/fame-whores in America, and poof: Flavor of Love. 

At the very least, no one can deny that the show is exciting. I mean, come on—this shit is entertainment. Violence? Sex? Drama? Suspense? FOL has it all. And of course it should, as its cunning producers and writers are the same which have created some of the most popular shows around. The best “trash” is always made by those who are savvy enough to know what it takes to make a successful show. And these VH1 masterminds have even coined a term for this new brand of reality TV: “Celebreality.” It’s not quite “reality,” nor is it entirely “fake,” but it’s always centered around celebrity. 

Not only do FOL’s scrupulous producers and writers know how to capitalize on outrageous content and a dazzling marketing scheme, but they are even able to use the show’s very flaws to their advantage. Because no self-respecting chick would ever sign up in hopes of actually kindling a loving relationship with Flav on a TV show, the plot becomes less about who is the best match for Flav, and more about who could possibly be there for him in the first place. (Flav refers to those girls not driven solely by hopes of fame as “real.” The rest of us call them “not repulsed.”) 

While the seemingly naïve Flav may not realize that his love-life is doomed (his “executive producer” title is about as significant as Sir Elton John’s knighting), the other producers embrace the fact that none of the girls are there for love, utilizing their shameless personal websites and MySpace pages as publicity for the show. In a parasitic relationship, the girls get web hits from horny viewers wanting to see some crusty, pockmarked, ghetto nip, and VH1 enjoys a boost in the show’s notoriety and popularity. 

VH1 has even taken it a step further, organizing a Flavor of Love “Meet and Greet” tour, where fans can get autographs and dances with the girls from the first season at sold-out nightspots across the country. And then there are the hundreds of blogs and message boards discussing the show and the stories behind its female stars. In this glorious little circle that feeds itself on controversy, growing larger and larger as each episode airs, everyone involved seems to be getting what they want. But at some point down the road, while VH1 execs are chowing on filet mignon on the beach, Flav will be lamenting over his past days of “fame and love,” and at least one of these girls will wake up on the floor of some sleazy club in a slushy mixture of vodka, cocaine and vomit, a $500 paycheck stuffed in her back pocket for a party event “appearance” at which she was coerced into offering “extra-curricular activities.” 

But I digress. 

The fact that most—if not all—of the girls are “fake” brings the experience outside of TV. The show crosses media boundaries, as the true “game” is played on MySpace and in forums in which viewers can discuss who and where these girls really are. Take one look at any of these websites or blogs, and you’ll see that viewers are really thinking about the type of person it takes to join a show like this. Average people are critically examining “The Industry” and the untalented disasters who only expose themselves further as they try to climb its highest peaks. 

And this isn’t the only way in which shows like this are making people use their noggins. Sociologist Steven Johnson points out in his groundbreaking book, Everything Bad is Good For You, that even our “worst junk” today is better for us than the very “best junk” of 15, 20, or 100 years ago. People are using more of their brains to interact with television. 

Take a simplistic, fluffy show like Ozzie and Harriet, the epitome of “wholesome” TV in the 50s: Sure, we can argue that the series had positive messages to deliver, but ultimately the show reflected life issues just as unrealistically as FOL does, albeit in the total opposite direction. More importantly, as Johnson points out, the viewer’s role today is much more active. While a monkey could follow the simplistic plot and one-dimensional characters of O & H, today’s reality TV forces viewers to follow multiple storyline threads and keep up with dozens more characters—all of which, at the very least, are real, richly complex human beings “playing” themselves. Regardless of the quality of its content, Flavor of Love makes us think harder than The Love Boat did. 

Much of the “junk” stigma attached to reality TV seems to stem from the argument that these manipulative shows “pretend” to be real. Well, so what if it isn’t? This country almost had a fucking conniption over who killed Dallas’ J.R. only 25 years ago. And many women aged 18-30 have only recently conceded that Sarah Jessica Parker is not actually Carrie Bradshaw. I think we’ve come a long way with representation of reality on TV, even within the past two years. 

Viewers are more emotionally invested in FOL than many shows before it simply because of the blurred lines of reality. The folks behind the show have gotten us to actually feel something for Flav and his love-hunt using whatever elements of reality that do exist. They’ve chosen the perfect main character, who remains likeable and genuine no matter how over-the-top the drama around him is. 

Obviously, the show is further dramatized through editing, off-scene interviews, and occasional fed lines. The girls, either egged on by producers or on a quest for more attention, tend to exaggerate their “characters.” But there are moments of unbridled, raw emotion, such as the brutal catfight that took place in the very first episode, when two soon-to-be-exiled contestants fought savagely over claim to a specific bed. 

If the fight was encouraged, the combat itself seemed authentic. And the result of the fight was definitely “real”—the aggressor was sent home against her will. Even if these women were planted actresses; even if the entire episode was staged, the entire series fixed—because the show features humans, there will always be moments of real emotion, no matter how small these glimmers may be. Inevitably, the “performances” on even the most scripted reality TV will reveal shades of truth in the personalities of the “actors.” 

A similar example of this may be seen when the penultimate Caucasian survivor, Buckwild, announces her resignation. Panicking at the threat of New York’s presence (the “evil” season-one finalist returns to the show halfway through FOL2), Buckwild loses her trademark ghetto accent as she breaks down to Flav. 

Taken at face value as social commentary, we see just how far someone will take their quest for national fame. In this case, Becky “Buckwild” Johnston, actually an Ebonics-schticking comedian looking to further her career, felt physically threatened by New York, who is notoriously known for her violent, aggressive antics. So we learn that an attention-whore will take anything for fame but a potential punch in the face. 

On the other hand, if we assume that everything is scripted—that Buckwild knew all along she would be leaving when New York arrived—it makes the show even more complex and interesting. We are forced to look much harder for the glimmers of truth in a show that is marketed and positioned as unscripted and “real.” This only makes the educated viewer work harder, as he must decipher which elements of the presentation are real or fake. 

More importantly, because of the mere possibility that some or all of the events are actually happening, the viewer is much more invested in interpreting the actions of the show’s characters, evaluating what is fair, who is right or wrong. The shades of gray are vaster on FOL than they will ever be on Law and Order. When viewing something as warped and genre-bending as FOL, we are forced to solidify our own perspectives and values regarding the virtuous, the depraved, and all those in between. 

Because it is so warped, FOL is often perceived as trashier than anything before it. But how can we hold the show up to past standards of conservatism when our world is slowly becoming increasingly more liberal? Of course there were never any bleeped-out words or catfights on The Brady Bunch; nor, looking even further back, did Moby Dick have anything to do with a whale’s cock. But we also now permit gay marriage in some states, and we no longer keep slaves. So why should we hold our media to historical standards? Thirty years from now, people will probably look back on the days when TV was “classy” with shows like NYPD Blue, or Will and Grace—both considered edgy in their respective times. 

Ultimately, the key is to understand what FOL and other shows like it represent for our culture. Though there is nothing wrong with enjoying something for its visceral drama, we are cheating ourselves if we think we merely watch FOL for its “shock value.” Sure, it’s fun to mock the seedy side of humanity; to voyeuristically witness animalistic interactions. But I believe that most of us are subconsciously looking beyond that surface drama, deeply examining the contestants and their interactions with the jocular host in order to chart the intentions and successes (or failures) of these actors and wannabes in Hollywood. 

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not arguing that the people behind Flavor of Love set out to make beautiful art. They care about one thing: ratings. But in trying to create a television show that brings home the most bacon, the program needs to speak to the most people possible (i.e. America’s lowest common denominator and the College Grad alike). In crafting such a show, the producers and writers have made something extremely complex. 

Too bad the only way to succeed in such a competitive marketplace is to cover an unspeakable intelligence with a whole lotta layers of dumb.