Did you see her last night? I can’t believe she allowed herself to be filmed wearing that?
You got a mirror? I suggest you look in it, because clearly you did not have an opportunity this morning.
Wait? Tell me she isn’t wearing white after Labor Day? Who told her that was acceptable?
She lip-synched the National Anthem? And with all that pageantry. What the hell? Chile, puh-leez! She needs to go sit down with that foolishness.
She should just slap a perm on that crazy mess of hair! Walking out the house looking like that. It’s embarrassing.
You know she should just go on and BC. Remove all that chemically processed hair and embrace her natural beauty.
The verdict has come in. The gavel has come down.
We are GUILTY.
What’s sad? It doesn’t matter if we don’t know the details, or perhaps we have a few or we know the entire story, we (me, myself and you) render ourselves judge, jury and issue a scathing verdict, broadcasting worldwide via Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and some other social media site sharing our judgment on the matter. Sometimes it’s regarding a primetime reality show and sometimes it’s our relationships with each other.
In Los Angeles and New York, media moguls are reclining around the table in a boardroom brainstorming possibilities for the upcoming spring and fall season television line-up, hoping to bring to market the next big reality show. Armed with data reflecting the viewing habits of certain demographics they know that cattiness and bitch fests are slam dunks. Their bottom line is increased because cattiness sells and bitchiness sends the ratings into the stratosphere. Female viewers are more interested in watching women gouge out another woman’s eyes, tug hair, kick arse or speak words that incite rage, fury and are blatantly disrespectful.
With all of our daily chatter, I do believe we make their jobs easier. We provide them with the narrative and from this they storyboard, focus group and package to the masses. Do we object? Or do we subject ourselves to hours of watching? What’s worse? When the show is over, we cut a side-eye at a sister on the street and wonder what her objective could be.
What was once man’s ultimate fantasy has become our own: Women wrestling in mud, slipping and sliding all over the place in bikinis and the like. When did that become something we actually enjoyed? The catfights? The name calling? The neck rolls? The eye rolls? The ridiculousness of it all?
Now I know I probably stand alone on this limb — with a few million women — but watching that is not my idea of entertainment. Regardless of race, I do not want to watch my sisters treat each other in disrespectful ways. Granted, reality dictates there will almost always be someone who aggravates us and steps on our last good nerve, but why broadcast the fallout in such grandeur. What’s the objective? To hurt? Or perhaps laugh at someone’s pain?
You want more responsible programming? We have to be responsible consumers. I still believe in the power of the people. Television programs require viewers. These programs require financial backing from advertisers. Advertisers remain vested based on numbers. With dwindling numbers, programs are cancelled. It has been proven throughout history, when there is enough of an outcry or demand for change of any kind, the most beautiful thing imaginable occurs: revolution.
Once upon a time, we moved mountains, changed laws, redefined a people and that’s only in this nation. Don’t tell me it cannot be done. The world over we’ve seen proof that mountains of impossibilities are scaled by perseverance and determination of a united people.
I don’t judge you, my sister. Here’s my hand. I stand with and walk along side you because you are a reflection of me.
The revolution must be televised! Let’s script it.