But part of the joy of watching, for true reality aficionados, is witnessing such false starts and mesmerizingly entertaining mistakes. While those who've never seen much of the genre bemoan the foolishness of most shows, it's the newness of the form that makes it so exciting. When not even the producers can predict how the characters on a show will react, audiences feel like they're a part of something that's evolving before their eyes. The second season of "The Joe Schmo Show," titled "Joe Schmo 2," epitomized this state. The show lures two individuals into thinking that they're contestants on a dating show called "Last Chance for Love," when in fact, their fellow contestants are really actors, paid to create absurd, funny scenarios.

To the dismay of the show's producers and crew, a few episodes in, one of the two Schmos named Ingrid figured out that something was very wrong, and kept asking the actors around her if they had memorized the things they were saying, or there was "some kind of 'Truman Show' thing going on." Instead of declaring the show a failure, the producers chose to reveal the truth to Ingrid and then enlisted her as an actor for the rest of the show. This kind of behind-the-scenes, seat-of-the-pants improvisation is such completely new territory, it's not hard to understand why audiences are intrigued.

Furthermore, if our obsession with celebrities tends to rise and fall and rise again in cycles, then it makes sense that reality TV would become popular in the wake of the late '90s, when celebrity obsession reached new levels of absurdity. Audiences bored with Brad and Jennifer or Jennifer and Ben or Paris and Nicole suddenly found themselves with more knowable, less remote personalities to root for. Instead of focusing all their attention on those far too privileged to comprehend or relate to, audiences could embrace no-nonsense, surprisingly open-minded Rudy of "Survivor" or despise the outspoken-but-bellicose Susan Hawk. Reality "stars" like lovable couple Chip and Kim from "The Amazing Race" or country-boy Troy from "The Apprentice" offer us a chance to admire real people for qualities that go beyond choosing the perfect dress for the Oscars or smiling sweetly for the cameras.

Plus, now that magazines like InStyle make it clear that a major celebrity's image and personality are essentially created by a team of stylists, interior designers, assistants, managers and publicists, it's no wonder we crave an exploration of the little quirks and flaws of ordinary people. And when it comes to making enemies, anyone can throw a temper tantrum and then stalk offstage, but how many ordinary humans can manage the messy explosion of insults and accusations set off by Omarosa of "The Apprentice"? Who knew that "Now there's the pot calling the kettle black!" was a racial slur?

Many have argued that self-consciousness will be the death of the genre. As more and more contestants who appear on the shows have been exposed to other reality shows, the argument goes, their actions and statements will become less and less "real." What's to blame here is the popular use of the word "reality" to describe a genre that's never been overtly concerned with realism or even with offering an accurate snapshot of the events featured. In fact, the term "reality TV" may have sprung from "The Real World," in which the "real" was used both in the sense of "the world awaiting young people after they graduate from school," and in the sense of "getting real," or, more specifically, getting all up in someone's grill for eating the last of your peanut butter.

The truth is, part of the entertainment offered by reality TV lies in separating the aspects of subjects' behavior that are motivated by an awareness of the cameras from the aspects that are genuine. You can't expect someone who's surrounded by cameras to act naturally all of the time, and as the genre has evolved, editors and producers have become aware that highlighting this gap between the real self and the camera-ready self not only constitutes quality entertainment, but may be the easiest shortcut to creating the villain character that any provocative narrative requires. When "Big Brother 5's" Jason pouts his lips, flexes his muscles and adjusts his metrosexual headband in the mirror, then confides to the camera that every idiotic thing he's done in the house so far has been part of a master plan to confuse his roommates, he not only makes a great enemy for the more seemingly grounded members of the house, but he also hints at narcissistic and sociopathic streaks that reality TV has demonstrated may be a defining characteristic of the modern personality. Either an alarming number of reality show contestants are self-obsessed and combative, or the common character traits found in young people have shifted dramatically.

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