Survival of the dullest

According to Goulston, the average person auditions for a reality show "because average isn't good enough for them. Being special protects you from being 'ordinary,' and some people just can't stand feeling ordinary. If you feel that you haven't accomplished much or somehow you aren't good enough, winning something like this is a way of catching up."

This phenomenon was in full evidence at the "Survivor II" auditions, where very few of the hopefuls possessed any quality that might be described as telegenic. Most of them clearly hadn't coasted through life on their good looks, and it's probably safe to say they hadn't skated by on their brains or personalities, either. When asked why they wanted to be on the show, many replied that they had already survived all manner of reverses -- from one's mother's menopause, to living in New York on $30 a day, to the war in Bosnia -- and so were ideally suited to take the punishment.

"I'm just a lowly admin assistant," a shy man in his mid-30s told me when I asked why he was auditioning, as if television were a sort of refugee camp for the unfulfilled.

Of course, there were a few exceptions to the underachiever rule. One man who auditioned -- a handsome, smarmy, platinum-haired urban hipster -- talked about surviving frostbite, envy, Princeton and 13 management changes in 12 years as a V.P. at a major corporation. Retired at 38, he was looking for life's next challenge. His sense of his own superiority was palpable, yet I got the impression he was going to break into a scathing rendition of "Is That All There Is?" in situ.

"A number of people," says Goulston, "believe you can achieve happiness. Whereas achievement can make you feel accomplished, it doesn't make you happy, it doesn't make you feel content. A lot of people feel that if they had more, they'd be happier. But it's an illusion. And you keep feeding it."

The pervasive illusion in our culture is that fame can protect you from bad things, that through fame you will acquire the goodwill, good treatment, respect and love of others. But few people are prepared for what it feels like to lose the limelight. Most onetime celebrities -- as Darva Conger is proving -- are reluctant to crawl back under a rock after having been invited to a few parties in the Hollywood Hills.

"Being on a reality show gives you an adrenaline rush," explains Goulston. "The problem is that the thrill of an adrenaline rush is exceeded by the agony of an adrenaline crash. So you don't really anticipate what it's going to be like after your 15 minutes or 15 episodes of fame are over. You don't anticipate that after it's over, you're not going to get sympathy from everyone around you for just how bad you may start to feel. Because in their minds, you got to be famous."

Much was made of the contestant on the Swedish version of "Survivor" who committed suicide after returning home. CBS has stressed that all contestants in the show's U.S. production were thoroughly ransacked for any and all signs of mental illness before being shipped off to the island. Still, achieving overnight fame and then quickly losing it constitute as destabilizing an experience as one is likely to have -- as most former child stars (not to mention Vanilla Ice) can attest to. Goulston, who has counseled people coming off shows such as MTV's "The Real World" and "Road Rules," says that participants sometimes depart the programs feeling exploited because "the way things are edited can twist the perception of the people watching."

On "Road Rules," the producers have to edit 1,000 hours of tape into 10 one-hour programs. Hypothetically, the focus put on a minor, albeit dramatic, event could inaccurately amplify it and give viewers a skewed impression. "Let's say that, one night, one person has one drink too many," Goulston explains. "They follow that story line and the world thinks that person's an alcoholic."

Goulston also describes the experience of being on programs such as "Leeza" or "Oprah." Some who go on such shows and discuss a personal tragedy may believe that they'll be healed by talking to a famous, powerful individual. "But usually what happens," he says, "is that they bring you on the show, they put you in the green room, they ask a few questions that throw you off guard to create more 'videogenic' reactions; then they send you back to the green room, give you a T-shirt and some party favors, take a picture of you and the host; and the next thing you know, you're in a cab on the way to your hotel room."

On "The Early Show" last week, however, Gray's post-"Survivor" life seemed to stretch before her like the promise-filled road to Oz. The closing banter between Gray and the show's hosts encapsulated what is perhaps the dream of every disappointed person who ever filled out a "Big Brother" application.

Gumbel: "You've got to go off down to the MTV studio now, or something like that?"

Gray: "No, I'm going to my lab, actually."

Gumbel: "You've got to go over to Entertainment Weekly and write your column?"

Gray: "Yeah."

Gumbel: "You've got to go see your agent?"

Kauffman: "She's got to go audition somewhere."

Gumbel: "Right, your accountant, going to the bank."

Gray: "I'm going to get some head shots done."

Gumbel: "Yeah."

McEwen: "There you go."

The '80s had junk bonds, we now have "junk celebrities" -- celebrities who have done nothing that merits celebrating. Thanks to this relatively new phenomenon, a life lived in obscurity may now seem even more empty and disappointing. So what if your only claim to fame is that you did something stupid on TV? At least you have a claim to fame!

"Individuals, once they have experienced fame or great attention, often find it hard to return to normal life," Cowen says. "Fame often serves as an addiction and as a drug. Those who have fame typically are led to seek more and more of it, never being content with what they have. Those who have been on such a TV show typically have no chance to win further fame ... and thus they will end up frustrated. In terms of approbation, the peak of their lives will have come at a frustrating and inconvenient time. The happiest life is often one that builds to a peak and brings improvements along the way. Those who experience fame through reality TV shows will find this kind of pattern difficult to have."

Descending from fame into obscurity is "kind of like losing your virginity," says Goulston. "Once you've lost it, you can't get it back."

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