The other night, I was watching Biggest Loser, and as always, reality television neared a deep truth about us, but failed to put it's finger on the pulse. In doing so, it actually validated what was so very "wrong" with so many of these overweight (essentially, very unhappy) people, because it presented what was wrong with them as being their inability to meet their desire (to lose the weight), instead of the problem being what was driving that desire and what it was trying to fulfill. These people were mostly there to overcome an unhealthy dependency on the external validation of others - the entire premise of that show (the context of being in front of the nation) demands that the participants be essentially driven by external validation of the "other", or quite frankly, they wouldn't need to do it in front of us all. But even this kind of yearning for validation on a mammoth scale, where the "other" becomes the viewing public, must start somewhere (because the opportunity to have the viewing public validate them actually provides a chance - or so they think - to compensate for the affirmation they have been missing on a more localised, personal level). It's nothing unique, and one of the reasons I first used reality television as a vehicle for my views was because it did provide the chance to see these kind of mechanics at work - mechanics that affect so many of our lives at such a core level. We are a society that has been diseased and sickened by a culture that deliberately triggers insecurity to translate into consumerism, and the outcome of this is that our dependency on various "others" has increased. A consumer who is happy with who they are (and whom is led by their own judgement and autonomy), is a consumer that doesn't shop anywhere near as much as those who constantly strive to be the person they feel they need to be in order to attain designated bringers of contentment and fulfillment (which are given, essentially, by various external forces we see ourselves as needing to please). Marketing has always been about fear of unmet goals, and about offering a solution to (supposedly) provide the answer to this anxiety. This product will make you look beautiful; this product will help you lose weight; this product will help you convince others you are worthy. The irony is that in order to highlight the worthiness with a price tag, a state of constant unworthiness must be maintained. But for this to work, there has to be an anxiety that pre-exists, to some extent, and something that at least has a basis in human nature (in order for culture to distort and exploit). The fear of being alone (and unable to attract a partner) is hardly new; but boy, is it in, this season!?

 

The official bitch archetype of the new Biggest Loser, Courtney (predictably, the gay guy - yaaaawn), was recently "broken down" by theatrical trainer, Gillian, for no other reason than to appease our sadistic pleasure in seeing the villain cop it back. However, in the process, we glimpsed the reality not only to Courtney's issues with his weight, but, I'd suggest, a large part of his bitter (and quite questionable) morality when dealing with others. Collapsed on the football field, crumbling under the intense physical and mental duress (how Biggest Loser attains the drama under the guise of something that is presented as quite healthy and actually isn't), Gillian prodded the young man as to why he wants to lose the weight.

"Because I'm ugly," he panted, on the brink. "I'm ugly."

Ah, the visual. This is, after all, a show that entirely depends on the importance of the visual. All charming monologues about pseudo-spiritual journeys aside, what is the "change" that makes Biggest Loser so "life-changing" (apart from the money, of course!)? In the end, they stroll down a catwalk (the very symbol of aesthetic worthiness - for a spot on a catwalk is one that culture reserves for those who are used to make money off their beauty), and dolled up to the nines (nakedness is used to accentuate their ugliness, all through the process, but in the end, the reality of nakedness is forsaken for a commercialised, synthetic representation of beauty), we declare them as worthy - not because they are merely "thin", but because the cultural association of being thin is? They are beautiful. Sexy. Worthy.

Worthy of what?

We were soon enlightened as to the source of Courtney's more specific anxiety, when he admitted the driving reason for losing weight is because he fears his partner will leave him because of his weight gain. I'd like to know whether this is something his partner has clearly expressed to him (if so, maybe Courtney should consider finding a new partner), or whether it is so linked to something earlier from his life and deeper in his psyche, if perhaps his fear is somewhat unfounded and says more about Courtney's internal self-perceptions and schemas in relation to being overweight. But whatever the source of this schema (or belief), and whether this belief is affirmed directly by his partner, the schema is clear - "If I am overweight and visually decline from an expected standard of attractiveness, my partner will leave me and I will be single."

Contestant Mel has also told us that one of the reasons she needs to lose the weight is to find the "love of her life" (and the official website connects her obesity to her never having been in a relationship), and while I have only watched a couple of episodes of this series (and don't really feel I've missed too much, nor particularly feel compelled to keep watching), I bet one thing I've missed is a similar sentiment being echoed throughout the series. And I did see Gerard "get in touch" with his own psyche in connection to being on the show - getting back at the loss of his partner ("C'mon," his trainer taunted him in a boxing regime, "hit your ex-wife away"). At the end of the day, what we see in this show is a wonderful example of the core problem of this consumer culture - the manifestation of aesthetic-based anxiety - which can then be traced to a fundamental element of our lives. Whether you're a Courtney who wants to maintain a relationship; a Mel, who wants to attain one; or whether you're a Gerard who is consumed by avenging a relationship, one thing is clear. Relationships matter. Without them, aestheticism wouldn't matter (how many times have you heard people in relationships confess that they have "let themselves go"? I confess I am someone who has done just that, and have stopped maintaining my physical attractiveness, to some extent, since being in a long-term relationship). People, for whatever reason, want to get together. They always have. The reasons for this have changed over the years (I'd argue that modern consumer culture, in choosing to exploit something already there, has in turn amplified it and affected the very nature of it in society - the reaction becoming an affecting action), but whatever the narrative, here we are. Being partnered means something to people, and it means a great deal. We think we need it. Welcome to Valentine's Day.

And I wanted to take this opportunity to talk about it, because I think we need to. It's a psychology that is so pervasive in our lives, it's so remarkably central to our existence (whether it's supposed to be or not - an entire debate and article of its own), and yet, it's so taboo. It's our greatest taboo, as far as I'm concerned, rivaled only by the concept of mortality (another element of life we don't really have the strength to address until it forces us to - which most do, rather badly). I think a lot of people spend a great deal of time constructing deceptive concepts around things that are actually driven by the quest for partnership. We hate to admit how central this is to our lives - even to ourselves. So successful is the culture of shame around being single, those who are single tend to reconstruct the importance of this to them, resulting in a kind of deceptive repression (which, in so many ways, is exactly what a taboo "is"). Humans like to think that the quest for partnership is not anywhere near the force it usually is in their lives. We end up with a society of people all frantically trying to get together - driven by the anxiety of not being partnered - but with the reality of this factor being effectively sublimated (consciously, at least).

But an evolutionist would argue that this is by no means especially unhealthy, but perhaps even a good thing. To an evolutionist, sublimation is a central and natural part of the human experience. By this, I mean that evolutionism centers around the premise that the primary human goal is to procreate (the survival and perpetuation of our species) and the most extreme evolutionists (which is most of them - a problem with any paradigm, as far as I'm concerned, is that the "believers" apply the philosophy to absolutely everything) see our entire lives as a sort of conning of the human mind into various interplays, systems and beliefs that essentially are merely ushering us towards procreation. The entire concept of "love" is seen as effectively an illusion - a clever bait for the human being that ultimately winds up in a bed, which should ultimately wind up with a baby. The revering of the muscular man? That's just a woman making a smart evolutionary choice for the health of the father of her baby, and the singling out of good genes. Even the sexual associations of the colour red are seen, by evolutionists, to be symbolic of blood - more specifically, the connection to ovulation (a signal that a woman is ripe for the picking, effectively). When baboons go courting, the females smear their vaginal blood around their lips, to show male suitors that they are looking for lurve. Lipstick, anyone?

There's no denying the existence of evolutionary sublimation, and there's clearly shadows of this in contemporary culture. But of course, what the evolutionists do is impose a kind of value upon it. The danger of evolutionism (and it's problems in being consumer-friendly as the basis for philosophical solutions and explanations) is that it's ultimately bordering on a kind of nihilism. You can argue back and forth til the cows come home as to whether this creates a kind of meaninglessness of our existence or simply a new meaning (that many evolutionists would argue isn't so bad), but whatever the case, to consider that our entire lives are effectively governed by a kind of innate deception and that all we are really doing is trying to pop out babies with good genes, is a difficult pill for many to swallow. This difficulty is more simplistic for some than it is for others - but what evolutionary psychology does that I think ultimately brings it undone is to imply a kind of revering in this kind of role of sublimation as a healthy thing (if the goal is perceived to be procreation and effective natural selection), and discount that our evolution is an interactional phenomenon between the basic survival of our species (physical evolution) and our intellectual and spiritual ascension (mental evolution). Our consciousness is what makes us unique creatures on this planet - for good or, perhaps, sometimes for worse - and so I don't personally believe that we can be reduced to basic drives for procreation and natural selection. And regardless, even a part of the physical survival of our species must rely, to some extent, on the emotional nurturing of the human being, and so, the emotional attachment of one person in connection to another is clearly relevant to the ongoing success of literally "rasing" our race. Surely, that's one direction and function of love in our "evolution".

 

But science isn't particularly concerned with the psycho-spiritual realm, of course (every nuero-psychologist I had lecture me at uni always began by systematically - and quite passionately - trying to convince us there was no spiritual goal of life, letalone any kind of "God", and that we were nothing but physical organisms striving to survive). To be honest, I always pitied them - the failure and bitterness that had drove these men to rationalise their lives with this kind of belief structure, was always so obvious to me. The head lecturer or neuropsychology at my university was a vehement atheist, and a staunch believer in the ultimate role of physiology, somatogenics and evolutionism - everything came back to it. None of the emotions we felt, the ambitions we consciously strived for, the pain we experienced (and here lies the crux) meant anything. Love meant nothing. It was a trick: a game of the power of physical incidence, and nothing else. "There's no such thing as love," he told a packed lecture theatre, woven into some subject that actually had nothing to do with the concept of love, whatsoever (met with a quiet grown, on my part). I mean, really. Such a smart man, and yet, what a ridiculously boring (and obvious) thing to say.