Let Me Destroy You

I didn’t watch the most recent season of MAFS. As an active social media user I didn’t have to. My algorithms helpfully kept the HOT GOSS coming and I mindlessly clicked on each clip. Dom’s OnlyFans photo leak? All over it. Carolina and Daniel’s cheating scandal? Yep. The huge backlash against this year’s ‘villain’, Olivia? I knew as much about this as the diehards sitting through every episode.

Now, I’m no tv snob. I’ve had my fill of MAFS as well as other trashy gems like Bride and Prejudice, The Bachelor/Bachelorette, Real Housewives and Dating Naked. I’m not claiming my viewing habits are superior to anyone that did watch this season. But boy was it an interesting exercise to view this year’s chaos from a distance.

We all know the format. Singles looking to ‘settle down’ are matched with other singles by the ‘experts’. It’s an open secret that their only expertise is repeating lines fed to them by producers via an ear piece and cashing fat pay cheques, but everyone plays along with the charade, and dutifully refers to this bin inferno as an ‘experiment’.

The couples meet their ‘match’ at the altar, express disappointment at their matches lack of attractiveness and then sit down to enjoy the reception. During dinner, a bridesmaid inevitably leads the bride outside to ask how she feels. Responses usually run the gamut of, “he’s not really talking to me”, “he’s using the wrong fork”, or “he’s so boring”. At another reception across town an over-protective brother corners the groom for a few quick threats. Approximately 57 hours later, the exhausted ‘couple’ arrive at their hotel while fielding questions from producers as to whether or not they’ll have sex.

Then it’s off on their honeymoon where the singles reveal body insecurities, act coy about whether they’ve ‘done the deed’ (if there’s a less sexy phrase, I hope I never hear it), and start arranging their red flags into a fetching bouquet.

When they return, they move into a tiny inner-city apartment decked out in Kmart’s finest home and living range and duck across the hall to ‘mack on’ (I found the less sexy phrase) with another contestant’s betrothed.

Each week there’s a dinner party where there are fights and people sneaking sideways glances at the dinner guest they wished they’d been paired with. They then make a weekly decision on whether they’ll continue the ‘experiment’ at a commitment ceremony that seems to last for four or five days.

This load of rubbish is exactly what we sign up for. We know the ‘experts’ aren’t interested in true love. We know their objective is to create compelling tv. And yet each season, a new crop of wannabe influencers signs on the dotted line to have their lives destroyed, and we tune in to watch their destruction while making cheezel fingers and bolting to the fridge for a top up.

This year’s “villain”, Olivia Frazer, has copped unrelenting heat. She took an intense dislike to fellow bride and fan fave, Domenica Calarco, and told her so at every opportunity. During one dinner she needled Dom incessantly and criticised her speaking voice at which Dom burst into tears and smashed a wine glass. She also willingly shared a story of cutting up a bridesmaid dress she thought was ugly. Olivia herself admitted, “I can be bitchy. People think I’m just a sweetheart, I can be awful at times”. No shit.

Since the show, Olivia has lost her job as a teaching assistant, copped daily online abuse and threats and in a nek minit move no one saw coming, joined OnlyFans. Her reported first day earnings were $10,000.

The most recent scandal saw footage of her partner Jackson Lonie locking lips with a rando at Melbourne’s Lava Lounge and he’s since joined OnlyFans too and are you keeping up?

After the video of Jackson macking on (oh god) was released, Olivia released a statement saying she was, “heartbroken and embarrassed”. Meanwhile, widespread gossip and glee spread quickly with her most committed haters picking over the remaining flesh on Olivia’s carcass.

What is happening here? The show’s face value format is one thing. But there’s a secondary objective running benath the promises of love and marriage that is seedy at best, consciously and deliberately destructive at worst. And yet producers, participants and some viewers seem to willfully deny its existence.

The underhandness of the show’s creators to produce heroes and villains and narratives that support both is becoming harder to ignore, but what about our complicity in the whole damn thing?

It’s fair to say that Olivia Frazer didn’t do herself any favours this season. She knew what she was signing up for. But is it and did she?

Viewers tune in for the drama. For the fights, cheating scandals, bitchiness and genuine heartbreak. So why is ongoing vitriol and abuse hurled at the people that give us exactly what we want?

Are we in some weird kind of denial here? Is it too hard to acknowledge to ourselves that we absolutely froth at the downfall of everyday people? Or are we still convincing ourselves that we’re watching a legitimate ‘experiment?’

The only experiments are those conducted by the show‘s creators as they test just how far they can go in destroying someone’s life and reputation without being litigated.

And that’s why I didn’t tune in this season. I couldn’t bear to watch those purse-lipped puppetmasters shake their heads and judge participants for behaviours they’ve helped orchestrate.

Shows like this thankfully have a shelf life. Once the truth about Tyra Banks’s foul treatment of vulnerable young women on America’s Next Top Model was revealed, the show was cancelled. Old clips of The Biggest Loser are hard to watch too. Watching ‘fat’ people being screamed at and pushed physically until they vomited, it’s hard to believe this used to be a prime time show. They both belong on the garbage pile and yet, we seem to have learned nothing from their demise.

MAFS has got to be close to its expiration date. It’s still rating well but how far do they intend pushing their next group of love/fame seekers? Seeking fame is not in and of itself a bad thing but it’s held up as justification for the cruelty the participants endure. Don’t get it twisted. Each participant thinks they’ll be different, in large part because of assurances they receive from the producers. But they all get played like violins by the devils running the show. And so do we.

Crying, “she knew what was she was signing up for!” as a means to justify a woman’s total demolition, is simply victim-blaming by design. We do it because that’s what the producers want us to do. Meanwhile, they lick their fingers, congratulate themselves on a job well done, and move onto fresh prey.