When I was 10 years old, I told my younger sister she couldn’t sing and that dogs were probably howling somewhere because of her awful voice. My mother intervened on her behalf and said that if I couldn’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.
This was not the first time I heard this phrase of wisdom, for it would become a teaching mantra my mother used in dealing with her children who were cruel to each other at times.
Working in advertising, I often have to offer an opinion on creative work. These words from my mother buzz through my brain and I learned how to be tactful in my honest assessment, without destroying a person’s fragile creative spirit. Instead of saying “this work is shit”, I say “well, the headline doesn’t really hit the strategy we outlined and the color you’ve chosen doesn’t fit into the corporate brand.”
So imagine my surprise when I found myself addicted to the audition shows of American Idol. Everything about these shows flies in the face of how I was raised. You just aren’t suppose to be that mean to someone – at least not to their face! At times, the judges do offer some constructive criticism telling the contestants they are “pitchy” and I do respect the notion of honesty when they tell people that a singing career is not in their future. But when they tell a male contestant that they are better off wearing a dress, putting on false eyelashes and singing in a cabaret show, that hits below the belt (even if I think it's kind of funny and true). And then the camera focuses on the contestant’s face full of confusion and ignorance to what the motives of the judges words are. This show is Mean Girls on steroids!
Yet, why then do I snicker and roll my eyes at the contestants? Despite the cruel nature of these shows, I find myself rushing to get my daughter to bed, so that I can lounge in front of the TV, kick up my feet and groan at the overweight, not at all attractive, 18 year old who has been over-encouraged by her friends and family that she can actually sing. Is it because I have repressed ambitions to tell everyone what I really feel – without being tactful, without worrying about hurting their feelings, in other words, completely destroying someone?
When did it become okay to tell someone that they look like bush-baby in the jungle when they are auditioning for singing contest? And why did I agree and laugh? Quickly followed by a “oh, now that’s just mean” comment. As if to tell my husband and the world that I’m not really a Mean Girl too. Why are the audition portions of this show one of the highest rated on TV? Why do I plan my evenings around this show? Shouldn’t I be reading a great American novel? Or better, working on a piece of my own writing.
Do I accept what I’ve become – one of the masses who have thrown politeness, decorum and respect for the average Joe on the street out the window? And worse, feeding the TV ratings machine that perpetuates the Mean Girls attitude in the name of Reality TV.
Or simply, I’m allowing my repression to play out two hours a week?
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