I’m far too behind to catch up on what has been churning on MTV’s The Challenge so in my search for messy reality television, I stumbled upon Too Hot to Handle. The series beckons a troupe of single people to compete for a cash prize that can be compromised if they fail to remain celibate, and develop meaningful connections with each other. Their actions are heavily monitored by Lana— the all-knowing presence whose voice chimes in from a device that resembles an electric air freshener. Apparently I was late to the party as it’s already established itself as one of the most-watched dating shows on Netflix. As I always do, I tend to pay attention to the things in media that seize the attention of viewers because somehow, I believe it speaks to the human condition. After finishing the first two seasons of the series, I had thoughts.
Perhaps the reason why Too Hot to Handle thrives is because of the immediacy of sex that comes with hook-up culture. While the term “hooking up” can be polysemic, the connotation of it has always pointed to sexual liaisons. With dating apps like Tinder introducing the act of “swiping right” to indicate finding someone attractive, the predetermined outcome of sex with a person sometimes ensues solely based on the physical. What THTH banks on is just that: how we shape our perceptions of partners based on what we see rather than what we know.
In both seasons the prize money ($100,000) did not fare well against the naughty escapades (rule-breaking) of the “sexy singles,” and their carnal desires. Whether it was season one’s Francesca Farago and Harry Jowsey being “naughty little possums” or season two’s Cam Holmes and Emily Miller being the notorious rule breakers, the series postulates that our sexual desires can’t be tamed. We are somehow incapable of passing a class in deeper connections beyond the physicality of sex; perhaps that’s because the course that we would rather sign up for is, in fact, intercourse. (PUR)
In season one of the series, Chloe Veitch expressed that without a sexual connection she has no desire to get to “know” a person— by know, she meant emotionally. Shallow? Perhaps. The moment was captured in a Youtube compilation of all of times the the cast hooked-up with each other; I did a scan of the comment section and realized that most people criticized the cast for their dalliances. Some cited the cash prize as enough of an incentive to restrain oneself while others simply chalked up the cast’s behavior to what is “wrong” with society. I prudishly judged the cast as well. Why? Because it’s what the show highlights aside from the consequence of hyperactive sex drives; it allows the viewer to cast judgement, cast away sins— and to play God. If I had been offered cash prize for all of the times I could remain celibate in my life, (Insert Gen Z “Sheesh”) I would be at Coinstar, trying to salvage whatever I had left in the form of nickels and dimes. And unless you were Sister Christian, you would be jingling in your pockets too.
While watching I soon realized that I had found myself part of a group of people that I have yet to understand: people who shout at the television screen during sports. Now while there were no touchdowns (touching seemed to be the scoring system in THTH), I began to understand the relationship between shouter and screen a bit more. It’s about our selective perfectionism: it’s how we temporarily flee our lives as ourselves and become all-knowing, faultless deities that reign supreme over what is happening on the television screen. When we transcend into that “reality” we definitely would have caught that football, not struck out or kept our hands and genitals to ourselves.
Imagine: you’re stuck on an island, horny, surrounded by people who are undeniably attractive and you’re told that you can look but can’t touch. Of course you would think it’s easy to abstain from sex, sitting on your couch as you spoon lo mein into your mouth. But not when you hooked up with that person last week, and definitely not when you shaved or manscaped your privates before that first date. Watching something like Too Hot To Handle allows us to polish our reputations while also snickering at the kindredness we find in the savory realm of hook-up culture. There’s a reason why the sexy singles are prodded to pursue deep, emotional connections— it’s because it’s still something rendered mystical, in a way. How many people swipe right on a face and initially think, “I can’t wait to form a meaningful, wholesome relationship with this person,”? If you have, all power to you. But the idea of dating blended with hook-up culture is like a buffet and most people don’t think, “I wonder what the pig’s favorite color was?” before throwing ribs onto their plate. How much of an emotional connection can one have without the added promise of an orgasm? Doesn't matter. All you have to do is judge everyone else onscreen while they figure it out. And don’t we love things that make us not have to reckon with our shortcomings? Don’t we love playing God? So we scream and shout— at everyone, but ourselves while watching.
While in our god-like state, whether it’s watching the Super Bowl or reality television, we are able to absolve ourselves from any thoughts that make us feel insignificant or powerless. There’s something gratifying about watching other people do things that you aren’t but would possibly like to— it’s almost like porn (and that’s an entirely different conversation). For a moment, as we critique what is onscreen, we are like gods: watching humans entertain us with their trivial endeavors. We don’t feel like someone drained from working overtime, who is burnt out or having an existential crisis. In that moment, we transcend beyond the clouds, and a fumble of a football or giving into sexual desire are grounds for us to shout and say, “I am God.”