The news that the UK broadcast watchdog has launched an investigation into 'Married at First Sight Australia' after it emerged that participants were not informed of their partners' drug and violence convictions is, on the surface, a trivial tiff over reality television. But like so many modern outrages, it is a symptom of a deeper cultural disease: the triumph of spectacle over substance, and the deliberate infantilisation of the public.
Let us first dispense with the obvious. Reality television, as a genre, has always been a grotesque carnival of the worst human impulses. From its inception, it has promised authenticity while delivering carefully manufactured conflict. The producers of 'Married at First Sight' have now been caught doing what they have always done: treating human beings as props in a narrative they control. That the contestants were not told that their assigned spouses had criminal records is not an oversight; it is a feature. Drama is the product, and ignorance is the raw material.
But the real scandal is not the producers' cynicism. It is the audience's complicity. We, the viewers, have become addicts of outrage, incapable of enjoying a story without a villain we can condemn. The show's premise—marrying strangers for entertainment—should have been a red flag from the start. Yet we watched, clicked, and shared, feeding the beast that now bites its handlers. The broadcast watchdog's investigation is a farce: it treats a symptom while ignoring the cause. The cause is a culture that rewards emotional manipulation and punishes discretion.
One is reminded of the Roman circuses, where the populace was kept docile with bread and games. Our modern equivalent is the streaming service, offering endless distractions from the decline of literacy, community, and civic virtue. 'Married at First Sight' is not an aberration; it is the logical endpoint of a society that has abandoned the pursuit of truth for the pursuit of sensation. We have swapped the agora for the chat room, and we wonder why our discourse is poisoned.
The historical parallel is not merely rhetorical. The late Roman Empire saw a similar collapse of trust in institutions, a similar preference for spectacle over substance. The difference is that the Romans at least knew they were being entertained. We pretend we are engaged in something meaningful. The idea that a reality show contestant deserves 'full disclosure' before appearing on television is, of course, correct in principle. But it obscures a more uncomfortable truth: the very desire to participate in such a show is itself a symptom of a hollow culture. We have created a world where fame is its own justification, where the worst thing is to be unknown.
This brings us to the intellectuals, or what passes for them in our age. The same commentators who condemn the show's producers for their duplicity are often the ones who defend the broader culture that makes such shows possible. They speak of 'consent' and 'transparency' but refuse to condemn the voyeurism that drives ratings. They are like Victorian moralists denouncing the brothel while maintaining the system of poverty that fuels it. The rot is systemic, and no amount of regulation will cure it.
What is to be done? One might suggest that the public should simply stop watching. But that is as naive as asking the Romans to stop attending the games. The addiction is too deep. The broadcast watchdog's investigation will likely result in a few fines, a few new rules, and a public apology. The show will go on, because the show must go on. We will continue to consume, outraged and enthralled, until the next scandal breaks. And then we will do it all over again.
The real tragedy of 'Married at First Sight' is not that it exploits its participants. It is that it mirrors our own moral confusion. We want authenticity from a medium that thrives on artifice. We demand transparency from a system built on concealment. We are the cuckolds of our own entertainment, and we have no one to blame but ourselves.
