I Don't Want This

The Other Half and I found ourselves watching The X Factor last night. It's the kind of programme that highlights the differences between us. Alone, I would never watch it, but the OH is a fan of reality and talent shows so I gritted my teeth and followed events on the screen.

About a third of the way through, the OH turned to me and said I should audition. My eyebrows rose. Did he really mean I should try to get on The X Factor? He nodded. Never, I said. Why not, he asked, lots of people would see me. I can't sing, I reminded him. Nor can many contestants, he reminded me, but it doesn't matter if lots of people see you. Or how about Britain's Got Talent? I could do something there and I'd get a big audience. Never, I said; these shows are about Celebrity, and that's not what I want. He looked bemused but another act came on and the conversation ended there - and I'm still not sure whether he was serious or joking.

Like millions of others, the Other Half loves these shows because they give ordinary people the chance for  their dreams to come true. The hype and hysteria, the hope and the hokum are all part of the package. Contestants and audience should leap up and down and scream their enthusiasm and financially and emotionally impoverished individuals should reveal hidden talents that bring a tear to the eye and a tug on the heart-strings. At the end of the day, someone - perhaps more than one - will emerge A Star and the country will celebrate.

A third of the UK may be hooked, but another third are indifferent and an unknown number, like me, dislike the artificiality of these shows, the way in which they manipulate people's emotions, the superficiality of the judge's comments and production values that encourage not only the talented - some contestants have genuine talent - but also the talentless and insecure and disturbed to step forward for their moment of humiliation or fame.

If the The X Factor and its clones were about real Talent, they would skip the self-congratulatory scenes of the judges gliding through crowds and uttering fatuous comments, and tuneless and tone-deaf contestants would be allowed nowhere near a camera. But the real purpose of these shows is the illusion called Celebrity, the idea that our lives only have meaning when the world showers us with fame and fortune. Listen to what contestants say when asked 'Why are you here?' and see the hunger, desperation, in their eyes when they almost invariably answer 'Because I Want This' - 'This', meaning Fame, meaning Fortune, meaning Television Interviews and Hollywood Parties, Autograph Hunters and Oversized Mansions with jacuzzis. 'This' meaning the world saying 'you are important; we reward you; we follow you; we worship you'.

Whether sixteen or sixty, the more intensely a contestant wants 'This', the more obvious it is that their present lives are unfulfilled and only Celebrity and Fame can give them meaning. But Celebrity is a lie that destroys our humanity and replaces it with the superficial values of the red carpet and airbrush. It is a conspiracy that says you have no value if others do not approve of you. It is fickle mob rule that decides whether you will be loved or reviled. (Perhaps the most honest reply to the question 'Why?' came from Frankie Cocozza (pictured) from Brighton, who says he entered the contest to get women. Given his looks and his personality, I doubt that he has any problems in that department, although I also suspect that he does not yet understand the responsibility that comes with such attractiveness.)

That is the sadness that lies at the  heart of 'reality' shows - the fact that the audience and the contestants fail to understand that true pride and self-worth do not come from other people, from money or a feature in Hello or a spot on The One Show; it comes from within, from an acceptance of who we are and an ability to build on our strengths irrespective of the acclaim of others. Only when people see through the glitz to the underlying truth will The X Factor and its clones fade away.