I’m not quite sure how other participants on documentary series (as the Powers That Be call what the rest of us hoi polloi know as “reality shows”) feel about watching themselves live out tiny fractions of our life experiences in front of an audience, but I know how I feel: mortified.
This mortification comes in waves. Some episodes, some moments, are more or less mortifying than others. Last week, in Episode 2, I throw myself at a tall drink of water. Mortification (Scale of 1 to 10): 4
This week... and my stomach churns just thinking about it... the overall level was up there at a 10. Individually, here’s how I’d break it down:
First, we see me at coffee with my manager Steven, in which a work discussion about my columns for ELLE was pre-empted by an email I had just received by the gossip column, "Page Six," accusing me of “stalking” my ex-boyfriend, Jack. As you can tell, the subject of Jack -- and anything surrounding it -- is still deeply painful to me, s ... well... I just found it horrible to watch. What you didn’t see on camera -- because the cameras were inside -- was me sobbing hysterically in my car right before I was to walk into that cafe, because I had to CALL MY EX in Guam (where he is stationed, as a Naval helicopter pilot) and connect him to the reporter to inform her it wasn’t true. He did, and they killed the story, but he doesn’t like gossip reporters and he was pissed that he had to do that.