Rated 🍯🍯🍯🍯
The bee is blissfully unaware of reality television. Or at least, it was—before Miss I-Doll descended upon The Other Palace, bringing with it a whirlwind of reality TV absurdity, grotesque archetypes, and a one-woman masterclass in shapeshifting. Now, armed with a crash course in the mechanics of manufactured entertainment, the bee must ask: was this a satire that merely held up a mirror, or did it do the harder work of shattering our reflection?
A Tour de Force in a One-Woman Circus
First, let’s talk about the extraordinary feat at the heart of Miss I-Doll: Daisy Steere’s performance. To call it versatile would be an understatement. She didn’t just play multiple roles—she inhabited them, making each one distinct yet unmistakably part of the same grotesque ecosystem. From the religious contestant forced into a one-note narrative to the sob-story competitor stretching personal tragedy to absurd proportions, Steere transitioned between personas with such dexterity that the standing ovation at the end felt like an inevitability rather than an act of generosity.
Satire or Just a Well-Executed Parody?
Where Miss I-Doll undeniably succeeded was in demonstrating the sheer breadth of reality TV absurdity. For the bee—an outsider to this world—it was both an education and an entertainment, a comprehensive roll call of all the familiar (and apparently necessary) tropes that populate these programs. The contestants weren’t just characters; they were case studies in audience manipulation.
Yet, the satire, for all its sharp edges, relied on a crucial assumption: that we, the audience, already understood reality TV to be ridiculous and shallow. And that assumption, while mostly correct, also created a ceiling for the play’s impact. It was less an interrogation of why we continue to consume these narratives and more an extended, theatrical “Look how ridiculous this is!”
For the bee, unfamiliar with reality TV’s mechanics, this was perfectly sufficient—it needed a primer before it could demand an exposé. But for a more seasoned audience, perhaps there was an opportunity missed. The real sting would have come from a deeper dive into why we allow these systems to shape the way we see people, how performance and authenticity blur under the weight of the cameras, and whether we, as audience members, are complicit in demanding archetypes that contestants feel obliged to perform.
The Performance of the Self: When the Role Becomes the Reality
Forget whether Miss I-Doll reinvented the wheel of satire—what it truly exposes is something far more fundamental about human behavior under surveillance. Reality TV presents itself as a “social experiment,” but in truth, it is a controlled environment where archetypes aren’t just found; they are sculpted.
Producers don’t simply document human nature—they manufacture it. They curate a cast to fit neatly into predetermined roles: the sob story, the villain, the naive optimist, the wildcard. But the most insidious part? Once the cameras are on, contestants don’t just perform for the audience; they begin performing for themselves. What starts as playing a part for airtime gradually becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Once you are labeled—whether by the producers, the public, or your own sense of self-preservation—you become trapped by that label. If you’re “the religious one,” you can’t afford a moment of doubt, because that would make you inconsistent, and in the economy of reality TV, inconsistency is the kiss of death. If you’re “the tragic figure,” then that becomes your currency, your narrative, your identity. And the most horrifying part? Even if you start by merely playing along, eventually, you believe the role yourself.
Spectacle as Self-Reflection?
Of course, there’s an argument to be made that deeper interrogation doesn’t need to be spoon-fed. Maybe the best satire simply presents the ridiculousness and trusts the audience to do the work of reflecting on their own complicity. After all, reality TV thrives because we—the audience—keep watching. The villain edits, the sob stories, the neatly packaged arcs—these are not just constructs of the producers but cravings of the masses. The real question isn’t why do reality TV producers do this?but rather why do we love it so much?
Miss I-Doll doesn’t try to answer that question, and perhaps it was never meant to. Instead, it revels in the exaggerated, the grotesque, and the painfully familiar. For the bee, it was a delightful, impeccably acted introduction to the machine of manufactured reality. Whether it should have also turned the knife on the audience, rather than just on the industry, is up for debate.
But one thing is certain: if reality TV is a spectacle, Miss I-Doll is an even better one.
Four stars!
Watched February 2025 at The Other Palace studio, London
Comments