At a recent dinner party with a med student, a PhD student, and a novelist, the most animated (and polarising) discussion of the night centred on which couple should be eliminated from the villa on Love Island. Alliances were dissected. Motivations were questioned. Character assessments were pored over. While we eventually agreed on a few contenders for most dumpable couple, consensus didn’t come easy. 

Around the table that night were thoughtful, ambitious, driven people who were turning to the genre for enjoyment — not exactly the audience most picture when they think of its viewers (Jaden Smith, for one, would probably be startled to know that we weren’t discussing the current political and economic state of the world, but rather Casa Amor bombshells and heart-rate challenge results). While reality television is one of the most popular forms of entertainment in the world, it is also one of the most ridiculed, carrying a hard-to-break reputation for being lowbrow, frivolous or brain-cell-killing (as an ex-boyfriend once tried to argue). But if that’s the general assumption, why are so many intelligent people tuning in every week and forking out for Hayu subscriptions?

Danielle J Lindemann, a professor of Sociology at Lehigh University and the author of True Story: What Reality TV Says About Us, describes the genre as a funhouse mirror of our culture. “By tracing its exaggerated contours, we can come to a better understanding of ourselves. Almost everything that’s happening in real life is reflected somewhere on reality TV, from the small group interactions that happen at work and in families to the broad social constructs — race, class, gender, sexuality — that dominate our lives.”

While it’s often assumed to be consumed passively, people who truly love the genre engage with it through a far more analytical lense. With a whole online ecosystem formed around this fascination, the real fun happens after the credits roll. Online, people dissect every episode, analyse cast members’ social media posts, track timelines, compare stories, debate motivations and sometimes even uncover participants’ political affiliations.  

Because of this, practicing attorney Cesie Alvarez explains, the appeal often rests as much on critical interpretation as on entertainment. “As a lawyer, I actually find that part of the appeal. Reality TV fans are constantly assessing credibility, weighing competing accounts, and discussing how editing, production decisions and personal biases influence what we’re seeing. Those are surprisingly sophisticated conversations,” she says. 

Scripted TV tells you what storytellers think culture looks like. Reality TV shows you what it actually is

Kate Casey, the host of the Reality Life podcast, agrees that viewers are much more engaged than critics give them credit for. “They’re reading subtext, they’re forming hypotheses about motivation, they’re debating with their friends about who’s being authentic and who’s performing. That’s not mindless consumption. That’s active cultural analysis; they just happen to be doing it on the couch with a glass of wine,” Casey says. 

As one of the hosts behind The Bravo Docket, a podcast that discusses lawsuits and legal disputes involving reality television personalities, Alvarez says people are always surprised to learn she’s a reality TV fan. But in the predominantly male field of law, associated with tight-lipped seriousness and intellectual rigour, Alvarez is used to the misconception. 

“As an attorney, the juiciest things I encounter are confidential. Reality TV provides a shared universe of characters, storylines, and drama that I can dissect with friends without violating anyone’s privacy or professional obligations. It’s a fun social outlet, and I think a lot of people relate to that,” says Alvarez. She describes the genre as a “sociological and sometimes anthropological case study”, where subjects are navigating friendships, conflicts, alliances, business ventures, marriages, divorces and public scandals in real time. “Even the most ‘mindless’ parts of it feel as though you’re watching a psychology experiment play out.” 

For Casey, it also comes down to an exercise in pattern recognition (a trait she believes smart people thrive in). “You are watching social hierarchies form and collapse. You are watching people negotiate, manipulate, charm and self-destruct. If you work in law, psychology or business, you are essentially watching a live case study. Successful people don’t turn their brains off when they watch TV; they apply the same analytical frameworks they use all day. Reality TV just gives them richer material than people expect.”

Similarly, Professor Bethany Klein at the University of Leeds, who never misses an episode of Big Brother UK or The Traitors, thinks the genre serves a purpose. For viewers who don’t regularly engage with political media, she says reality television offers its own version of democracy — one where people from diverse backgrounds negotiate their different experiences and perspectives to live, work or socialise successfully with each other. Here, viewers can watch people work through their differences and disagreements in real time. “At a time of divisive politics, there’s a comfort in seeing real people resolve their differences and find their shared humanity.”

While it’s easy to get lost in the drama of table flips and people throwing drinks in each other’s faces, there’s more to it than meets the eye. However messy and entertaining it may be, it still reveals something meaningful about how we connect, judge, debate, and understand one another. “Scripted TV tells you what storytellers think culture looks like. Reality TV shows you what it actually is,” Casey says. So perhaps the smartest people aren’t watching reality TV in spite of their intelligence. They’re watching it because it remains one of the richest studies of contemporary human behaviour. So, the next time someone mocks you for bingeing 90 Day Fiancé, don’t sweat it: you’re not rotting your brain. You’re actually engaging in cultural anthropology.