My MTV: 8th and Ocean

MTV is making it awfully hard for me get my ass off the couch these days (actually, it's a futon, but I digress). I'm still harbouring an addiction to MADE, am swiftly developing an addiction to the new season of The Real World, and as of last week, have started catching a few episodes of 8th and Ocean. The prognosis is not good. Like my erstwhile favourite MTV "reality" drama, Laguna Beach, it features generic California scenery, insipid dialogue and painfully slow-paced action. I think I'm gonna be hooked.

I'm not much of an America's Next Top Model follower, so I can't really say whether fans of that show will find 8th and Ocean equally enticing to watch. A big plus for 8th and Ocean is its Tyra Banks-free format. While the MTV show lacks Top Model's explicit competition, it is well-endowed with the more subtle variety, such as the sparks that are about to fly between identical twins, Kelly and Sabrina. FYI, Sabrina's unfortunate acne outbreaks constitute the show's core dramatic conflict at the moment. She feels left behind because the other models' careers, particularly her sister's, are starting to take off, while she keeps being told to avoid the light of day until her face is fit to be seen in public (I just assumed this was par for the course if you live in California, model or not). Apparently, in the next episode Kelly expresses interest in breast "enhancement" surgery, which upsets the insecure Sabrina even more. It's like Sweet Valley High in some alternate Botox-infused universe. If that's not enough to get you watching, I don't know what will.

After taking in the dramatics of 8th and Ocean this evening, I paused to consider that models have gained a lot of exposure in the past decade. Back in my junior high and high school years, which, fortunately for my formative self, coincided with the golden age of the Supermodels, models were seen and not heard. We didn't have television shows that revealed Cindy Crawford binging on Ben & Jerry's at one a.m., Linda Evangelista stealing cans of Red Bull from Christy Turlington's tote bag, or Naomi Campbell padding around in badly-fitted pajama pants and a trucker hat. We never saw these women without make-up, for Pete's sake. And only rarely did we see them off the runway. But now it seems that everywhere in the media, models both old and new are letting it all hang out. Sometimes I kind of wish they'd pull it all back in because, well, most of these people are just not that entertaining once they step off the cover of Vogue. It's the old "don't sit too close at the ballet" thing.

I'm not really sure why I watch any of the copious model shows on tv in the first place. Unlike some women, I don't really relish the chance to catch models looking "ugly" (which, let's be honest here, they never do. They're models) or saying "stupid" things (they don't get paid the big bucks to solve the world's problems, folks--that's, what, the President's job or something?). Furthermore, I don't secretly idolize models or covet their lives (oh hell no--I love my freedom, my sense of self worth and my Cheetos too much to buy into that crazy-ass fantasy). I guess I watch these shows because the modelling industry, like Hollywood, is so incredibly surreal in its workings: extremely irrational, extraordinarily shallow, fickle, dirty, backstabbing and occasionally heartwarming. In other words, a perfect evening's entertainment!