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We live in a reality television world. The format not only dominates U.S. television networks, but has manifested itself into the external, more material reality.

The ongoing influence of an entire generation reality TV stars — from the Kardashian family and Paris Hilton to Harry Styles and Kelly Clarkson — attests to the power of broadcasting ‘authentic’ representations of either wealth and celebrity or the competition of game shows. Instagram and TikTok are in many ways built on foundations of celebrity culture developed by reality TV. And we can’t omit the titan of manifest destiny, Donald Trump, who’s appearance in The Apprentice — where he plays a stern and all-knowing CEO — broke him through a long pursued level of widespread popularity, and eventually catapulted him to the United States presidency.

Unsurprisingly then, the number of reality television programs has exploded in recent years. It has become the pizza of broadcasting. Networks all over the world are able to replicate a cheap, simple and successful formula which has a guaranteed appeal. Netflix alone has dozens of reality TV shows ranging from design and self-help to a myriad of barely distinguishable romance-themed pseudo-competitions. 

Reality television is powerful because it draws on the emotional power of documentary filmmaking and combines it with the extensive editing, production strategies, coercion and low-budget techniques pioneered by news television. It aims to entertain rather than inform, packaged and marketed in a broadly consumable style.

A sub-genre of reality television, make-over reality television, which includes landmark programs such as Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and Home Makeover of the early 2000s, have given way to voyeuristic entertainment predicated on psychological stages of conflict, reflection, acceptance, and transformation. The format provides an easily digestible narrative with a satisfying conclusion. Resolutions unfold in a neat, short time frame. Typically, a person, group or business is selected as meriting of assistance before receiving resources, consultation, expertise, and publicity to help them achieve their goals.

These makeover shows, especially business-oriented ones like Kitchen Nightmares and Bar Rescue, tell us a lot about power dynamics between ownership and labour in the hospitality industry and more generally as well as the techniques used by managerialist consultants to justify their practices and position.

Locating the shift to reality television

Contemporary reality television first began to emerge in the United States in the early 1990s. Production companies shifted to this format as a response to labour movements within the industry.

In 1988, the Writers Guild of America held their longest strike in history, lasting almost half a year. It crippled the production of films and television in particular, with many of the biggest shows on television having their seasons delayed, and networks turning to re-runs, political programming, and sports to fill the gaps. Writers were primarily demanding greater compensation and increased creative power. In the end a precarious deal was struck with the major networks, the long-term effects of which were disatrous for writers.

It was in this climate that networks introduced early reality television programs like COPS and America’s Most Wanted. These were programs relying almost entirely on real world footage in a haphazard documentary-style genre, which virtually removed the threat of union strikes and the collective bargaining of writers. They vastly stripped down production costs by using amateur (and often voluntary) participants rather than professional actors, eliminated the need for a large talented writing staff, and placed the bulk of the work on editing, which is a more interchangeable and less unionised occupation than writers (Grazien, 2010). 

This shift reinforces the role of the private sector as charity giver and reproduces hyper-competitiveness, presenting employment and success as meritocratic. 

If we divide the hours worked by the end prize of for example, then Survivor winners stand to earn — 1,000,000 / (39 x 24) = $1,000 an hour, while Big Brother contestants compete for $210 an hour. And of course, only one contestant will earn this, with all other contestants competing virtually for free — along with any appearance fees, travel costs, bonus prizes and image publicity they stand to receive.

Though it is still more gladiator than professional sport, as they don’t receive any kind of wage and only the winner is directly rewarded. The justification is that the show is providing the opportunity to win a large sum of money to ‘ordinary’ people.

Origins of Reality

Aside from the pseudo-documentary products which purported to capture real life danger like COPS, shows that emerged to define the genre of reality television focussed on controversial societal issues and domestic conflict. The Jerry Springer Show, which debuted in 1991 and started as a political talk show, quickly morphed into a conflict-resolution and arbitration platform for civil disputes, often involving topical issues which were subequently discussed by its title host. MTV’s The Real World, meanwhile, which began in 1992, set the format for house-sharing between strong personalities from diverse backgrounds.

Fusing together elements from teen dramas like Beverly Hills, 90210 (1990) with documentaries like An American Family (1974) — that focussed on the seemingly innocuous and monotonous inner lives of a chosen family but produced emotional and relatable situations — it offered new kind of entertainment than audiences were used to. ‘Real’ characters with their own unique traits, desires, conflicts and relationships were in many ways more engaging and direct than pre-written drama.

This set-up was ripe for domestic conflict, as participants were forced to manage interpersonal relationships with ‘total strangers’, providing the blueprint for future reality shows such as Survivor, The Bachelor and Big Brother. Tasks and challenges are devised to sow tension and unrest in the household, and television cameras are ready to capture it all.

By the 2000s, reality television shows were outranking scripted shows on American networks, which a plethora of concepts blooming, many of which were competition-based. One category which became popular was the ‘makeover’ or ‘self-improvement’ genre. The premise is that a person, a group, or a business is selected — usually because of personal hardship or managerial incompetence — to receive the resources, consultation, and publicity of a television program to help them achieve financial or personal success. Queer Eye for the Straight Guy was a trailblazer, which as the name suggests, involved a group of homosexual self-proclaimed style experts revolutionising the unimaginative wardrobe of an average heterosexual man.

This focus on personal development, similar to Netflix’s Tidying Up with Marie Kondo, is designed to be ultra-positive, with plenty of high notes and a minimum of friction. The advice is accepted by the expert, sometimes with great reluctance, before all characters are able to reflect on the improvements and benefits to their personal lives. Importantly, the expert must be a charismatic, likeable — or at least respectable — character, who guides us through the story and helps us understand.

And because reality television is built around personality, this makeover genre has increasingly incorporated experts which generate a more valuable type of entertainment: conflict. Volatility, instability, anger, delusion and narcissism have become gold mines for the industry.

Kitchen Nightmares

Enter Gordan Ramsay, an English-Scottish chef infamous for his expletive tirades, harsh working conditions and immensely successfully restaurants. After two successful BBC documentaries Boiling Point (1999) and Beyond Boiling Point (2000) that chronicled the obsessive commitment involved in pursuing the culinary crown of three Michelin stars; Ramsay was given his own show in an emerging format sometimes referred to as ‘belligerent broadcasting’.

Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares takes Gordon’s expertise as a world-class chef and throws applies them to the world of small, failing, and often comedically run restaurants in an attempt to fix their relatively amateur mistakes. His role is to help owners identify issues, re-design menus and decor, and to train cooking staff.

The show traditionally follows a three-act structure. First, owners and staff members are confronted about their shortcomings; then there is a period of often tumultuous acceptance; before they are given advice and material assistance to make substantial changes, culminating in a grand ‘re-opening’ debuting a new restaurant. The story is punctuated by moments of self-help style mentorship, where Ramsay inspires owners to realise their potential for commercial success in the hyper-competitive restaurant industry.

In the first incarnation of Kitchen Nightmares, Ramsay operated within the constraints of a low budget and a limited time frame. By the time it was adapted for a United States audience in 2007, the budget had ballooned dramatically, which enabled almost every episode to include an entire makeover of the business’ interior design and expensive equipment upgrades for the kitchen or front-of-house.

This changes the tone of the show, which shifts from a slow-paced heartfelt documentary centred around Ramsay’s mentoring of young cooks; to a bombastic, heavily dramatised and superficial narrative, underscored by sharp and suspenseful music. As in film, the music helps guide our emotions towards the depiction intended by Ramsay and the show. We are instructed as to whether characters are goofy, unaware, arrogant, sympathetic, or simply entertaining.

In the earlier U.K. version there are many heartfelt moments with young apprentices, cooks and chefs who have lost their passion or enthusiasm. They often appreciate the expertise, time, and advice of one of the leading chefs in the world. This has led critics to praise the authenticity of early episodes and dissect the differences between the two, which reflects the American appetite for dramatic television and a broader transition towards conflict-centred entertainment.

What Ramsay Reveals about Ownership

The program thematically depicts restaurant owners as inexperienced, narcissistic, resistant to change, impervious to criticism and ignorant to the harsh realities of the hospitality industry. In some of the more infamous projects, such as Amy’s Baking Company, owners are presented as delusional, dangerous, and outright abusive. But by the end of each episode they are usually redeemed after endorsing Ramsay’s changes and committing themselves to the business.

The true heroes are the workers, who dutifully obey the absurd demands of owners with composure and patience. This patience, of course, is largely a product of the coercion inherent in the relationship between them. Hospitality workers depend on this income for their livelihood and are some of the most vulnerable people of the working class — relying on gratuity to subsidise shockingly low wages.

Gordon often finds himself empathising with the waiters, waitresses and kitchen staff, who have legitimate grievances about dealing with the aggression and temperament of the owners, making for a hostile and at times abusive workplace. Conversely, chefs are a recurring target of Gordon’s ire, but only to the extent that they are unwilling to embrace change. He is quick to recognise when the menu is constricted by micro-managing owners and allocates blame towards management instead.

This points to a great injustice at the heart of private ownership. Access to capital gives these owners the power to dictate the working conditions of their employees. While a job is expected to be earned through performance — especially at ‘entry-level’ and ‘low-skilled’ levels — capital can be secured through inheritance, status, loan or luck.

Nearly half of all workers in the private workforce are employed by small businesses. This statistic helps to create the ethos of the ‘American dream’ where anyone can achieve success through their own enterprise. But given the amount of start-up capital required — an average has been estimated at $80,000 in the U.S. — access to credit is crucial. So then when reported discrimination in lending against minorities is factored in, we can see how a class- and racially-based power structure emerges between white wealthy owners and poorer minority employees.

In an episode of Hotel Hell (Ramsay’s foray into the hotel industry) two sisters in their early twenties have convinced their father to buy a hotel for them, despite lacking any hospitality or managerial experience. These ingredients are a guaranteed hit for reality television, with the conflict between rich, spoilt, oblivious owners and hard-working, under-appreciated workers effortlessly producing drama.

Neo-Ramsay: Jon Taffer’s Bar Rescue

What came after Kitchen Nightmares made Gordon Ramsay look like a monk. Bar Rescue, a reality show beginning in 2011, uses the same formula and narrative structure — but focuses on bars and nightclubs instead of restaurants. Our host and resident expert is Jon Taffer, whose Wikipedia page tells us is a “successful business man” “born into a family of entrepreneurs”.

He is marketed as America’s answer to Gordon Ramsay — but with considerable more anger, less personality or charm, and a fraction of the expertise. He is also a creator and producer of the show. Taffer seeks to imitate Ramsay’s style of speaking that “cuts through evasion and obfuscation in the name of immediacy, authenticity, truth and understanding.” Taffer has been attacked by professional bartenders when his questionable knowledge of bartending basics was exposed in what was intended to be a light puff piece.

With Bar Rescue, we see the transition from the expert advisor who performs, demonstrates, and teaches staff; to the ‘consultant’ who offers a more detached managerial perspective. The business advice is purportedly based on ‘bar science’, which Taffer uses to trains staff — though largely delegates to experts. Taffer never proves his expertise in the way that Ramsay uses his cooking to reinforce his authority. Our only evidence for his reputation is the introduction given in a prologue touting his ‘decades of experience’ in the bar and nightclub industry.

His so-called ‘bar science’ seems to be a combination of pop-psychology and Business For Dummies, and the show refrains from using any data or statistics other than a smattering of business-related formulas in the opening credits. This ‘science’ regularly involves objectifying attractive women as commodities to improve the atmosphere of the bar: