In 1786, English philosopher Jeremy Bentham designed the perfect prison.
On a trip to visit his brother in what was then known as Krichev, Russia, Bentham learned that his brother was struggling to supervise a large number of unskilled workers due to a shortage of managers in his workplace. In response to this, the idea of a single watchtower positioned at the centre of a building began to take shape.
From this early concept, Bentham grew inspired to create the Panopticon, a design tailored specifically for prisons. The Panopticon was intended to be a method of surveillance within the prison system. It was also designed to be cost-effective, requiring only one single guard to oversee all the inmates. Ultimately, the design's purpose was not to increase surveillance but to instead rely on the possibility of constant observation, leading the inmates to self-regulate their behaviour.
On his return to England, Bentham wrote extensively to the British government, urging them to invest in his conceptual prison as a means of reform – even going as far as to volunteer as a prison guard to help reduce costs. Thousands of pounds were personally spent by the philosopher to ensure his prison came to fruition. After a series of delays, the Panopticon was ultimately rejected by a new government administration decades later. In a letter, he notes: "They have murdered my best days."
Although Bentham never lived to see his prison design come to take shape, his radical design drew the attention of psychoanalysts and philosophers around the world for years to come. It was through this concept of self-surveillance that the Panopticon would unknowingly become the fundamental underpinning of reality TV.
From Keeping up with the Kardashians to the latest season announcement of the controversial social experiment Love is Blind, which has expanded to include over 10 international and localised versions (including Love is Blind Habibi, the Middle East version, with the second season soon to air): One thing is certain: reality TV is everywhere. And you’d be mistaken to think it has evaded you. With the recent release of Netflix’s scathing tell-all of Tyra Banks’ now-controversial, America’s Next Top Model, ex-producers are pulling the curtain back on the reality shows we grew up with and (worryingly) loved. “We were crushed,” one previous model contestant says. “But I guess it made for good TV.”
Now that the statute of limitations has expired for our adoration of early 2000’s reality TV, we have to ask: Are we letting today’s reality shows off the hook? From camera angles to increasingly architectural set designs, have the latest television programs trimmed the fat from its predecessors – absorbed their learnings and morphed itself into a more sophisticated, architectural, surveying beast machine?
“The design of reality television wasn't always like this. Over time, the architecture of reality shows evolved to accommodate the recording and taping aspect of television,” says Jack Balderrama Morley, author of the upcoming book Dream Facades: The Cruel Architecture of Reality TV. “Eventually, it became its own architectural style.”
Envision spending a number of weeks – sometimes up to a hundred days – in a brightly lit open-plan space with a number of strangers. To make it worse, you share a room with them. Intimate relationships and topics that typically take months to foster in friendships and romance are speedtracked to mere weeks — and in the case of Love is Blind, ten days. Private moments are turbocharged across a large screen. Restrooms are utilised as a method of conversational pitstops prior to meeting doting contestants in common areas and showers are designed to be communal. This leaves only one space for privacy and soundproof isolation for a contestant: The confession rooms.
“With reality shows, it’s either extremely private or public. It seems as though the design has been heightened to create these polar conditions,” adds Chicago-based architectural professor and co-founder of Design With Company, Stewart Hicks. “This leads to an inevitable clash.”
Hicks has spent weeks studying the architectural layouts of reality television, starting from what can be coined as the first reality show An American Family to shows focusing on competition and love, most notably; Big Brother and Love is Blind. “I was looking to pick these landmark moments where the spaces are designed to produce a different kind of condition. Contestant shows all carry a similar end goal. It’s a matter of how they use these different pieces to get there.”
“The role that domestic space plays in Big Brother is very critical,” Hicks continues. “These spaces are almost completely open with no hidden corners for the sake of optimum camera angles. This layout forces interaction by denying anyone privacy. There’s also a physical disconnection between the different spaces – such as the communal area and bedrooms of the Have and Have-Nots contestants – these areas are distinct, but right next to each other.”
The concept of the Have-Nots section in Big Brother – a thematic room that changes each season – is designed to be uncomfortable for the losing houseguests. Food is replaced with flavourless oatmeal. Private showers are surprisingly available — except they’re cold. Beds are replaced each season, in some cases the losing contestants are forced to sleep on a dental office chair, semi-foam spikes, bumper cars and even an ice bed. Here, everything is designed to be devoid of comfort. On the other hand, winners of a challenge are treated to a luxury private room with the utmost comfort. This same format of punishment-reward disparity is shown in Survivor and Hell’s Kitchen.
“In these shows, comfort is weaponised. Except everyone knows about it, so there’s still an element of discomfort that exists within the winning team.” Hicks adds. “The image of comfort exists, but only as a tool. Whether or not it’s real comfort? Probably not.”
Big Brother and Love is Blind may appear to operate toward opposing end goals. One is structured around a communal outcome, where isolation functions as a temporary “reward,” while the other is rooted in isolation, with community positioned as the ultimate prize – this is rewarded by participants finally seeing their spouse face-to-face across a grandiose, long red carpet. Yet despite this, both formats appear to be two sides of the same coin
“Love Is Blind is a unique condition,” says Hicks. “The pod designs are these signature small octagons rooted in isolation – they essentially strip away the social crutches of facial and body language that we use to gather information visually. This leads contestants to form fragmented yet concentrated connections.”
The notion of design transverses competition-based reality TV. Yet in many cases, conflict is at the very root of these series. “The spirit of competition and lack of privacy is embedded in reality TV,” says Jack Balderrama Morley. “You see that especially in The Real Housewives spin-offs. The job security aspect is shaky, so they’re always vying for audience approval, even at the expense of their privacy.”
Ratings and audience engagement are at the essence of what can make or break a show. In Reality Check: Inside America’s Next Top Model, the Netflix docuseries, Tyra Banks reflects: “It was very, very intense. But you guys were demanding it. So we kept pushing.”
And here, the design of the Panopticon converges with that of reality television in a single, pressing question: if there is one guard to watch over everything, who, then, guards the guard?
“We're typically encouraged to not think critically of reality TV, but it's extremely present in our lives,” adds Balderrama Morley. “I believe this format offers a series of surrogate emotions to its viewers. In this day and age, we're receiving less from our social communities and environments, this leads us to naturally crave simulacrums of excitement and thrill from our digital environments. This even extends to social media.”
Looking back at America’s Next Top Model, it’s easy to see how poorly the modelling competition franchise has aged. Yet currently, the contestant format for reality shows remains the same – even celebrated throughout the digital sphere. Online communities are formed around dedicated shows. Forums and subreddits dissect contestants in detail. Discreet camera angles have grown increasingly and are strategically positioned, ensuring contestants do not get a moment of privacy. Their most vulnerable moments captured to be forever memorialised for viewer consumption.
“We’re watching psychological experiments in real-time,” Hicks mentions. “But then again, is it coming at the expense of the people who are on display? Architecture could definitely become one way to understand it.” Balderrama Morley adds to this note. “Architecture can help to pin down these nebulous topics. In the same way that a stage set is part of a narrative, the homes are part of this story.”
While some reality shows now have on-set psychologists and 24/7 care for mental health support (a stark contrast to its predecessors), many contestants have voiced that not enough has been done to mitigate the barrage of online abuse that follows a season premiere. On the other hand, social media has helped to democratise the wider narrative, allowing former contestants to speak out about their experiences without post-production taking centre stage in their story. Yet despite this, research continues to show that suicide rates among former reality television contestants has increased throughout the years, sparking intense debates on screening sensitivity and aftercare for individuals that are suddenly thrust into the spotlight. With this, one has to ask: In our digital age, is there ever a possibility of designing an ethical reality television series?
“One thing that could help to mitigate these societal ills is by giving former contestants a space to advocate for themselves,” suggests Balderrama Morley. “This can take shape through a trade union to protect their rights and help form a collective voice for safer conditions.”
“This would be an important question for production teams to address. Implicating the role of design, they would have to ask themselves: Is there a payoff to ensuring safer, ethical conditions for our contestants?” Hicks responds. “From what the ratings are saying: It doesn’t seem worth it. The drama has to come from somewhere.”
