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The rest of the house loses it, cheering and crowding around the door to listen to their muffled moans.
You almost expect David Attenborough to start narrating this millennial mating dance.
We have been conditioned to document our lives and comport ourselves for audiences across various platforms. You get the uncanny sense that the contestants’ identities aren’t as mediated, because they are all used to performing, whether or not they’re being televised.
Which raises a question: Is it still possible to be manipulated when we’re living in a world in which we know what’s at stake when we step in front of a camera — and we do it anyway? In a confessional, Kai explains that taking hormones and having top surgery have made him feel more comfortable in his body.
“For the first time in my life, I feel attractive,” he says. But they tire of the drama Kai causes and stage an intervention — in a hot tub — to hold him accountable.
I’m a voyeur, so I might be biased, but what happens next is arguably the most pleasurable eight minutes of reality television in the last decade.
It’s better than Justin Timberlake crying on “Punk’d.” It’s better than Kim Kardashian’s meltdown after she loses her diamond earring in Bora Bora, or maybe even the time a Real Housewife gets so angry she slams her prosthetic leg on a table.