Survival of the Dimmest

In the reality TV show I imagine my life to be, a former love-interest from several seasons back once asked me how I could possibly stand to watch Laguna Beach and The Hills. As he grumbled repeatedly, the creatures masquerading as humans on both shows were all the evidence he needed to support reinstating the draft. (Imagine, if you will, Spencer Pratt in combat; the mental picture should elicit a gleeful squeal from even the most devout pacifist.)

I fumbled awkwardly for an answer before stuttering out something about, er, um, guilty pleasures. But I secretly assumed that I liked following the trials and tribulations of Lauren Conrad and company because I was wired to. After all, I did skim an article once in some journal that explained away my devotion to all things celebrity with a clever use of evolutionary psychology. It's not me, it's my biology!

The short version is this: Like Sylar from Heroes (only without the evil and the cranium slicing), humans are hard-wired to seek out evolutionarily advantageous adaptations. When we mate, this manifests itself in the selection process; women seek men who are strong, successful, powerful, good-looking, talented, or some combination of those things. Think Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver.

When we gawk, though, it’s a bit more complicated. As the theory goes, gossip is an evolutionary tool that provides social control — using shame and praise to shape reputations — and disperses what researchers call “fitness-relevant information” to members of a social network. Gossip — especially about high-status members of the network — is good for mankind, which is a huge relief to me; I give a little something to humanity every day at the office, by the water-cooler, to be exact.

So why watch The Hills? As it turns out, the evolution of our feeble human brains didn’t foresee mass media: We simply can’t process the celebrities whose images we’re constantly barraged with as anything but part of our social networks.

In other words, as far as my brain is concerned, the reality celebrities (real-ebrity?) beamed into my house every week by the good people at DirecTV are members of my social network — high-status members of my social network actually, which explains our desire to examine their lives under a microscope.

So you see, it isn’t my fault. When I slump on the couch with a hangover and watch a day-long Hills marathon in my pajamas, there's nothing wrong with it. In fact, it's an evolutionary imperative. I’m gleaning nuggets of wisdom from Heidi Montag’s every move, which I then disseminate among the rest of my network -- all in the name of the Darwinian struggle.

What have I learned so far in the first two episodes of season four that I can internalize and pass on to my progeny? A lot!
 

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