Reality criticism III

... but of course, as we recall, the original question asked wasn't about the workplace, but about creative-competition reality TV shows.

Which brings in all kinds of complications--not unlike those involved in advice columns.

Here's the deal. When Simon Cowell is eviscerating some hopeful American Idol--it looks, to the public, as though Mr. Cowell's primary responsibility is to the potential Idol. It looks that way because we are witnessing a phenomenon--one person offering advice/criticism to another--that we see so often in our everyday lives, in work and friendship, from "Sarah, can you proof this PowerPoint before the meeting this afternoon?" to "Dude! Check out my new rhymes for the poetry slam!" to "Honey, should I put more Worcestershire in this?"

But it's not. Mr. Cowell has multiple obligations--to the person he is advising, to the craft he represents, and to his audience.

The potential for conflict between the first two isn't new. Always, yogis and master craftsmen and hairdressers and professors have had to face eager students and clients who want the impossible, whose reach exceeds their grasp to a painful degree. Sooner or later, you might have to tell them that what they want isn't going to happen, and that can be a tricky conversation indeed.

However, Mr. Cowell and his ilk--like me--have an obligation to our audience as well. Americans have become hooked on reality TV, advice columns, YouTube--anything that promises to show us how the other half really lives. (I have my theories on why, like that's going to surprise you. Maybe a future blog post on that.) But when you watch "Project Runway," or read Miss Conduct, you're not listening in on the raw stuff of life. You're watching or reading a crafted product.

I can't tell you how reality shows work. I can tell you how my column does. I feel a real obligation, and gratitude, and sense of relationship with everyone who writes me. But my primary responsibility isn't to the people who write in, it's to my readers. All advice columnists are like that, in one way or another. We're not gurus, we're writers. Writers are responsible to their readers.

Which means I pick questions in certain ways, in order to make the column the most entertaining and educational read possible. And that I tend not to worry too much about whether an answer is completely perfect or not. When people send me questions I can't go and observe the situations myself, or interview the people involved; given my imperfect information, I'd make myself crazy if I expected my answers to be perfect! So what I try to provoke thought, an awareness of options. If reading my advice helps you--the person who wrote the question, or any other reader--come to a logical and compassionate conclusion, then I've done my job well even if you thought I was wrong. I try--I try hard--to give the right answer. But what's more important is giving an answer that will make my readers think. Even if what they think is "No way! That can't be right! But why?"

Simon Cowell and the judges on reality TV shows are in a similar position, I imagine. Perhaps they, too, find a deep connection and sympathy with their contestants, as I do with the people who write in questions. But they must also be aware of their audiences--all those who face problems of their own. We owe it to our watchers, our readers, to critique and advise those designers, bridesmaids, singers, in-laws, chefs, job applicants, inventors, college graduates in a way that will benefit not only them, but everyone who hears or reads what we have to say.