| We spoke with New Yorker staff writer Emily Nussbaum about her investigation into the nascent labor movement among “Love Is Blind” cast members. This was an incredibly powerful behind-the-scenes story, revealing the toxicity in producing reality TV that has long loomed over the industry. What was particularly surprising about “Love Is Blind”? I have a book coming out in June called “Cue the Sun! The Invention of Reality TV,” which traces the origin story of the genre, from 1947 to 2009. So, when I was assigned this piece, I thought I was pretty familiar with the way reality television is made, both the dark and the light parts of the genre. But, I have to say, I was shocked by some of what I found while reporting. I had assumed that people who went on modern reality shows were more familiar with how production worked—savvier, less likely to be victimized. It’s something I discuss in my book: the faker the show is, the more ethical it is, because it’s a genuinely mutual collaboration between the producer and the star. But “Love Is Blind” sold itself as being better than other reality shows—an experiment in human intimacy. It attracted people who hadn’t watched a lot of reality TV, so there was a naïveté to some cast members I spoke to. Talking about innocence in casting, it reminds me of trying to pick the Trump jury. There’s a wide range of people who go on “Love Is Blind,” and many of them absolutely do want to get famous—and that makes sense. They’re going on a hit TV show, it would be strange if they weren’t aware of that. But that’s the Catch-22 of the show: if you display any strategic awareness of the situation, if you indicate that you are not purely “trusting the system,” they punish you for it. A lot of people look down on reality TV and the people who appear on it. But you don’t have to be a perfect person to deserve a decent working environment, a place where you’re not abused, where you’re not manipulated when you’re exhausted, drunk, and vulnerable. . . . I mean, Kinetic Content cast Carter Wall, an abrasive, unstable man who had no fixed address, as a marriage prospect! He got angry during filming—he was resentful that his fiancée, Renee Poche, was pulling away—but the bigger problem was that they cast him in the first place. .jpg) Renee Poche, left, from Season 5 of “Love Is Blind.” Photograph courtesy Netflix. As someone who is not generally an investigative journalist, what kinds of difficulty did you run into reporting for this piece? It was difficult and it was also fun, hunting down sources to speak to me, given how many of them had signed N.D.A.s or risked being blackballed by the industry. A bunch of brave crew members acted as whistle-blowers. It was also satisfying to dig into the labor issues. As I described in the piece, cast members for reality shows are basically in a limbo category in Hollywood. They’re known as “bona-fide amateurs,” with no industry rights or protections. And the contracts they sign have intense N.D.A.s that forbid them from talking about not only what happened to them but also how the show is made. And if they do have complaints, they’re forced into private arbitration. The more I dug into it, the darker it got. And the more clear that it actually was a story about injustice, abuse, legalities—ugly, sometimes dangerous conditions, which many fans don’t want to hear about, because these shows are treated as guilty pleasures, disposable and lightweight. And at the center of the piece is this question: Is a reality show a workplace? Do you think it’s possible for an ethically produced dating show, or reality TV more generally, to exist? And what might an ethically produced dating show look like? Well, I do think dating shows are dicier than other shows. I’ve talked to many reality producers, and, for a lot of them, that’s the line. They’ll do a torture show, they love to do an adventure competition with sharks, they’ll do a cooking show—they won’t do a dating show. There’s a specific set of ethical problems that are baked into these shows, because you’re setting people up for heartbreak, getting rewarded if you can trigger a breakdown or a betrayal. So a show that sells itself as more high-minded than the average dating show is even riskier, to me. Can you produce a show like this, but where you pay the cast and crew, don’t work them for crazy hours, don’t mess with cast members’ heads, don’t edit their interviews out of context, and also give them the right to complain if they’re misrepresented—and have it be just as entertaining, with the human drama that viewers love? I would love to believe that’s true. But it hasn’t really been tried. Support The New Yorker’s award-winning journalism. Subscribe today » | 
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