If you were a fly on the wall at my house, you would hear a lot about the current state of reality TV, and even more about its impact on the culture we live in today. You might say I have strong opinions. I have been known to blame Jerry Springer, the Kardashians, and Maury Povich for society’s addiction to manufactured drama. I assumed that reality TV started in the 1990’s.  But after a deeper dive into the history of reality television, I realized something important: it’s been there at least since the 1940’s. Reality TV has long been woven into our collective experience, and, like the culture it reflects, it has evolved in ways that tell us as much about ourselves as it does about the medium.

Ask any lawyer: perception matters. Whether in court, negotiation, or public life, it’s often not just what is truethat shapes outcomes. It’s what feels true to an audience. In that way, lawyers might have more in common with reality TV producers than we would like to admit.

Reality television, often dismissed today as the playground of influencers and Instagram sponsorship deals, has deeper, older roots than many realize. Long before “The Bachelor” handed out its first rose or “Real Housewives” hurled their first glass of pinot, reality-based programming shaped how people thought about competition, fairness, aspiration, and even social norms. Take “Candid Camera” (1948), one of the earliest reality shows, which captured unsuspecting citizens reacting to pranks and absurd situations. Or “An American Family” (1973), the groundbreaking PBS series that followed the real-life Loud family through marital breakdowns and personal revelations, shocking viewers with the idea that real life could be messy, complicated, and compelling without a script.

These early programs offered what seemed at the time like honest portrayals of the human experience, and audiences embraced them without much suspicion. Why? Perhaps because they still respected a basic, unwritten contract with the audience: what you see is what happened. Fast-forward to today, and reality TV often feels more like a performance of reality than reality itself. Editing tricks, fake drama, producer manipulation, and contestants “playing to the camera” have blurred the line between authenticity and entertainment. Shows like “Love Island” and “Selling Sunset” are beautiful, glossy facsimiles of life, but life, they are not.

This evolution mirrors, in some ways, the broader societal trend lawyers grapple with daily–the erosion of trust in what’s real. In courtrooms, boardrooms, and even social discourse, the question is no longer just “what happened?” but “who controls the narrative?” And while early reality TV trusted viewers to make up their own minds, today’s reality shows, much like modern media, curate the viewer’s emotional journey.

So why did we accept the old shows and criticize the new ones? Because we trust authenticity, and we resent feeling duped. In a world overflowing with branding, self-promotion, and spin, audiences and jurors are increasingly skeptical of anything that feels overproduced.

For lawyers, there’s a lesson here:

• Authenticity wins. Whether arguing a case or building a reputation, slickness without substance only invites scrutiny.
• Narrative matters. Every client’s story is a kind of reality show. How it’s framed, presented, and perceived can determine success.
• Audiences are evolving. Jurors and clients are more media-savvy than ever. They sniff out inauthenticity and embellishment with alarming skill.
• The “Court of Public Opinion” is real — and brutal. Especially in the era of instant social media reactions, even winning a case legally may not shield a lawyer (or a client) from reputational fallout if the perception battle is lost.

Reality TV didn’t just entertain us; it trained us. It taught society to think critically (or cynically) about narratives, to question motives, and to expect a certain rawness from what’s called “truth.” Lawyers don’t need to become reality TV experts, but we do need to recognize that we practice in a world shaped by its lessons. Authenticity, credibility, and narrative control aren’t just tools for the screen. They are essential to success in the real world.