Made in Chelsea’s chokehold over British media is a depressing peek into our broken class system
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When I was an impressionable youth, I desperately wanted to go on Big Brother. I thought I could ace it. That I could reach the finals. Become rich and famous. But then, in 2005, a series six housemate had sex with a wine bottle in the garden, and my aspirations were never quite the same. It was a drunken act that would define their time on the show, and immortalise the unexpected dangers of reality TV. On paper, you assume it’ll make you a star. In truth, you become the person who did the unholy with a bottle of plonk.
I have come to find, however, that this life lesson – think an Aesop’s fable for the age of hyper-sexual be mortifying on a reality show – and also irritating, or banal, or charmless – and still become a major force in popular entertainment. You just have to appear on .
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