Who makes reality TV: its stars or its producers? In recent years, the public have become more aware of the guiding hand of the producer as it nudges its participants towards conflict or drama. Rather than understanding reality TV as driven by the faces of shows like Love Island, Big Brother, Real Housewives or even The Traitors, the credit has been increasingly attributed to the production staff, who manipulate story lines and edit footage to make a show more entertaining.
Reality stars are sometimes seen as disposable puppets fame-hungry enough to allow their stories to be written by those behind the scenes. Perhaps this belief has allowed for those who appear on reality shows to be mistreated over the last 20 years. Networks and production companies have evaded labour laws and working regulations that would require them to treat stars as respected members of staff. Instead, many claim they have been exploited, underpaid and offered little support during and after production, as bosses happily profited off their personal lives.
That may be about to change. Last week, the US National Labor Relations Board (NLRB), a government organisation which acts as the primary governing body on issues related to workers rights, issued a complaint against the Netflix reality marriage juggernaut, Love Is Blind, claiming that the show violated several labour laws, including illegal confidentiality and noncompete agreements in contracts. The NLRB made an unprecedented demand: that the show reclassify its stars as “employees”. In the face of other exploitation allegations, the show had insisted its stars weren’t official staff, and therefore didn’t require the same protections as those on the production team, a tactic taken by some companies working in reality TV to underpay and overwork its cast. It comes after two former contestants filed complaints to the NLRB after Netflix threatened (and in one case brought forward) legal action when they spoke out about their time on the show, which Netflix claimed violated nondisclosure agreements.
The complaint may well have reverberations throughout the industry, opening the opportunity for unionisation amongst reality stars as well as affording greater agency to individual contestants on shows. It follows years of networks insincerely referencing how seriously they take their “duty of care” to reality stars: invoking contestants’ access to on-site therapy and post-production aftercare. On some shows, warnings to “be kind” were placed at the beginning of episodes and contestants had their social media accounts limited and monitored.
Despite supposedly improved environments and emphasis on support, a wave of lawsuits targeting reality TV producers have emerged rapidly in the last two years. The complaints are too numerous to list in full, but they include incidents such as Love Island USA contestants claiming that they were pressured to “engage in sexual relationships” by production, who were allegedly “flippant with the concept of sexual consent”, and allegations that participants on Netflix’s Squid Game: The Challenge experienced physical injuries, hypothermia and were denied adequate food and water during filming, with some now asking for compensation for this treatment. In the UK, the “heartwarming” celebrity competition Strictly Come Dancing was engulfed by scandal after stars complained of physical, mental and emotional mistreatment by their professional partners (including being spat at and kicked during rehearsals). None, though, have had more controversy than Love Is Blind itself, which continues to be at the centre of a number of suits claiming labour violations and neglect towards cast members’ mental health and physical safety, such as food and sleep deprivation, being encouraged to drink alcohol during production and placing contestants in abusive environments.
The decision from the NLRB suggest that such conditions may be come to an immediate end across the industry. But what happens to reality TV when it can no longer treat its stars inhumanely? The grim reality of this genre is that it often thrives precisely when its contestants have – its “best” moments usually come at the expense of at least one, if not all, of its participants, even the ones which have managed to be seen as “ethical”. Can it continue without the secret ingredient that has made it so morbidly watchable?
There is small chance the decision from the NLRB could be reversed in 2025: in Donald Trump’s second term, a new board could be in place in just a few weeks. And while being classed as an employee is a major step in the right direction, it of course cannot safeguard against poor treatment or exploitation in the workplace. Loopholes will always be sought.
But while all of this is true, this decision still has the quiet potential to disrupt and restructure an entire genre. We may be about to learn whether the behind-the-scenes exploitation was always fundamental to reality TV’s value – and whether, without it, people will still keep watching.
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