The Business of Show Business

I suspect the reunion was labeled an “Awards Bash” because MTV/Bunim-Murray has had a tough time with reunions in the past.

Smart cast members realize after their season has aired that they are in fact famous and now have some negotiating power when MTV calls to film another show. In the year 2000, I rallied our cast from The Real World New Orleans and negotiated for a significantly larger payment for our season’s reunion show. I’m sure I was not the first person to do this, or the last.

To avoid negotiating payments with twenty different seasons, the clever people at MTV/Bunim-Murray by scratching the word “Reunion” and replacing it with “Awards Bash.” Those two words appeal to everyone’s battered egos. You feel privileged to be invited to an awards ceremony, especially when you know that they will be honored for your achievements (even if they are ridiculous achievements like “Biggest B!tch.”)

If you refuse to come to the event, people will perceive you as a sore loser, or even worse–as are entirely forgettable. For most people, these two fears worked in tandem to overcome the temptation to play hardball and ask for more money.

Me? I was too busy play those games, and deep down I don’t think MTV would’ve cared if a all seven members of a season didn’t show up.

I knew it might be the last chance I have to see some of the other kids from The Real World seasons over the years, and I didn’t want to miss that chance.

So You Want to Be a Rockstar

I flew to Los Angeles on Southwest airlines, a low-budget ticket for people who don’t care to travel in style–or in my circumstance–a low-budget ticket that lets MTV save money. There’s no first class section for the privileged. Nobody gets a meal. There isn’t even assigned seating. The irony is that airplane was filled with people donning their best celebrity clothes.

The girls are supertan with a tight low-dipping bust-bearing shirts, a velour tracksuit, and always big sunglasses. The guys wore their designer T-shirts and jeans. These shirts are delicately put together, and have layers of abstract designs near the shoulder. The jeans have excessive stitching on the back pockets, the thighs are splattered with bleach, and finally, three pounds of bedazzle. Hollywood here we come!

If you see one of these people in the ordinary spots of life like the hardware store or at the post office, you might pause to admire their appearance. You might even look twice just to see if this person is somebody famous. It is because they stand in contrast to masses of people around them.

But as the 150 of us from the plane stood around the baggage claim waiting for our luggage, they looked like a bedazzled army gearing up for the Battle of Los Angeles. I wondered how these people felt about one another. I mean, they had to know they’re all dressed the same.

I couldn’t help but absorb the irony of the moment. Eight years ago, I wore the celebrity costume too. With The Real World New Orleans playing around-the-clock on MTV, I passed through airports across the country as a bonafide celebrity. I took pictures with vacationing families. I signed autographs for groups of pretty girls. I waved back to strangers as my car pulled away from the curb.

Now I’m standing at the baggage claim in a simple T-shirt, jeans, and flip flops. Nobody recognized me. I’m just another guy waiting in silence waiting for his suitcase.