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One is hard pressed not to admit the ubiquity of reality talent shows these days, especially after having seen an advertisement for ESPN that parodies ABC’s Dancing with the Stars. Just how far-reaching are reality talent shows? Turn on the television, surf YouTube, and browse through popular publications like Us Weekly and People and it becomes obvious that they have become a large focus in American media. Reality talent shows range from the traditional singing and dancing competitions like American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance to Top Chef and Top Design, which focus on cooking and interior design, respectively. The list is endless, and, seemingly, no “talent” has gone untouched. One can compete to prove that they are talented enough to work for Donald Trump, or even P. Diddy, as well as contend to be America’s next top model.

The mass appeal of reality talent shows raises the question as to what talent has come to mean. According to Webster’s Dictionary, talent is “a special, often creative natural ability.” According to the American public, talent has become synonymous with a television show, judges, and viewers’ votes. Talent has developed into a commodity. It is whatever salable concept that a network believes will draw the largest audience. It is the source of countless advertising campaigns and the production of video games, karaoke machines, and even cooking supplies. The current popular concept of talent also seems to indicate an even deeper significance with regards to the American psyche. Reality talent shows have fostered the reification of talent, as well as furthering the commodification of ourselves.

While American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance are not the forerunners of televised talent shows, they, along with other popular shows following the same concept, have facilitated the evolution of the Star Search legacy into a multimillion viewer industry. Talent shows that have been distributed nationwide are not a new thing. Major Bowes Original Amateur Hour, which aired on American radio from 1934-1946, featured amateur singers, dancers, impressionists, comedians, and ventriloquists (Bareiss). The Original Amateur Hour moved to television a few years later, following the same format of winners being determined by viewers (through letters, postcards, and phone calls) as seen in today’s shows, and aired until the 1970s (Bareiss). Along with Star Search in the 1980s, the Original Amateur Hour has helped pave the way for shows like America’s Got Talent and American Idol. However, the relative simplicity of the predecessors (even Star Search) seems like no match for what today’s reality talent shows have become.

Featuring grandiose judges, and young, attractive hosts, these shows have gone beyond what their ancestors have accomplished. Through these shows, talent has become a product to be packaged, mass marketed, and sold to the American public.

American Idol is a prime example of this, transforming the ability to sing into a multimillion dollar and viewer business. The popularity of American Idol is demonstrated in its regular fixture as a topic of discussion on local news broadcasts, talk shows, magazine and newspaper articles, and, of course, Internet blogs. The American Idol franchise has provided such a market that, in addition to the CDs of the American Idol contestants, DVDs and video games that teach one how to sing like an idol have also been released. The popular book series, Chicken Soup for the Soul has published an edition titled Chicken Soup for the American Idol Soul. One can buy everything from hats and shirts with the American Idol logo on it (some even feature “Randy-isms,” quotes from Judge Randy Jackson) to an American Idol vocal home study course.

However, those executives responsible for American Idol are not the only ones capitalizing off of the show’s tremendous popularity. Sponsors such as Coca-Cola, Ford, and AT&T have also recognized the opportunities that the show can provide. Episodes feature prominently displayed Coke cups on the judges’ table and a Coca-Cola bedecked “red” room for the waiting contestants. David Raines, vice president of integrated communications for Coca-Cola, has said, "But, wow, you couldn't ask for better TV. If you look at ratings, it's got universal appeal — everything from kids to 35- to 64-year-olds. It's hard to find something that is that universal" (Howard). The young audience that American Idol addresses is the same group that Ford sees as their “core buyer” for their Focus model (Howard). Similarly, Dancing With the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance, and America’s Got Talent are viewed as prime time spots for advertising, as they reach a wide range of viewers. In an article discussing America’s Got Talent, Bill Carter wrote, “Last week, for the first time, it was also No. 1 among 18- to 49-year-olds, a demographic coveted by advertisers and thus the rating most networks use as the true measure of success” (Howard). With its mass influence on the American media and on the American public, reality talent shows seem to have proven themselves an asset to the advertising and marketing of talent for profit.

Beyond the surface of the multimillion industry of reality talent shows lies their influence on the American psyche. What about these shows has the American public so captivated? In an essay explaining her own fixation with American Idol, Michelle Herman writes about the stories surrounding the contestants and the judges that she sees unfold week after week.

“The point is the story: it’s watching the characters change as they must in any good story: characters wanting something and changing as they strive for it, fail to get it, begin to get it, slip and fall and pick themselves up again” (Herman ).

This may be the answer to the question: the contestants. Reality talent shows have banked on the stories and backgrounds of their contestants. These stories – of misfortune, strength, perseverance, hope – are regularly emphasized and repeatedly brought to the forefront of almost every episode. MTV’s America’s Best Dance Crew (created by American Idol judge, Randy Jackson) has practiced this in the two seasons it has aired. Each season features at least a few dance crews, if not most, who have had some hardship befall them. Season One’s winners, the Jabbawockeez, had a crew member die just before they auditioned for the show. Other crews endured unsupportive parents, a member who is hearing impaired, and the uncertainty of how they were going to afford going back home.

While these are all very admirable stories and should be recognized, America’s Best Dance Crew has shown the tendency to focus on these hardships at almost every opportunity: every introduction, every interview, every critique, and every farewell. By doing this, America’s Best Dance Crew, and other reality talent shows, have taken their contestants – their backgrounds, their weaknesses, and their strengths – and used them to further the success of the show. Viewers become more attached and more captivated with each week’s episode, resulting in more phone calls and emails to vote and more conversations concerning who was eliminated and who was the favorite. As Michelle Herman puts it, “I loved the ‘stories,’ that first night: the story of wan, pretty, exhausted Christina … of plucky, multipierced, kooky, single mother Nikki and her sweet young son” (Herman). Not only has talent been commodified, but the talented themselves have also been turned into products to be consumed.

While reality talent shows do provide contestants with the opportunity to learn and grow from professionals and the possibility of winning fame and fortune, one cannot help but wonder at what cost? Not just to the participants of these shows, but to ourselves, as viewers. How we view and measure talent is being affected by these reality talent shows. As the economy moves increasingly towards service-providing professions and we present ourselves more and more in terms of what it is that we can give, it does not seem very far into the future until we, ourselves, become the products.

• 2009 Spring
• Cultural Analysis