Judges remain straight-faced while using the pseudonyms of the performers, as if they were state officials. There is an absence of critical affect, even in the judging-off-key performances are usually described as energetic or fun-and moments of self-mockery are rare. In discarding the familiar reality-TV meritocracy arc, The Masked Singer is the rare show to bank its appeal on pure aesthetics: a palette of body glitter, pyrotechnics, bright colors, and exaggerated proportions. The scaffolding of challenges won or lost and advantages gained, arbitrated by judges with unquestioned power, support the fantasy that the person who plays the game best will rise to the top-an elusive outcome in the mess and unfairness of the real world. The rules are clearer, and the rewards are larger. The pleasure of watching relies on the sense that the show happens not in the real world but in a universe adjacent to it, one that’s both simpler and more heightened. The winner’s life after the show is an epilogue: nice to know about, but inessential. We don’t watch because we genuinely believe that the winner will become America’s next top model or the next Food Network star. Reality-TV victory seldom translates into real-life success, but that fails to dim these shows’ popularity. The only thing standing between a hardworking individual and success is the wrong audience get in front of the judges and show them you’re a star, and you’ll be rewarded. Whether they explicitly cite hard work as the key to advancement ( The Apprentice, Shark Tank) or glamorize it through a creative field ( America’s Next Top Model, The Voice, Chopped), these shows present an update on the myth of bootstrapping. The universe of reality TV is vast, and while it involves the cross-national exchange of ideas- American Idol’s origins are English The Masked Singer itself is based on a South Korean show-the franchises that become popular in the United States tend to appeal to a distinctly American brand of meritocracy. It’s the rare show on television that allows viewers to turn off their brains, sit back, and enjoy. At a moment when the pressures of real life feel especially acute, it’s a relief to have a show in which the outcome truly doesn’t matter to anyone. But the show’s surreality is more than a quirk-it is the secret of its appeal. Given the consensus that The Masked Singer is the prime-time equivalent of doing mushrooms in a puppet factory, its runaway popularity comes as a surprise, especially compared with more straightforward TV competitions like Dancing With the Stars and Top Chef. You must heavily annotate any description of the show to avoid sounding insane to those who haven’t seen it: A sentence like “Jenny McCarthy won the Golden Ear after guessing that the Crocodile was Nick Carter” is incomprehensible unless you know that McCarthy (a judge) won the Ear (a made-up prize) after identifying that Nick Carter (a former Backstreet Boy) was performing as the Crocodile (a hot-pink reptile wearing a bowler hat and cape). Critics have described it as a “deranged reality TV fever dream,” “a simulation glitch of a show,” and a “mass-broadcast psych experiment” run by “absolute sickos.” There is a sense among fans and reviewers alike that watching The Masked Singer requires subsuming your rational, pattern-seeking mind in its surreal logic. Yet no one who watches The Masked Singer knows what the hell is going on.
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