There is a reason the format never goes out of style: a room full of women, one man deciding, and the delicious tension of who gets to stay. Another version of it is trending right now, and the group chats are already busy. I watch these shows too — but I've spent enough years listening to women talk about their love lives to know that the format doesn't stay on the screen. It seeps into how we behave on a first date, how we read a slow reply, how we quietly rank ourselves against a woman we've never met.
The problem isn't the entertainment. It's the underlying story: that love is a scarce prize awarded to the woman who performs best. Once you've absorbed that story, ordinary dating starts to feel like a callback you might not get.
The audition mindset, and how it shows up on a Tuesday
You don't need a television crew to be auditioning. It looks like rehearsing your anecdotes in the shower before dinner. It looks like editing your opinions down to the ones you think he'll find easy. It looks like agreeing you love hiking when you have never willingly walked up a hill. It looks like checking whether he has been active on the app since you last spoke, then deciding what that means about you.
The tell is a physical one. In an audition you are monitoring yourself from the outside — how do I sound, how do I look from that angle, am I being too much. In a genuine conversation your attention is pointed outward, at him: is he kind to the waiter, does he ask me anything, do I actually like the way he talks about his mother. If you leave a date knowing how you performed but not what you thought of him, you were auditioning.
Scarcity is the trick, not the truth
Competition formats work because they manufacture scarcity. One man, limited time, visible rivals. Real life is not built that way, however lonely a Sunday can feel. There is no closing date on connection, and the women you compare yourself to are not competing with you — they're living their own unedited lives, probably comparing themselves to someone else.
Scarcity thinking has a signature. It makes you accept things you would never advise a friend to accept: the plans cancelled twice, the affection that arrives only late at night, the man who tells you he isn't ready and then behaves as though you should wait anyway. When you believe love is rationed, any portion feels like luck. When you believe you have time, you start asking whether this particular portion is any good.
Move yourself into the choosing seat
The reframe I suggest most often is deliberately unromantic: for the first few dates, you are the one doing the assessing. Not coldly, not with a clipboard — but with your own criteria in the room. Before you meet someone, write down three things that genuinely matter to you. Not "tall" and "funny", but things like: talks about his ex without contempt, has friendships he maintains, is curious about work he doesn't understand.
Then afterwards, answer two questions in your notes app. Did I feel more myself or less myself? Would I want to spend a rainy weekend with this person, not just a good evening? Those answers age far better than chemistry does. And keep one piece of your life untouched by whoever you are seeing — the Thursday class, the friend you always walk with. Women who keep their own centre of gravity rarely find themselves competing for anyone.
Is it wrong to enjoy watching these shows?
Not remotely — they're compelling precisely because they exaggerate feelings we all recognise. Just watch them the way you'd watch a cooking competition: entertained by the drama, without concluding that this is how dinner works at home. If you notice a show leaving you unsettled and comparing rather than amused, that's useful information about where you are right now, not a reason for shame.
How do I stop comparing myself to other women I'm dating alongside?
Start by making the comparison concrete instead of vague: usually you're not competing with a person, you're competing with a fantasy you've assembled from a few photographs. Name what you think she has, then ask whether you actually want it. It also helps enormously to reduce the fuel — mute the accounts you scroll while anxious, and put your energy into the friendships and work that remind you of your own texture. If the comparing feels compulsive and long-standing, a few sessions with a therapist can shift it faster than willpower ever will.
