Who knew it would last 10 seasons… I thought it was doomed from day one. I simply couldn’t figure out the appeal. I mean, who wants to watch supposed stars fumble around the dance floor looking like idiots for an hour.
Well, as it turns out, lots of people.
It’s no secret that the average amount of fabric per participant is close to zero, and the quantity of silicone shaking is about the same as stored on the shelf at your local Home Depot, but that can’t be the main attraction. That’s mostly for the male viewers.
It’s probably also true that the female viewers (which I assume is most of the audience) probably enjoy some of the fantastic costumes, the crazy hairdoos, and the over the top jewelry, but that still can’t be what has kept the show going on this long.
Nope, I figured it out.
You see, Dancing with the Stars, is like a living, breathing Star magazine.
You’ve seen them at the supermarket. There is always the fantastic headline such as “Elvis has alien baby”, or “Angelina and Brad donate both kidneys to science”. Yeah, pure, unadulterated drivel….
But you see what’s appealing about these, right? These kind of stories knock the superstar off from their ivory tower. It brings them down to the readers level. After reading one of the stories the customer snickers and thinks “Ya see… they’re no better than me.”
And that’s exactly what Dancing with the Stars is all about. When the audience sees the star fumbling in practice as if they have three left feet, or storming out of the studio like a spoiled brat, they have the same reaction. “I told ya…They’re no better than me.”