Entitled rampaging teens on MTV's "Super Sweet 16" demand, command and repremand everyone in their path. They sulk, pout, beg and temper-tantrum like terrible-two-year-olds. The only difference is they get the latest BMW sportscar when their parents give in. Self-proclaimed diva's and daddy's-little-princesses are followed by MTV's cameras as they plan and promote their self-indulgent birthday bashes. Being the priviliged, coming-of-age youth of America has its price, and in this case, the parents pick up the tab. As with most reality shows, and especially MTV teen reality programs, "Sweet 16" follows a simple, scripted formula: watch child beg for the best, spirial out of control when things don't go her way and sigh at the end how wonderful it was to feel famous for a day.
How does it feel for the viewer? "Time" Magazine's Ana Marie Cox says it best:
To witness such unself-conscious acquisitiveness in one sitting is like eating an entire normal-kid birthday-party sheet cake, wax decorative candles and all. There's the same queasy sense of monochromatic excess because all the shows are alike, from the fake panic that the party may not happen to the scary-sexy dry humping on the dance floor. And no matter what the nominal theme of the party--California beach party, Moulin Rouge, the color pink--each guest of honor is really after only one thing. "I feel famous. I love it," says one. Another: "I definitely felt like I was famous." Yet one more: "I felt like such a star." The teenagers take on all the tics of fame, from tiny dogs to referring to oneself in the third person. We are all Paris Hilton now
The ungrategul diva's and their enabling parents make great drama-trauma tv, but more importantly, as with most my other favorite guilty-pleasure programs, they reinforce the notion of my own supposed stability. Which is the greatest, half-ass reason to justify watching these exploitative meditations of American society.
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