Captive Audience_On Love and Reality TV by Lucas Mann

Author:Lucas Mann
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 2018-05-01T00:00:00+00:00

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On the Kardashian shows, for a long time, Rob has been mostly an absence, though a fraught one.

His mother says: Maybe I spoiled him and that’s why he’s like this, but he’s my son.

His sister says: I’m not saying he’s not in pain, I’m just saying he could learn to take a little responsibility. He could do something about it.

His other sister says: I showed up at the condo to take him to the gym with me, and he doesn’t even fucking come out. Like, I’m an adult. I’ve got things to do.

Where is Rob? What is he doing? What is he eating? Is the room dark? Has he painted all the mirrors black? Will he be okay? Can anybody save him?

I’m not going to pretend I don’t sometimes ask, “Am I as fat as Rob Kardashian?” I ask so that you’ll say no. There was a time when I asked and you said no, but the honest answer would have been: “It’s a toss-up, depending on the angle.” I still like that the great tribulation of his story line is as petty as mine, but that on-screen it can seem seismic, and that seismicity feels like an accurate reflection of the way I experience it. Still he returns, and you and I watch him with a gleeful memory of all the times he looked like he wanted to escape.

Last season Rob apparently didn’t want to be on the show at all, but there he was. He appeared only sporadically, but he was there, sitting silent on the couch as the rest of the family continued at their normal volume. We smiled at each other—Of course he’s back!

I remember one scene when Kourtney, Khloé, and Scott were arguing playfully on the couch next to him about something that didn’t matter. They were giggling and tugging on one another, and then Kourtney, the littlest, was draped across the rest of them, her sister slapping her ass, camera focused on her exposed thong. Their self-satisfaction was extragratuitous but also extra-appealing next to Rob, who, as usual, embodied the way I have so often felt: perfectly still, aware of every inch of space he took up on that piece of furniture.

“It ain’t over till the fat lady sings!” Scott yelled.

“Khloé, start singing,” Kourtney said, and everyone laughed in that exact way that people laugh when there’s nothing of them in the punch line. And then there was Rob at the edge of the shot. Rob leaning away but letting his eyes turn back to his sisters, as though waiting for one of them to notice, hiding, exposed.

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