by Sheila Anne
& edited by
Emily & Andrew Basile
The New York Times (NYT) piece, entitled How Tom Sandoval became the Most Hated Man in America, didn’t quite spark a redemption tour for the fallen reality star. As one of the biggest platforms in the world, it could have salvaged what’s left of a tarnished image; however, it fell flat, laden with mostly regurgitated facts about “the affair.” Instead, it fanned a relentless inferno that continues to rage in America’s psyche, where Tom often exists as the ”biggest” narcissist and reality T.V. villain the world has ever seen. For a midwestern boy with dreams of Hollywood stardom, this must be a lot and that’s putting it mildly. There was one revelation in the NYT story, which once again broke the Bravosphere, an ill-contrived pop culture reference he’d made comparing his situation to that of OJ Simpson or George Flloyd.
Cue the memes and criticism.
To say “it went over like a lead balloon” would be an understatement. Another reason to hate him, served on a silver platter peppered in the innocence of a ‘Lou boy’ that maybe, just maybe, hasn’t fully been chewed-up by Hollywood. If this was his shot at reviving his image, the famous outlet did him dirty, instead leading to another round of total annihilation on social media.
Where is the integrity? Can getting the story and unbiased reporting coexist in a world monetized and incensed by likes and clicks?
The advent of social media has created an army of amateur journalists. Confirmation bias through computerized and subconscious algorithms make Bravo fan pages and their readers believe everyone feels the same. Well they don’t, always, and it makes one wonder what it is about Tom, Ariana and Rachel that resonates so much with people? Why has Scandoval, a love triangle gone horribly wrong by one man cheating on his life partner of nine years, become a national sensation? Why did this particular story garner unprecedented levels of empathy for one and an unspeakable degree of virtual brutality for two? Scandoval turned Instagram into a violent dichotomy of toxic culture dressed as “women empowerment,” engulfed in bullying and hate. Keyboard warriors were dubbed unsung heroes and exclusive members of a virtual tribe of what Tom Schwartz would later refer to as a sisterhood of “scorned women.” They touted feminism as their mantra with a goal to bring down Tom Sandoval and Rachel or Raquel. Despite the facade of female empowerment, they were a highly selective community with rigid rules. Members were able to support Ariana, something I eagerly did early on, but if you supported Rachel, then you were accused of being Billie or Tom Sandoval. If you supported Billie, you were Team Sandoval. If you brought up any previous indiscretions at the hands of Ariana, you would most certainly be roasted and called an “Ariana hater.” The selective morality in this elusive club and woven throughout the cast seems almost comical at this point.
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