Exclusive! Why Real People Appear on Daytime TV

It has practically become a great American pastime to muse about why average people advertise their most intimate secrets on TV talk shows. Every sociologist has a theory, I’m sure, but the answer is probably far less complicated than we’d like to believe.

It is likely as simple as something sports columnist Jim Murray wrote the other day--that while famous people pine for anonymity, the anonymous pine for fame.

Why people watch these shows is a different matter entirely.

They say the secret of “Wheel of Fortune’s” popularity is that people at home can always guess the phrases before the contestants do. That makes them feel smart, smugly superior and, liking that feeling (because how often in life do most of us experience it?), they tune in again and again.

The draw of watching dirty family laundry flapping in the hot air of daytime TV is that same smug feeling. We feel so good about ourselves--so circumspect, so restrained--as we watch everyday people-- people just like us! --have at one another.

I became well-acquainted with daytime television’s talk shows last fall when I was home with my newborn for a few months.

Indeed, I spent embarrassingly large portions of many days with Oprah, Phil, Sally Jessy, Montel, Geraldo and the woman who had her breast implants removed whose name I can never remember.

In the clutches of sleep deprivation and thus never quite well-rested enough to concentrate on what anyone was saying for very long, the talk shows were the perfect diversion.

I generally channel surfed, catching a ride now and then on a wave of audience-driven emotion. When things calmed down, I’d move on.

Some snippets were especially memorable.

On a show about women whose relatives ruined their weddings:

“Had you been drinking when you screamed that the groom was unfit for a pig?”

Zap!

On a show about married women who strip for a living:

“And when she comes home, does she do this for you?”

Zap!

On a show about transsexuals who had changed their minds:

“So, at what point did you decide to keep the penis? Or did you?”

Zap!

You just have to shake your head and wonder sometimes: What would make a person give up her privacy just to be on national television?

*

Frankly, I did it for the coffee cup.

Last month, I found myself jiggling a nervous knee in Oprah Winfrey’s green room in Chicago. Why was I there?

Because I had been invited.

And because once I realized the topic was not to be about why my husband left me for another man, or why I love my baby even though she looks like a space alien, I jumped at the chance to be on national television.

Who wouldn’t?

The show featured five newspaper columnists, all women. Most, oddly enough, had the same hairdo.

We talked about matters of serious interest to women--growing up female in America, self-esteem, date rape, the First Lady, etc.

At least, I think we did.

As I watched, all I could think about was whether or not I was the glamorous girl reporter of my imagination. Was all that time in the makeup chair worth it?

“You look fat,” said my daughter’s baby sitter as we watched the show last Monday.

She had a point.

When I look in the mirror, after all, I see a slim face framed with brown hair. But the legendary 10 pounds added by the television camera had mysteriously deposited itself directly under my chin.

*

So. What is Oprah really like?

I have been on TV shows where the hosts act like your best friends when the camera is on, and the minute your segment is over, they act as though they’ve never seen you before.

Oprah, however, acts like your best girlfriend on and off camera. I think this extraordinary empathy that she projects is the secret to her success. She came into the green room to introduce herself. And just before we all walked out onto the set, as we stood listening to the audience applaud, she took my hand.

Had she seen the look of terror in my eyes?

“You just pretend you’re sitting on my front porch chatting,” she said, and gave my hand a good squeeze.

And I did. And it went pretty well. The hour passed in what seemed to be about 10 minutes. The adrenaline rush was memorable.

In the limo, on the way to the airport, I clutched my Oprah coffee mug--her gift to her guests--and thought of a few absolutely brilliant things I should have said.

Maybe next time. If there is one.

I might even be willing to discuss my sex life.