Hi! I’m Catie Warren and I think I would make a great contestant on the hit show, The Bachelor. The series first premiered when I was in elementary school and from the moment I laid eyes on Alex Michael and the 25 women who had just signed up to have their most intimate dirty, crazy laundry aired on national TV...I was hooked. To say I’ve aspired to win The Bachelor since day one is a bit of an over exaggeration because, the truth is, I’ve never actually dreamt of receiving the final rose. Why? Because I know I would never win. But would I be a great contestant? Absolutely.
I’m sure you’re receiving application after application from women who claim to be looking for their soulmate, and, because Tinder and Match and Bumble and every godforsaken other dating app out there has failed them, they think that maybe a reality show really is the way to find Mr. Right. After all, is it crazier than, say, finding your future husband on an app who matches you with potential DTF partners based off of your location alone? At least The Bachelor has a vetting process. But here’s the thing: it really is crazy to think that you can find love on a reality TV show...but I’m still interested, regardless.
While I know I won’t be the girl who gets proposed to with a 5 carat Harry Winston at the end of the season, I think I could make the top 15 ― maybe even the top 10 ― and be pretty great TV while my time in the spotlight lasts. The girl who will ultimately win probably didn’t lie about her weight on her application (you can add about 15 pounds to the weight I listed) and likely doesn’t have a weird obsession with the Jurassic Park franchise, an odd quirk that truthfully speaking, makes her completely undateable. Your winner will probably be 5’2 and 100 pounds, with long, mermaid hair and the job title of “aspiring Real Housewife” or “ally to dogs not cute enough to be Instagram famous.” She’ll be cute in that “she’s actually hot” way and will nervously laugh when the Bachelor calls her out for not knowing the capital of her home state. Wait. Is Kansas City not the capital of Missouri? Aw, shucks, maybe he doesn’t know it either! See? They’re perfect for each other.
As for me on the other hand? I know that Jefferson City is the capital of Missouri and I’d probably roll my eyes and go “it’s a really good thing you look like a Ken Doll” when our dear Bachelor ends his sentences with a preposition during every. single. confessional. But that’s okay because, again, I’m not looking for my soulmate. Let that poor grammar fly, Bachelor. I don’t care. I’m just here for the exposure.
If you’re shocked that I just admitted that...you really shouldn’t be. Why? Because that’s what everyone else is after, too. The way I see it, I could lie to you (the way I did with my weight) about what I’m after, why I’m doing this, and why I feel like The Bachelor is my one true shot at love. I could tell you that I recently called off my wedding but sometimes still wear my engagement ring around my house a la Charlotte York because it makes me feel good, but I’m not going to do that. I could tell you that after being thrust into the dating world for the first time since college, I’m now of the belief that the Devil is alive, well, and actively scrolling through Tinder, but I’m not going to tell you that, either. I could tell you that after months of dealing with a mix of unreturned messages, “hey you up?” texts, and guys who are only interested in going out with you because of your father’s career connections, that the thought of swiping right on one more man makes me wish Big Edie and Little Edie were looking for a third roommate, because this girl is ready to Grey Gardens it up...but, yeah, that’s another thing I’d prefer not to share with you.
Here’s the thing: modern dating is awful. You know it, I know it, and all of the girls who will ultimately apply and make it as a contestant on The Bachelor know this. They’re not actually looking to find love on a reality TV show ― they’re looking for a vacation from the Hell on Earth that is Tinder and to maybe land an E! News correspondent gig. So, again, in the spirit of honesty, I say again: please pick me to be on TV not because I think I will meet my husband, but because 1) I need a break from life and 2) I think I’m pretty funny.
If you pick me, I promise to get good and drunk on the first night...but not, like, embarrassingly drunk (though, for future reference, it takes nine glasses of chardonnay to get me in the pool with my clothes on and eleven to make me cry and drunk text my mom). I imagine my walk up song will be Fergalicious so that I can show off my rapping skills and also establish myself as the goofy one of the group. The other girls will take one look at me and my non kale eating ways and think “yes, this girl doesn’t stand a chance for the final rose...I’ll be her friend.” And you know what? That’s fine with me. I’ll be the most popular girl in the house. The one who encourages “ally to dogs not cute enough to be Instagram famous” girl to go back to school and the one who holds back “girl who used to be a tank in college but doesn’t drink anymore because #calories”’ hair back after a few too many vodka shots (a result of her not being invited to a group date. God, that Bachelor can be a real piece of work sometimes). I’ll do things on dates like putting my chopsticks in my upper lip to make me look like a walrus or falling down the stairs because, chardonnay and also six inch heels. The Bachelor will think I’m endearing in a little sister sort of way and producers will urge him to keep me on just a littleeeeee bit longer because, you know, America will love me. I’ll play the role of everyone’s favorite drunk aunt at Thanksgiving. It’ll be great.
I’m not looking to change the game and I’m not looking to actually win. I’m just looking for a good time. Oh, and a book deal. I’m really looking for that, too.