The Golden Bachelor
Early February of 2023 I received a phone message from a woman who identified herself as a casting agent. She left a voicemail with her number. Immediately, I consulted the google oracle, and verified the information. She was indeed a casting agent. A casting agent?
When I called the agent, asked if I remembered filing out an application for a seniors dating show. Huh? Suddenly, I remembered that my friend had forwarded a form for a senior dating show to me—but this was preCOVID and who remembers anything that they did before the COVID whip came down? She then asked me if I was single, dating and interested in meeting the man of my dreams. Oh sure, I thought let me see you magically pull one out a hat. Now I was really curious.
It turns out that she was scouting for contestants for the Golden Bachelor the senior franchise of the syndicated shown on ABC. She quickly said that I had been selected from over 30K applicants and that they were very interested in me possibly participating on their show. Admittedly, I had never watched a single episode of the Bachelor in any of its iterations and flavors. I’m not a big fan of reality shows and pride myself on never having watched a single episode of the Kardashians.
A half an hour goes by as she asked questions about my background, what I’m looking for in a relationship, etc. She ended the conversation by saying that the producers wanted to see more pictures of me, pictures of my family, pictures of my exes and to send them via email.
After a few more days, I got another message. This time she wanted to know if I would participate in a video zoom call with one of their senior producers/directors. I thought—sure—why not? I still hadn’t seen an episode of the Bachelor. She requested that I not wear anything with patterns and something I would wear on a date. What? I live in Mill Valley and Sonoma. Our idea of dating attire are clean jeans, white linen shirt (think Martha Stewart) espadrilles or hiking boots. Northern California is casual—mellow and understated. No sparkles, sequins or silks. That’s LA baby, or Chicago, or…you get the picture.
The evening before the zoom call, I had a date. I figured this would be a good way to test drive my interview outfit. The day, I wore the same outfit for my video interview: my favorite jeans, a white turtle neck topped with an oversized Eileen Fisher red felted wool jacket. Oh, and my favorite knee high Stuart Weitzman black boots. You gotta ad a little pizazz and I always feel look and feel great in those over the knee boots—I can actually run in them if need be.
The senior casting director was young—in his forties. He complimented me on the turtleneck. “Good look” he said. I think he may have been wondering what waddles I was hiding under the neckline (think Diane Keaton in “As Good As It Gets” and her famous cashmere sweaters). Then he said something about most women stating on their application that they don’t look their age. And he said, “you didn’t say that, but you really don’t look your age.” I get that a lot. So did my mother. At 90, people thought she was 70. My friends would sneak into her bathroom to check out her toiletries to see what the heck she did to have such a flawless complexion. Soap and water she would say. But it wasn’t just that—it’s genetic. Cuban skin loaded with melanin.
I suppose women should feel that it’s a compliment to not look your age. But really, what should someone my age look like? I grew up in Florida with baby oil, iodine and laying on a full body reflector in an era of no sunscreen and seatbelts. I should look like a vintage crocodile purse.
But back to the Golden Bachelor. Apparently, they cast archetypes, and mine was the creative California creative boho. He slipped that in. He asked me questions about my execs, my family and what I was looking for in a long term relationship. I said that I was happy being single, but I that I would like to find a compatible companion. Then I said, “what if I don’t like the bachelor—then what?” He seemed amused by this and said, “oh you’ll love him”. Many more questions ensued in the 40 minute video (it was only supposed to last 15-20 minutes).Then he said the next step would be for me to fly to LA and meet with the producers of the show.
As soon as I got off the video call—I started to research the show. I checked for books on Amazon, and lo and behold—there are several books on the show. Who knew? I purchased 2 of them, Bachelor Nation: Inside the World of America's Favorite Guilty Pleasure, by Amy Kaufman and How to Win the Bachelor by Chad Kultgen and Lizzy Pace. I gobbled these up, highlighted and earmarked them to death. Then came the internet deep dives. They were all pointing to a “just say NO” stance.
Last but not least, I watched the show. The thought of my life being on full display nationally and potentially internationally was really unsettling and especially the close up kissing stuff. EWWW.
I was flattered that I stood out among 30,000 applicants, but I’m glad I did my research, and hope to meet other kindred spirited people on this journey through the Haute Granny.
And I wish Gerry, the Golden Bachelor, lots of luck on finding the love of his life. Who knows—maybe it’ll work—but not for me.
(Would you move to another state for the love of your life? Would you want to be on a national reality show and why? Do you feel that you could find love on a dating show?)