After we all spent Christmas slack jawed as we watched Bros squabble, we’re all primed for a new reality sleeper hit. However, I think we’re in the mood for something much more gentle. Arguing must be minimal, and affectionate. Although if anyone wants to share their views on conkers, or the building of Rome, we’re here for it.
I didn’t initially believe that Spencer, Vogue and Baby, Too, was going to be the show that brought the nation together. Firstly, whenever I seeSpencer Matthews on screen, my blood pressure rises like a helium balloon escaping from a weeping child’s fists. Not because of any romantic giddiness, but because as a long term Made In Chelsea Fan I have seen him break some of the toughest women in the nation. If you can make Stephanie Pratt and Lucy Watson cry, surely you must have a seriously evil streak. It’s one thing to watch someone being a total shit to their girlfriend when the stakes are low, and you can make things right with a skiing trip and a nice handbag. But when a baby’s life hangs in the balance, it leaves me clutching my pearls and sobbing ‘Won’t someone think of the children?’
The other aspect that troubled me is that while I adore reality TV, I struggle to stay interested in baby shows. I’m not a parent, and there’s a finite number of times that I can be amused by a man being surprised that an infant has bowel movements, while a tanned woman with robust hair extensions rolls her eyes at him. Yet, Spencer and Vogue and baby Theodore have captured my imagination.
I didn’t watch The Jump, where the couple met (I genuinely felt too frightened of televised potential paralysis) so I wasn’t especially invested in their relationship. So Vogue was a revelation. Firstly, in an era of constant and generic beauty, she is one of the most glowingly gorgeous humans I have ever seen in my life. Nine months pregnant, she looks like an old school supermodel – stunning, but strong. She leads Spencer around a baby boutique like a General pacing about in a War Room. Spencer initially starts bleating about not needing anything, and not knowing anything, but she cuts him off straight away, explaining she does not have Mum superpowers and they are both in exactly the same position. Twitter was delighted by Spencer’s attempts to understand dilation – ‘Does that mean that if you drink a bottle of water, it’s going to pour out of you?’ I had enormous respect for Vogue’s visible and authentic horror when she examined the bagel and started to fully process what was about to happen to her cervix.
As the pair attempted to get Vogue’s labour moving, we were treated to a description of Spencer’s sexual technique (‘He’s quick and efficient’.) Spencer seemed predictably glib, but Vogue kept beating him to the best punchlines, yet the tone of the programme started to shift. I was unexpectedly moved by Spencer’s relationship with the medical professionals who were looking after the pregnancy. When he stepped into the hospital, he seemed to shed any trace of celebrity, and simply became a hopeful, nervous, future Dad. We saw two people who are confident for a living, openly revealing their vulnerability and becoming closer. It was deeply touching. The labour lasted for almost a full day, and eventually Vogue was rushed to the operating theatre for an emergency caesarean, because the baby was in the wrong position. Maybe this resonated especially with me because every other time I’ve seen Spencer on screen, he’s been holding a champagne glass, looking pleased with himself. But in that moment, his fears became mine, and I found myself in the surprising position of experiencing total empathy with the star of the fifth series of The Bachelor UK.
Baby Theodore was delivered safely, and the emergency caesarean wasn’t required. At this point, I was prepared to move in with Vogue and Spencer as an unpaid Nanny, blending carrots and spraying Vogue’s fabulous collection of Maria Tash piercings with saline solution while she slept. The final part of the show was pure Cosy Telly – my favourite, unsung genre. I don’t really want to watch Birdbox or Bandersnatch. I don’t want to panic as imaginary characters deal with impossibly perilous situations. I want to see people I am fond of, drinking tea on a sofa while nothing bad happens to them. Real life is hard enough, and I don’t need any further anxiety from my entertainment. The worst things that happened were plagiarism, as Spencer nicked Vogue’s A-team tummy time song, and dampness, as an unswaddled baby Theodore weed on the freshly laundered marital bed.
Vogue’s first night out had the potential for some Mr Mom style calamities, as Jake Quickenden came over to help Spencer. (Jake, if you’re reading, Spencer was not babysitting. He was looking after his child.) But baby Theodore refused to promote the stereotype of the hilariously inept man by simply pooing and sleeping quietly. I fell in love with Vogue even harder for going on a night out, for saying that she wasn’t planning to rush home if Spencer was struggling with a nappy, for allowing herself to be filmed pumping breast milk so she could have a drink, and then coming home and ‘pumping and dumping’ – expressing and releasing any milk that might have wine in it. While I was touched by the fact that Vogue was honestly anxious about the way her body had changed and talked about how that affected her sense of identity, I was delighted by the fact that she didn’t appear to be on a mad juice cleanse, or to be obsessively eating organic everything, on account of parenthood.
Spencer, Vogue and Baby Too is Cosy Telly Gold, but I believe it also marks a significant shift in the way we talk about contemporary parenting. It’s about a woman who will not be wholly defined by motherhood, and a father who is learning that there can be nothing tokenistic or part time about his role. While we have already seen plenty of wealthy, white, cis, heterosexual couples take this step on screen and off, this just might be quietly revolutionary.