Like every millennial who came of age in the early aughts and had access to basic cable, I watched a lot of “America’s Next Top Model” on UPN/The CW/VH1.
I had no interest in being a model. But I found the show wildly compelling. And only sort of problematic. Because I was young and didn’t know better.
I sat and watched, rapt, as the models were coached, scolded and told to pose, then summarily eliminated over the course of the season — or “cycle,” as host Tyra Banks liked to call it — until only one model remained.
I revered the judging panel, which consisted of Banks, runway walk expert J. Alexander, creative director Jay Manuel, “noted fashion photographer” Nigel Barker, and the occasional guest judge who would breeze in, offer a sometimes deeply hurtful opinion on one or many of the girls, then breeze out.
I accepted the critiques these judges offered, as well as the requests they made of the women, as just a standard part of the modeling industry. Critiques concerning the models’ weight, their skin, their teeth, or any part of them that wasn’t what these judges deemed to be acceptable in a model, were par for the course, I assumed.
So I was startled when I watched the new docuseries on Netflix, titled “Reality Check: Inside America’s Next Top Model,” through a 2026 lens. I was reminded of the “makeover” wherein a model was required to have dental surgery to close a tooth gap. In one sitting. And I was reminded of the “ethnicity swap” shoot. White models wore blackface at the behest of the judges. Another was a homeless shoot, wherein the models were styled to look unhoused and asked to pose among actual unhoused people. And probably the worst of all was a crime scene shoot, wherein a model whose mother had been paralyzed by a gunshot was asked to pose as someone who was shot in the head.
Watching “Reality Check” was a squirmy experience from top to bottom as I realized how terrible these women had been treated and how entertained I had once been by watching this horrible treatment in the comfort of my living room during my formative years. But no segment made me squirm more than the Shandi portion.
Viewers remember Shandi for being “the girl who cheated.” In fact, “The Girl Who Cheated” was the name of the episode that showed what we thought at the time was Shandi’s indiscretion. After a long day of shooting in Milan, producers invited some of the male models from the shoot to the girl’s room and, as Shandi explains, encouraged them all to get in the hot tub together. Shandi had had very little to eat and too much to drink, which put her in a compromised position that one of the male models took advantage of while a camera crew captured the entire episode without intervening.
“Why didn’t someone do something to stop this?” was a question I found myself asking often while I watched “Reality Check.” And it was made clear that Tyra, Nigel, and both of the J’s did not believe that the responsibility lay with them. Nor did Ken Mok, the show’s executive producer, who called the Shandi episode “one of the most memorable moments of ‘Top Model.’”
I wanted to know more about who was actually to blame for the atrocities laid bare in the docuseries, so I read an account written by one of the show’s former contestants, Sarah Hartshorne. In her book “You Wanna Be On Top?” — a reference to the “ANTM” opening title sequence — Hartshorne details her time auditioning and participating in the show. She writes that she and the other contestants were not allowed to talk to one another when cameras weren’t rolling. They were threatened frequently with a $5 million fine for breaking their NDAs. Once eliminated, they were required to stay in a hotel room that only producers could lock or unlock until they were no longer needed as paparazzi distractions. In her confessionals, Hartshorne was asked about her weight constantly, and at the judging panel, where she was both too big and too small to model.
Hartshorne’s account isn’t as harrowing as “Reality Check,” but does suggest that it was the producers who made and enforced rules that left women isolated, hungry and embarrassed. These producers, presumably, were following the orders of the studio executives, who wanted the show to be as riveting as possible so as to make as much money from it as possible.
So my impression, between “Reality Check” and “You Wanna Be On Top,” is not that there is or was any one person to blame for “America’s Next Top Model,” but instead everyone is to blame, including the viewers. Because none of them and none of us ever thought to say, “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.” I don’t know if I was capable of this kind of introspection when I was a 12-year-old viewer, but there must have been someone in some room involved in the creation of the show who knew better, right? Or when it’s a show making a lot of money, as “ANTM” was in its time, does no one in those rooms care?
“ANTM” was one of the earliest reality show hits, back before there were a lot of industry-wide safety parameters put in place. I want to believe things have gotten better for the participants who participate in competition shows now.
But watching “Reality Check” made me wonder what I’m tolerating in my media, as a grown adult, that in 20 years I will look back on in horror. I wonder what I’ll know then that I don’t know now. And I wonder if I should be saying “maybe we shouldn’t do this” more frequently than I currently do.
At the end of “Reality Check,” Banks reveals that she has big things in store for Cycle 25, indicating that she hopes to reboot the show, which has been off the air since 2018. Whether or not Cycle 25 will actually happen remains to be seen. The reception to “Reality Check,” from my perspective, has widely been condemnation for Banks and the judges, so a reboot seems unlikely.
But if it does happen, I hope I, and we, will watch with a more critical eye. And if it doesn’t, that we’ll extend that critical eye to all our media so we someday don’t look back in horror.