Pick Me! Pick Me!

True Tales of Getting Lost and Getting Real in Reality TV

Pick Me! Pick Me! is a reflection on how our occupations can define us and how sometimes the person we are at home is very different than the persona we project at the office. Sometimes it’s good to step back and remember who we really are. Yes, the world of casting bad reality shows is unique but being stuck in a regretful job is universal. I climbed my way out and you can too!

They say if you like sausage, don’t visit the factory, but if you like TV—especially reality TV—you couldn’t find a better guide to how it’s made than Felicia Scarangello, who, much to her own horror, spent decades as a casting agent for reality shows. Pick Me! Pick Me!, her poignant memoir of her time in the trade, is full of many spicy tales. Fascinating read!

You think you’ve had a crazy life in the big city? Meet Felicia Scarangello, whose story about arriving in New York City in her 20s with dreams of becoming an actor, taking on a succession of insane jobs, and culminating in a career as a reality show producer and ‘talent wrangler’ will make you scream with laughter and smile with delight. After reading it, all I could think about was how much I want to see it turned into a movie—and to hang out in a bar with her one night until the wee hours.

— Marcus Baram, author of Gill Scott Heron: Pieces of a Man


If you’re into books like You Are a Badass and The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck you may dig Pick Me! Pick Me!

Thanks Mark Manson for confirming what I took so long to learn; that eventually you need to get out of your own way and that may mean get out of a business that makes you feel as worthless as wisdom teeth, an appendix, or male nipples. As Mark says, “In life, we have a limited amount of fucks to give. So you must choose your fucks wisely.” I finally chose. 

Thanks Jen Sincero for preaching that “so often, we pretend we’ve made a decision, when what we’ve really done is signed up to try until it gets too uncomfortable.” I now realize I was rubber-stamping my stifling inaction by restfully snoozing on a bed of nails until I eventually realized my back was full of bloody nails. Ouch.