Among the life changes that occurred in the latter half of my twenties – dog ownership, a running habit, the pandemic – one thing I never planned on becoming was a die-hard Strictly fan. After living with my in-laws for a month, I became addicted to what had once seemed like a middle-aged series that required a substantial time commitment. I loved it for the same reasons everyone does: its variety, its warmth, the talent on show, the narrative arcs of the contestant, and the parasocial relationships I form with certain dancers and judges.
Strictly Come Dancing is synonymous with wholesome television: while judges may employ a tough-love approach, the show is powered by a deep kindness. This good feeling has long overpowered its seedier undercurrent: the marriage breakdowns and cheating scandals emerging between instructors and contestants (known as the “Strictly curse”); and the notoriously gruelling schedules and physically demanding rehearsals (many contestants have reported significant weight loss from the intensity of daily 9-5 workouts). The Strictly brand has weathered bad press with relative ease. It is beloved not just for its entertainment value but because of its status as gentle, guilt-free TV.
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