Top Single Goes on a Casting Call for The Bachelor

While watching a recent episode of The Bachelorette, an ABC2 commercial announced the Baltimore open casting call for The Bachelor at Maryland Live Casino on July 7. I texted my friend, “I’m going.”

I thought about wearing my Baltimore magazine “Top Single” button from February’s party, but thought, “Too much. Don’t crush the hopes of the other women at the casting call.”

The casino seems like a perfect place to find the next “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette.” So many lights! So much excitement! So many slot machines! When I got to the casting area, there were several dozen women, not the hundreds I had anticipated—in off-the-shoulder tops and cocktail dresses. As one tall blonde woman was getting her photo taken by a producer, her friend was snapping the same shots from her cell phone. “How do I look?” “You look hot!”

Women seemed hopeful, coming to the casting for a chance to end runs of bad dating luck, try something new, or because parents and bosses encouraged them to audition. A redhead in line behind me said she’d left work early to audition, and that she’d owe her boss a favor after she made the show.

After a producer took photos of my face (smoky eyes) and body (black cocktail dress), I stepped into the area where mostly slender white women in their 20s and 30s were filling out questionnaires, and a curious foursome in their 60s were enjoying cocktails. I walked up to the couples, and asked if they were auditioning. They said, “We’re here to cheer! To cheer for you!” They lifted their drinks to me, and I knew I’d won already.

I completed the questionnaire, which included the usual dating inquiries: What are your hobbies and interests? Do you have any pets? Have you ever had a temporary restraining order issued against someone or had one issued against you?

The eligibility requirements seemed reasonable enough: “Applicants must be willing and able to participate in physical activities such as: skydiving, snow skiing, ice skating, parasailing, water skiing, rollerblading, and the like”; “Applicants acknowledge, understand, and agree that . . . use or revelation of Personal Information and Recordings . . . may be embarrassing, unfavorable, humiliating, and/or derogatory and/or may portray him or her in a false light.”

After giving my paperwork to a producer, I was directed to the next waiting area. Upon entering, a young man awkwardly handed me a pink rose tied with ribbons dangling with marketing pieces: “Watch the premiere of Bachelor in Paradise on August 2”; “We picked this rose just for you in hopes you find a love that is true! Your friends at, Radebaugh Florist.”

A woman with flawless makeup and well-moisturized hair at my table said she wanted another drink before seeing the producers. I, too, was interested in enjoying at least one G&T, but before we could get our cocktail waitress’ attention, it was our turn to go to the next stage. We were paraded past craps tables and slot machines kind of like a bedazzled perp walk, and lined up outside a private room.

The only curvy woman at the call, I walked with whom I could surmise was the only woman of color, a dreaded young woman in a black button-up and small black bowtie. She said she’d traveled from Virginia to audition “because it was close.” I then asked my neighbors if they’d seen Unreal, the fictional Lifetime series that exposes what happens behind the scenes of a reality dating show. The woman, who had wanted another vodka-soda, said she had. I said I had hoped we’d be plied with Fireball shots like the producers do to contestants on the show, and then I was summoned behind a curtain for the video interview.

I told the producer, a skinny young man in his early 20s, about my past relationships, mainly my organic-farmer ex, who didn’t have electricity or running water, and my tendency to date men who play bass guitar or have other fun professions like rapper, puppeteer, or retired baseball player. I said I wanted to be on the show for James Taylor, one of the remaining contestants on the current season of The Bachelorette. I said I was a huge fan of James Taylor, the elder, too. He did not get the joke, and I kind of regret not taking it further: “I love ‘Sweet Baby James,’ and I’d love to make sweet babies with James, so I think I should be on the show”; “I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain, and I’ve seen myself riding in helicopters with James.”

The producer then wrote down some notes on my application, and then picked up the camera for a full-body video pan. Because dancing feels better than being objectified, I hair-whipped, shimmied, and did a little kick as the camera scanned me from curled ’do to curvy hips to strappy heels. And in less than 30 minutes, the whole thing was done.

While I wouldn’t bet on my chances of advancing in the application process (since no average-sized human woman ever has), I had a damn good time going to the open casting. And I got a rose.