Look, I'll be honest with you. I've watched *Dancing With The Stars* since the glory days when it was basically a retirement home for former sitcom actors and disgraced politicians trying to rebrand. It was wholesome. It was terrible. It was perfect. But this new season? The producers have officially lost the plot, and I'm starting to think they're doing it on purpose.
Anyway, let's talk about the casting announcements, because somebody in that ABC boardroom is clearly playing a prank and nobody has the guts to tell them. This season reportedly includes a TikTok influencer whose entire brand is "chaotic energy," a B-list reality star who's famous for getting dumped on national television, and—I kid you not—a guy whose claim to fame is that he once ate a ghost pepper on a livestream. Cool. Great. Where's the retired NFL linebacker with two left feet? Where's the soap opera actress who's contractually obligated to smile through the pain? The pipeline is broken, folks.
And before the stans come for me in the comments, yes, I know the show has to evolve. But there's a difference between "evolving" and "throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what trends on Twitter." The show used to be a trainwreck you couldn't look away from. Now it's a trainwreck that also posts about it on Instagram. It's meta. It's exhausting. It's somehow still winning its time slot, which says way more about us than it does about the show.
The judges, of course, remain the only reason to tune in. Bruno Tonioli is out here giving 10s like he's handing out candy on Halloween, Carrie Ann Inaba is legally required to cry at least once per episode, and somebody keeps letting a British man tell Americans they can't dance. Which, fair. We can't. That's the whole point.
But here's the real issue: the show has become a launching pad for people who don't need launching. Half these "celebrities" already have more followers than the population of Wyoming. They don't need a mirrorball trophy. They need a hobby. Meanwhile, actual working actors are auditioning for detergent commercials. Make it make sense.
The dancing itself? Fine. The dances are fine. Somebody will do a rumba that makes the audience gasp. Somebody else will forget their choreography and blame it on a pulled hamstring. There will be tears. There will be a weird theme night where everyone dresses like pirates for no reason. And at the end, a person you've never heard of will win, and we'll all collectively forget their name by the following Tuesday. That's the deal. That's the social contract.
Look, I'm not saying the show should go back to the way it was. I'm saying the show should figure out what it wants to be. Is it a competition? A meme factory? A three-month-long ad for whatever album or skincare line the contestants are peddling? Pick a lane. Right now it's driving in all of them at once, and we're all just passengers screaming in the backseat.
**Final take:** *Dancing With The Stars* isn't dying—it's just become self-aware, and that's arguably worse. The moment a show starts winking at the audience, you know the magic's gone. But will I watch every episode? Obviously. I'm part of the problem.