In the city that never sleeps, Carrie Bradshaw, of HBO's 'Sex and the City,' always slept around. The paycheck for her New York City sex column funded a spacious Manhattan flat, luncheons at five-star restaurants and packs of slims as sleek as the heels of her $485 Manolo Blahnik stilettos.
Yet, as I stare inquisitively at my black iBook, tilting my head to the side with an imaginary cigarette, I wonder: Do seductive portrayals of jobs on television create unrealistic career expectations for viewers?
Since this column appears on the Opinion page, I did not have to sleep with a dozen people to explore the answer to that question. Whether on Madison Avenue or Wisteria Lane, small screen occupations have little in common with jobs in the real world.
If Carrie slipped off her Manolos and walked a mile in the shoes of the average newspaper columnist, she would get better arch support, but drop an income tax bracket or two. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, writers and authors earn a mean income of about $52,000 annually. Between her pack-a-day addiction, shopping fetish and rent, Carrie would probably exhaust her yearly income before the New Year's ball dropped.
In addition to income inflation, television distorts true occupational duties. A report by the Montreal Gazette showed that crime solving and forensic science shows contribute to public misinformation regarding these fields. Legal experts identify this trend as the 'CSI-effect.'
'The expectations of jurors are more elevated,' said Elissa Mayo, assistant lab director for the California Attorney General's Bureau of Forensic Services in the report. 'They think that we have all the space-age equipment that they see on TV, and before you come back from the commercial break you have the results.'
If fictional CSI forensic scientist 'Gil Grissom' had participated in the recovery efforts following the London transit bombings on July 7, 2005, he would have encountered a 'nightmarish scene of mangled remains, twisted metal and hellish temperatures'and even an infestation of aggressive rats,' according to the New York Times.
The scientists, police officers and other workers involved in this recovery received no commercial breaks and did not finish their work in 60 minutes.
The image of rigorous, gruesome work vividly contradicts television portrayals of glamorous, quick crime-scene discoveries.
Evidently, the element of time has a different meaning on the small screen than in reality. Although single mother Susan Mayer of 'Desperate Housewives' holds a career as a children's book illustrator, she never puts in a standard nine-to-five. She scarcely lifts a finger, but with a real-life median salary of about $38,000, manages to afford a mansion on pristine Wisteria Lane (she must receive one hefty alimony payment).
Television job portrayals exaggerate incomes, raise expectations and warp perceptions of time and responsibility. Yet, television serves the public as an entertainment medium, not a career service.
As I tap at my iBook with the imaginary cigarette reduced to ashes, I realize that television creates unrealistic career expectations only for those viewers that remain in a world of Manolo Blahniks long after the credits have rolled. Otherwise, it provides viewers with a vicarious escape to a land of dream jobs'a land for which they desperately yearn, but may never realize.
