“What’s so important about the past? People got sick. They needed money. Why tie yourself to that?” –Noonien Soong, Star Trek: The Next Generation
I delved into the recently published you know what you did. the hills by Lisa Whittington-Hill (ECW Press, 2026) admittedly upon request, but also enthusiastically, and with one question in mind: how well would The Hills, that seminal “reality” show about young adults in an aspirational version of oughties California, hold up today? And the answer was about what I expected, although a lot more bittersweet than I’d imagined.
The occasion for this slim volume is the twentieth anniversary of the premiere of The Hills. Whittington-Hill traces its evolution from the earlier series Laguna Beach, which, if you had eyeballs and a television in 2004-2006, you might remember. It was a concept that was ready for the pre-tabloid blitz of the era: high school junior Lauren Conrad and a cast of classmates, indulging in all the adolescent angst that privilege and beauty could afford them, playing out their love triangles and private dramas on the national stage. That series was vilified by Orange County authorities and various groups like the Parents Television Council, which, as Whittington-Hill notes, only drove up viewership—not to mention traffic and crime—in the local area. And we watched the mess out of it. So what if it seemed almost comically script-heavy? So what if each of the main cast members was a starkly drawn personality type? It was a simpler time, without cell phones, or streaming, or Facebook.
Until.
The fallout from the infamous “wardrobe mishap” during the halftime show at Super Bowl XXXVIII led to network-level changes. That, combined with the cast graduating and being replaced by new high schoolers, sparked a viewer disconnect from the original story that eventually led to the series’ end. Faced with the prospect of millions of viewers changing the channel in season 3, the producers quickly pivoted: the original star, Lauren Conrad, was now in her early twenties and pursuing a career in fashion. Perfect! Add a high-maintenance roomie, Heidi Montag; their friends, Audrina Patridge and Whitney Port; and, uh, how about a random Jenner kid and—oh, yes—a villainous boyfriend in the form of one Spencer Pratt. Shake, and serve. Television was never so good.
And behold! With the advent of MySpace and your pal and mine, Tom, social media was poised to become a major cultural force. The door was now open to an endless stream of “reality” programming on MTV and elsewhere. Whittington-Hill traces the rapid rise of reality programming during the era that not only gave us The Hills but also shows like A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila and 16 and Pregnant. Scripted takes on reality were not only hip; they were cheap to produce and kept viewers coming back. They also kept viewers consuming. The resulting glut of tabloid takes on their protagonists admittedly now read as ugly, anti-feminist diatribes against anyone who dared to be not only famous for being famous, but young and beautiful, too. To Whittington-Hill’s credit, she traces the evolution of the backlash against celebrity, the rise of TMZ, and the sheer viciousness of the tabloid press of the era with clear eyes, empathy, and an unexpected warmth. Fame, she notes, “was no longer about talent; it was about familiarity and exploiting the moment, which reality stars excelled at.” This was the shape of entertainment, and what shaped entertainment, too, in those early days. Arguably, The Hills and shows like it wrenched fame from the sole grasp of traditional celebrities, like actors and politicians, and redistributed it among ordinary—albeit very wealthy—people, so long as they had an uncanny knack for self-promotion and little desire for privacy. The Hills made celebrity and wealth not just aspirational, but also attainable.
We live in a world where anybody can be a creator. If you like to cook, or model, or paint nails, or whatever, it’s now perfectly legitimate to throw it on TikTok and see what shakes loose, whether or not you realize that the roots of our chronically online, chronically oversharing culture took hold only twenty short years ago. The situational irony of the series—that the struggling, low-level interns of the story were, at the same time, massively, internationally famous—barely raised an eyebrow at the time. It was just too much fun to watch.
you know what you did, the story of the rise of scripted reality mega-stardom, is, in keeping with the subject, light, episodic, engaging, and prone to listicle-like chapter tags (“The Hills 10 Best Celebrity Cameos”). If you enjoyed the series back in the day, you’ll probably enjoy this loving discussion of it. You may also enjoy that, after all this time, Speidi turned out to be the one relationship on the show that actually had legs.
God, I feel old now.
