When an explosive video leaked showing Taylor Frankie Paul — the controversial lead character of ABC’s The Bachelorette — throwing chairs at her ex-boyfriend in 2023 while her child cried nearby, it raised a painfully obvious question. This isn’t just about her spectacular misconduct. It’s about why the network chose to make her a star in the first place.
TMZ posted the 2023 video last week of her ex-boyfriend, Dakota Mortensen, filming her chasing him in front of her daughter. She was arrested for alleged domestic violence and faced misdemeanor charges of assault, criminal mischief, and domestic violence in the presence of a child. CBS News reported at the time that she faced child abuse charges.
She pleaded guilty to aggravated assault and is currently on a three-year probation, while other charges were dropped.
And police just confirmed a current “domestic assault” investigation between Taylor and her ex.
Season 22 of the long-running romantic reality series was filmed and set to debut on Hulu on Sunday. In a rare, last-minute moment of self-preservation, ABC pulled the plug, sending the media, the show’s legion of fans, and the entertainment industry itself into a full-blown meltdown. The network is forfeiting $35 million in advertising, the Wall Street Journal says.
“We have made the decision to not move forward with the new season of The Bachelorette at this time, and our focus is on supporting the family,” ABC said.
Was the video deliberately leaked to torpedo the program? Mortensen, her ex-boyfriend, has dismissed the idea and has filed a restraining order as he seeks custody of their 2-year-old son, Ever.
A spokesperson for Paul told People magazine, “It’s sad to see the latest installment of his never-ending, desperate, attention-seeking, destructive campaign to harm Taylor without any regard for the consequences for their child.”
Paul recently starred in Secret Lives of Mormon Wives. She was cast because her chaotic personal life had already drawn millions of viewers online when she created #MomTok, featuring eight Utah-based influencer moms.
Disney/ABC executives clearly knew what they were getting by hiring Paul as the Bachelorette star. In the first episode of Wives, she was taken away in handcuffs by police for a domestic disturbance. It seems pretty clear the network wanted her crazy antics — no matter how immoral or illegal — to translate into cash. Ratings and revenue have been sagging.
And they know their audience. A contestant on the 24th season of The Bachelor admitted she was “a little bit bummed” the season won’t air because, “I wanted to watch this train wreck.”
In an era when reality television increasingly blurs the line between entertainment and real-life dysfunction, the decision to continue developing a show tied to a figure who faced serious legal trouble feels less like an oversight and more like a cold-blooded calculation. Why? Controversy drives clicks, and clicks drive revenue.
Some networks don’t seem to be vetting characters responsibly and may well be normalizing a troubling new standard.
Reality TV, going back to such shows as Survivor, has always thrived on over-the-top personalities and their chaotic personal sagas. But there is a difference between casting someone who can catfight and casting someone entangled in criminal behavior. Background checks are not optional — they are absolutely essential.
If Paul’s arrest came after production began, the question becomes even sharper: What protocols are in place when a participant’s circumstances change so dramatically? And if the behavior predated the casting, as in this case, the failure by ABC is all the more glaring. Either way, it points to a breakdown — or a deliberate unraveling — of “standards,” which obviously requires air quotes.
Rachel Lindsay, the first Black lead of The Bachelorette in 2017, told NBC: “This is bad for Disney. This is bad for Hulu … because somebody is going to have to take the blame for not vetting this out.” But will they? I doubt it.
This happened in the first week of the new Disney president’s tenure, and he ultimately must have made the call to pull the show, costing ABC a truckload of revenue. Josh D’Amaro had a heck of a welcome. His longtime predecessor, Bob Iger, got out just in time.
In today’s media environment, networks often don’t act until the public forces their hand. That’s not accountability. That’s damage control.
There’s also the repulsive possibility that what we’re seeing isn’t negligence, but strategy. But at what point does documenting someone’s slow unraveling stop being storytelling and cross into sheer exploitation?
Reality TV has long crossed that line. The difference now is scale. Social media turns personal crises into gripping serials before a network even steps in. By the time a show airs, the storyline — and the audience — are already panting for more.
Social media influencers are often paid to promote the program, sometimes without disclosing it. Their value lies in attention. The more chaotic the narrative, the more engagement they generate — the more valuable they become to networks hungry for built-in audiences.
But maybe the most unsettling question is not about the network, but about the audience.
The show’s popularity reveals a cultural appetite for watching people in crisis, even those facing criminal allegations. What does it say about our culture that shows like this are incredibly popular? It’s a vicious circle. Demand creates a powerful incentive for networks to push boundaries further — until their audience, or the media, rebels.
We are no longer just consuming reality TV. We are watching real consequences — not just for stars, but for other contestants, producers, and hired online promoters who put blood, sweat, and tears into the product.
Ultimately, the burden falls on the gatekeepers — in this case, ABC. Networks have the resources and the obligation to vet participants thoroughly and to reassess rather than be overwhelmed by stars behaving badly. As soon as the network knew she broke the law, it should have cut her. And how could it not have known? Her arrest was part of the public record. Their choice not to act prioritized ratings over responsibility.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with airing the trials and tribulations of C-listers and revealing trashy, unbelievable stories. But there is something wrong with airing entertainment featuring those deranged enough to commit crimes while starring in a popular TV show.
Where is the ethical oversight? At some point, networks have to decide whether hiring every viral influencer is worth the risk of not only pulling a show off the air, but ending the franchise forever.
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