They are Bros, but also Romans.
It’s the reality television show we never wanted, but it’s also what we absolutely deserve.
Basically, a group of eight extremely modern lads and their girlfriends are transported back to Roman times to see if they’re any good at being gladiators. Spoiler alert: They’re shite.
The prize money is a deeply underwhelming scratch card winning amount of £10,000, which it’s expected the victors will spend on fake Instagram followers and hired paparazzi to secure fame upon leaving the colosseum.
There’s a lot we can learn from Bromans, I’m certain of it. Hence, I’ve taken one for the team and subjected myself to watching the very first episode which aired last night.
My findings were grim, but necessary.
The year is 2017 and people are plucking spelling variations of their names out of thin air
I’ve seen my fair share of bizarre name spellings in my time, but last night’s episode of Bromans truly and utterly took the biscuit. We met the inaugural contestants and each introduction produced a sigh deeper than the one previous. I let out a sizeable groan when Richard & Sophii appeared on screen, wholly because she has invented a way of spelling her name that is set to baffle historians 500 years from now. For me, there is only one way to spell that name and it’s the Ellis-Bextor way: Sophie. Sophii, or Soph 2 as I will be calling her going forward, has an imagination wilder than Walter Mitty and this show is sure to be a wild ride as a result.
We also met Dino and Cherelle, who were the cherry on top of the Richard and Sophii-shaped cake. I’ve heard of the name Dean, I’ve even heard of the nickname Deano, but what I’ve never come across in my short time on this godforsaken planet was the legitimate name ‘Dino’, or half a dinosaur as he shall henceforth be known. We, as a species, have lost the run of ourselves entirely. I’m taking a risk here, but I’d bet a sizeable amount of money on both Sophii and Dino’s boarding passes for the flight Rome disputing the spellings that they’re giving us on the show. If there’s one thing I want from this series of Bromans, it’s #savage #content, but also the truth. Step 1: The contestants need to stop lying to us.
Wherever you go, no matter where you are, there will always be posh people
Behold Tom and Rihannon, a man that definitely owns more than seven collared t-shirts and a girl that 100% has a tiny pet chihuahua that she transports worldwide in her handbag. I foresee a multitude of problems that they’re going to encounter with the Roman lifestyle. For instance, the Romans didn’t have quinoa, bottomless mimosas at brunch nor did they have obscenely expensive cars covered in felt. This pair stand out like sore but perfectly manicured thumbs.
Perhaps my own preconceived notions are to blame, but I expected the average type of applicant to a show called Bromans to be an adopter of the thoroughbred bro/lad lifestyle, typically something that the more elite members of society tend to avoid. Yet here we are in 2017, proving ourselves to be living in truly accepting times by having a pair of poshos on ITV2 doing their best to win £10,000 as if it’s anything other than pocket change to them. I’m no longer perturbed by the presence of these posh people, in fact, I welcome their inevitably over the top reactions to such Roman practices as pissing in a bucket and then chucking it out the window onto the street below. Jolly good. Proceed.
There is nothing in the world funnier than the fashion choices of a Brit abroad
Yes I know they were supplied these clothes as part of the show, but it sparked a thought process that I refuse to give up on. What is it about Brits hitting the runway tarmac in another country that inspires them to adopt the local fashion culture which for some reason ALWAYS involves a fedora? Even if it’s just a weekend up in Edinburgh, you can’t help but shake the feeling that you should buy a kilt “for banter” and that idea stays with you for the entirety of the trip, lest you act on it.
On the other hand, the holiday attire that comes with you in the suitcase is always slightly jazzier than what you’d typically wear at home. Guaranteed there’ll be a brightly coloured blouse with at least four palm trees on it, a luminous pastel pant and some patterned beachwear that can be seen from outer space. The ‘nobody’s going to recognise me over here’ mentality is in full swing and it’s liberating. Then you return home to your regular life and slip back into those chinos and fitted shirts, safe in the knowledge that you lived, laughed and by Christ did you love.
It is my sad duty to inform you that haircuts have gone too far and we must reboot them immediately
We are in danger of all morphing into the exact same person by the end of the year if something drastic doesn’t happen. Men everywhere have all got the exact same haircut and it is therefore becoming impossible to tell them apart. Is that your brother or Dean Gaffney? We may never truly know. Are they all showing the barber a photograph of a 1970s military man with a wife and three kids back home? Frankly, I believe so.
To combat this dangerous epidemic, we need men to volunteer themselves for some obscure haircuts, to balance out the industry and restore a bit of variation. Mullets, mohawks and bowl cuts need to return so it becomes easier to identify each other and confuses historians in the future. If bootcut jeans are allowed to continue to be in circulation, then so should curtain hair. Together, we can create a stronger and more stable society through the way men style their hair. Girls are fine, we know what we’re doing.
Everyone can stop trying now because we’ve located the largest man alive
Cancel the gym subscription, bin those weights and give your protein powder to the fishes because the show is well and truly over, folks. It’s done, we’ve found him. The largest man alive has been located and everyone can stop trying now, even though DOCTORS HATE HIM! This guy (called Doctore) appeared during last night’s Bromans and although I’m still hazy over his relevance to the show, the only takeaway I can summon is the knowledge that he is enormous. At an estimation, I believe that he eats 35 steaks for a light snack before breakfast, such is the ferocity of this beast.
Look at his back. Look. At. His. Back. Yes that is probably a Red Bull tattoo in the middle, but otherwise BLOODY NORA THAT IS A MONSTROUS BACK. It’s wider than Pangaea. Men and woman alike are drooling at him. He probably has to buy two plane seats. The man can’t even wear proper clothes because he is simply too beefy to squeeze himself into them. That’s The Rock to the right of Doctore in the image above, he was too embarrassed to be in focus. Doctore is the largest man on earth. Fellas, it’s time to down tools. The competition has been won by a very worthy opponent. The gym is over and fitness is cancelled.
The world is ending, everything is garbage and oh yes also Joey Essex has Benjamin Button Syndrome
Bromans is a lot to take in. There’s a lot happening and approximately all of it feels unnecessary. Why are these people pretending to be Romans? Why are they performing arduous tasks that the Romans probably never did? Why is that guy Doctore so large and also in charge? How come all men and women now look the exact same? Why couldn’t they just make another series of Love Island instead of this crock of confusion? Has reality television gone TOO far?
To take our minds off such introspection, I’m happy to report that the King of Essex, Joey Essex, has only gone and done a Benjamin Button right in front of our beady little eyes. The people’s champ is looking younger and fresher thanks to a disorder which makes him age backwards. He’s now going by the name Glenn (with two ‘n’s) and has so far reverse-aged to 22. He’s still the same cheeky bugger we’ve grown to love, except now he’s really bad at reality television and came last in last night’s Bromans challenge, narrowly avoiding elimination thanks to his fellow contestants’ loyalty. Godspeed Joey Essex. We wish you the best on this grossly unnecessary journey.
Images via ITV
