In the near future, when reality television implodes into itself, there will be some kind of Real Housewives of Orange County–Biggest Loser hybrid, in which superfit, Botoxed women compete for Marc Jacobs bags by racing through a pile of dogshit and sand, and overweight people watch these frantic women from helicopters, while lazily talking into their cell-phones in their color-coordinated sports bras. In the meantime, there’s DietTribe, premiering tonight at 9pm on Lifetime, which seems to have taken the boringest elements from both reality shows and combined them into a five-episode weep-fest.

Although the cast is suspiciously “diverse,” the five women of DietTribe fit squarely between the dangerously obese of BL (at left) and the dangerously anorexic of RHOC. In other words, they look like real women and appear (despite my initial skepticism) to actually be friends in real life. They’re dorky and kind of funny, and they wonder aloud whether losing weight is really that important, which suggests that they have a sense of, well, reality. Normal(ish) people can make for fascinating TV when there are challenges involved. Like, say, the awesome race on tomorrow’s premiere of the seventh season of The Biggest Loser, at 7pm on NBC, in which contestants compete to see who can run the fastest over a bridge piled twentysome-feet high with sand. But it comes as no surprise that watching non-freaks live their day-to-day lives in their own houses while talking about how hard it is to lose weight is too much sadness and not enough excitement.

As far as my faith in American culture goes, I wish that I could condone the feel-good, support-each-other ethos of DietTribe and condemn the kick-each-other-off-the-ranch premise of The Biggest Loser. At the very least, by incorporating their diets into their daily life—rather than escaping to a fantasy ranch—and by losing reasonable and sustainable amounts of weight—a few pounds a week, not the weight of an organ each day—these women are much more likely to actually change their lifestyles and keep the weight off, and honestly, they deserve it. Granted, it’s still a reality show, with a push-you-to-the-limits personal trainer and a TV-ready therapist, but the women get annoyed enough with both of them that you almost forget about the constuctedness of it all. Plus, compare either show to those misogynistic abominations known as The Bachelor (whose thirteenth season also premieres tonight, at 7pm on ABC) and Momma’s Boys (which airs its fourth episode tonight, at 9pm on NBC), and you’re practically watching a public-service announcement.

And in truth, my main beef with The Biggest Loser, DietTribe and Ruby (a very slow-paced but nonetheless compelling Style channel reality show followed the most charming woman you’ve ever met as she tried to lose 100 of her 500 pounds) is how incredibly unhelpful they are. Yes, I was watching my stack of screeners with a frozen yogurt in one hand and a bowl of popcorn never more than an arm’s length away, but I was still keenly aware of the fact that none of these shows offers a single tip for viewers on how to actually lose weight. We rarely see what these reality TV stars eat or drink. The shows never reveal the details of the contestants’ fitness plans—let alone the reasoning behind those plans. Where are Queer Eye’s Fab Five to step in and tell me how to emulsify a low-fat vinaigrette? Or Tim Gunn to demonstrate the slimming effect of darker bottoms (or is it darker tops?)? This seems like an obvious hole, and one whose remediation might provide a tiny bit of solace for those of us who, for whatever complicated psychological reasons, find ourselves eager to consume the ever-growing varieties of weight-loss television.