But after those heady first years, the format felt like a victim of its own success. As taking part became a surefire route to stardom (or at least temporary notoriety), Big Brother became less of a social experiment and more of a deliberate exercise in shocking the nation. High-concept twists were put in place. Secret houses were revealed. Producer ‘moles’ were introduced to shake things up.

Despite all this deliberate innovation, the format started to feel increasingly tired and exploitative. By the time the show decamped to Channel 5 in 2011, following poor ratings on C4, it was visibly fraying at the seams (although the Celebrity edition enjoyed a new lease of life with a fresh broadcaster; the 2016 series alone brought us Gemma Collins’s “frazzled hair” meltdown and the farcical “David’s dead?” saga). When Channel 5 pulled the plug in 2018, few mourned its loss.

As Big Brother floundered in its later years, reality TV was taking a distinct turn. Shows like The Only Way Is Essex and Made In Chelsea brought the concept of ‘scripted reality’ to UK shores (following in the footsteps of The Hills on the other side of the Atlantic) and reality TV’s production values soared. Social media, which hadn’t existed when BB was in its prime, gave viewers a chance to weigh in on the drama. And while Love Island started out as a scrappy ITV2 upstart, populated with average twenty-something singles looking for love and a nice jaunt to Majorca, the casting formula soon skewed towards toned personal trainers, genetically blessed models and British nepo babies. Quickly, it became a launch pad for proto-influencers seeking to boost their following with a few weeks in the sun.

Not wanting to jeopardise the prospect of a lucrative fashion deal or Instagram endorsements, contestants seemed to start playing it safe, which didn’t always make for gripping TV. And as more and more reality contestants speak out about the process, we became increasingly savvy to the editing techniques used to craft a so-called ‘villain edit’. Fans online started to chatter longingly about the supposedly more authentic days not just of Love Island, but of its Orwellian predecessor. Then came The Traitors, which became a massive word-of-mouth hit for the BBC last winter. ‘Faithfuls’ had to vie to put money in the prize pot, while a small cell of ‘traitors’ picked which contestant to eliminate every night, while doing their best to persuade everyone that they were absolutely trustworthy and “100% faithful”. The concept was brilliant, and so were host Claudia Winkleman’s chunky knit jumpers, but it was the diverse cast that felt seriously refreshing. None of them seemed like they’d come on TV with the express purpose of launching their personal brand.

Reality TV has changed so much since Big Brother – can a reboot capture that early magic?