And that's exactly how the folks at MTV like it.

Who's Real Now?
As evident by its tagline, "The Real Orange County" (a take-that stab at Fox's teen drama The O.C.), Laguna attempted to one-up the competition last year by presenting the "real" story of those Southern Californian kids driving SUVs and spending weekends at private ski resorts—as if we were dying to know. But real is relative when it comes to TV, and possibly no current reality show substantiates that more than this one.

The series' masterminds are surprisingly candid about their goal to redefine the genre, or as producer Gary Auerbach says, create a "dramality ... [a] hybrid animal that's in between the drama that people are used to watching and reality shows." Indeed, by appearance, Laguna matches its characters perfectly with a glossy, glamorized feel more at home on Desperate Housewives than, say, The Amazing Race. Vibrantly colored "action" scenes fade to perfect sunset backdrops accompanied by Top-40 songs seemingly penned for just the moment.

Scripted? Say it isn't so! OK, so the producers admit to staging the settings just a smidge. But those same guys won't comment on whether they fabricate—excuse me, "influence"—anything else. Each episode kicks off with a reminder: The following program was shot over an eight month period in the city of Laguna Beach, California. The people, the locations and the drama ... are real.

Have I mentioned how "real" is a relative term nowadays? It's no secret that the show's teen stars are prodded on set and, ultimately, heavily reshaped in the editing room. "I couldn't believe what a b--ch they were making me out to be," said Laguna's "It" girl Kristin Cavallari after she watched episodes from Season 1. "Sometimes the director would tell us what to say and I'd be like, ‘No way, this is bulls---, I'm not saying that.' It's supposed to be reality, right?"

That was then. After getting used to hamming it up for the cameras, it's a different story now for Kristin. "Now I just think of it like I play a character on a TV show," she admits.

Playing the Role
So who are these "characters"? They're so stereotypical and clone-like producers have to flash up each person's moniker whenever he or she speaks to help us keep track of who's who. This season, hefty screen time has gone to Jason, the womanizing jock who breaks another Girl of the Week's heart every episode. In his wake have been Jessica, the fawning, self-incriminating victim, and Alex, who runs her own clique of snobby brunettes. Then there's the off-and-on love triangle among annoyingly pouty Steven, fashion intern L.C. (both of whom are now college freshman) and Kristin, who's the new valley girl en vogue—just swap out the 1982 "gag me with a spoon" phrases with four-letter words and a lot less clothing.

Because after all, Laguna is all about showing skin—or at least that's true among the girls, whose closets apparently contain nothing more than bikinis, spaghetti-strap tops and mini miniskirts. Any hint of modesty or wholesomeness is so, like, yesterday. And these girls don't date, they play. They hook up. They get their groove on. To the show's credit, sex isn't shown. Why not? In the words of executive producer Tony DiSanto, "There's something icky about cutting to an infrared shot of high-school kids in the bedroom."

Yes, there is. But there's also something icky about watching high schoolers with unending money, free time and hormones turn into fake grown-ups who all act like Britney Spears.

With no onscreen parental presence, no work to do and no bills to pay, Laguna's cast live a teenager's dream. That's likely why the series has become a phenomenon, pulling in almost 4 million viewers a week and earning cable Top-10 status. Among the highly coveted 12-to-24 age group, it beats out network shows during its time slot. And with a third season already promised and a spin-off in the works, Laguna is graduating to the franchise level.

I doubt any of this success has caught MTV by surprise. The network can't sneeze without spending millions of dollars researching whether it's still cool to do so or not. So as the buzz surrounding Laguna Beach continues, be assured that its makers are well aware: Perfectly packaged nothingness is hot, hot, hot.