ABC gambles on a new kind of Bachelorette
For the first time in the flagship series’ long run, ABC is handing the final rose spotlight to someone who didn’t compete on The Bachelor or The Bachelorette. Taylor Frankie Paul, the 31-year-old TikTok-born reality star from Hulu’s Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, will lead Season 22, a decision that immediately resets expectations for what this franchise can be in 2026.
Paul revealed the news on Alex Cooper’s Call Her Daddy podcast, sounding both excited and stunned. She said it hasn’t quite sunk in and joked that it won’t feel real until the limos pull up with suitors. The timing is notable: the season isn’t slated to air until 2026, giving producers an unusually long runway to cast, shoot, and shape a season built around a lead who arrives with a different kind of fame—and a very public backstory.
If you’ve watched the franchise over the past decade, you know how rare this is. With few exceptions, the playbook has been simple: promote a popular runner-up or fan favorite to lead the next cycle. It keeps the audience invested and lowers risk. Casting Paul is the opposite—an outsider to Bachelor Nation but a known quantity to millions on social media and Hulu. It’s a bet that the show can bridge two audiences: loyal rose-ceremony diehards and viewers who binged Paul’s messy, made-for-TikTok rise.
ABC hasn’t shared production details yet—locations, filming windows, or the number of episodes—but the long lead time suggests the network wants to recruit a cast that matches Paul’s world: older than the early seasons, more media-savvy, and ready to date a woman who is also a mother. The franchise has featured parents before, but a lead with three kids and a thriving online brand raises practical and creative questions that could nudge the format into new territory.
From MomTok drama to prime time spotlight
Paul didn’t come up through reality TV the usual way. She built an audience on TikTok as part of the #MomTok corner of the internet—clips of family life and choreographed dance videos that looked squeaky clean until they weren’t. Her circle—Jennifer Affleck, Mayci Neeley, Whitney Leavitt, Layla Taylor, Demi Engemann, Jessi Ngatikaura, and Mikayla Matthews—became the cast of Hulu’s Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, a show that pairs influencer gloss with real fallout.
Her personal life turned into national headlines after she spoke openly about “soft swinging” and the end of her marriage. That confession—and the ripple effects among friends and faith—became the show’s central arc, framing how young, online-savvy women navigate the expectations of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while living in a very public internet culture. The series quickly turned buzzy, and in July it picked up an Emmy nomination for outstanding unstructured reality program—industry validation that this wasn’t just another influencer docu-soap.
That’s the version of Paul America knows right now: candid, polarizing, and camera-ready. The Bachelorette is betting those same qualities translate from a tight-knit friend group to a high-pressure dating format built on first impressions, week-to-week eliminations, and a finale that asks for commitment in front of millions. Paul admits the setup is brand-new to her. She married young, divorced, and moved straight into another relationship—no months-long stretch of juggling multiple first dates. On the podcast, she admitted she’s never dated more than one person at the same time. That honesty could be a strength, or it could make the mansion feel like a crash course in modern dating.
For ABC, there’s corporate strategy baked in too. Hulu and ABC sit under the Disney umbrella, and cross-pollinating talent is part of the modern TV playbook. Casting a Hulu reality figure in a broadcast primetime institution gives both platforms a lift—Hulu brings the backstory; ABC offers the megaphone. If it works, expect more crossover casting between streaming docu-soaps and legacy TV formats.
Inside Bachelor Nation, the reaction has been fast and loud. Supporters call it the kind of jolt the franchise needs after years of predictable leads and safe storylines. Skeptics see stunt casting: a gamble that chases online drama more than authentic love stories. Alumni from past seasons have chimed in with congrats and caution, noting that the job now comes with intense social scrutiny and a nonstop post-show content machine. The fandom will likely split along those lines until the season airs—and maybe long after.
The other looming factor is motherhood. Past leads have navigated careers and family plans, but the show hasn’t centered a mother of three at this scale. That doesn’t mean the format can’t handle it; it just means producers have choices to make. How much will her kids be part of the narrative? Will hometowns be reshaped to prioritize privacy? Can the show avoid turning parenthood into a gimmick while still being honest about what dating her really means? Those decisions will determine whether the season feels thoughtful or exploitative.
There’s also the question of who signs up to pursue her. The casting team typically lines up a mix of ages, careers, and personalities, but Paul’s life stage probably narrows the field. Expect suitors who are older than the 20-somethings we see on Paradise, guys who can hold their own on camera and also talk about logistics—blended families, schedules, long-term plans. If the past is prologue, producers will still slip in wildcards for drama, but the baseline will skew more “ready to commit” than “here for the free travel.”
The show’s structure might do more heavy lifting too. Group dates could showcase how Paul manages chaos with humor, while one-on-ones may need to go deeper, faster, on compatibility. Fantasy Suites—always the franchise’s most awkward rite of passage—could take on a different tone with a lead who has been brutally honest about intimacy in the past. If the season is going to land, it has to balance vulnerability with boundaries in a way that respects both her life and the audience.
The Paul era also arrives as reality TV evolves. Audiences are savvier about producer fingerprints and story beats, and they reward casts who break the mold. By pulling from outside the franchise, ABC is acknowledging that the next generation of leads might not start as anonymous contestants. They might start with millions of views and fully formed narratives. That comes with upsides—built-in interest—and downsides—prejudgment. The edit will matter, and how much the show lets Paul be messy, funny, and self-aware will be the difference between appointment TV and another rinse-and-repeat season.
Her background in a community with specific cultural and religious norms adds another layer. Secret Lives of Mormon Wives drew attention because it poked at the tension between tradition and modern internet life. The Bachelorette isn’t a faith-based show, but it does tell stories about values—marriage, family, commitment. Watching Paul navigate those conversations with suitors from different backgrounds could produce the season’s most genuine moments, the kind that break through the noise.
Timing remains the big unknown. A 2026 air date is a long way off in TV terms. That gives ABC flexibility to make casting deliberate and to adapt if the cultural winds shift, but it also leaves room for fatigue if the online discourse turns sour before cameras even roll. The sweet spot will be keeping interest high without burning the premise before Night One. Expect small, controlled reveals—key art, first-look teasers, maybe a preview of the cast—rather than a full-court press in the short term.
For viewers who want clues about what’s next, history still offers a rough guide. The Bachelorette usually films over several weeks across multiple locations, mixing mansion drama with travel dates and family visits late in the process. If ABC sticks close to that arc, expect a familiar skeleton with new muscles. The novelty isn’t the roses, it’s the lead—someone who has already lived through a storm of public opinion and kept the cameras rolling.
And there’s this: Paul is media-trained in a way most first-time leads aren’t. Influencers spend years learning how to narrate their lives, to speak directly to an audience, to turn private moments into public content without losing control. That skill could make her an unusually strong narrator of her own season. It could also spark friction with a production apparatus that prefers to steer the story. How those two forces meet—Paul’s instinct to direct her image and the show’s instinct to shape it—may define the tone week to week.
As for the romance? The franchise works best when the central figure is all-in on the process. Paul says she’s ready for something she’s never tried: dating multiple people at once with the intention of choosing one. It’s a steep learning curve, but it also strips away the guesswork. Everyone knows why they’re there. The tension won’t be “is she serious?” but “who fits her life in the real world?” That’s a cleaner, more adult story—if the cast is built to tell it.
Here are the big questions the season will need to answer:
- What kind of men does the show cast to reflect her age, experience, and family life?
- How much of her role as a mom is part of the public story, and how much stays private?
- Does the format bend—dates, travel, hometowns—to fit her life, or does she fit the format?
- Can the franchise welcome an outsider lead without leaning on shock value?
One thing is clear already: ABC wants a shake-up that feels of-the-moment, not just a new coat of paint. Bringing in a lead born on social media and tested on Hulu is a swing at relevance in a crowded reality TV field. If Taylor Frankie Paul can turn that into an honest, grown-up love story, the franchise might have found its reset button.
