Psychologists have condemned the show as "a violation of human dignity." Contestant Jean-Paul , who quit after just 14 hours, told Le Parisien : "It’s not a game. It’s a laboratory. They want to see someone have a psychotic break on live TV. I saw a grown man start crying because he couldn’t remember the name of his own dog."
Despite the outrage—or perhaps because of it—ratings are soaring. Clips of contestants screaming in the spinning capsules while techno music blares have amassed billions of views on TikTok. The hashtag #Tournike has become shorthand for any stressful situation. (" My boss gave me three deadlines in one hour... c’est le Tournike. ") Tournike taps into a specific, anxious energy of the 2020s. It is the feeling of being stuck on a hamster wheel, running faster and faster, while the world around you gets colder and darker. It is the nightmare of group projects, of social pressure, of failing not just for yourself, but for everyone counting on you.
Is it high art? No. Is it ethical? Debatably not. But is it compelling television? Absolutely.