The Real Crazy Housewives of Everywhere - A Love Letter

This entry is dedicated to Mallory Bateman. She knows why. 

“In five sentences or less, why do you watch Real Housewives?” 

“Oh lord, why do I watch them. Ummm….I will get back to you a little later, after I figure out how to rationalize it. Hahaha” 

The guiltiest of guilties. This cotton candy-lite sugary sweet show gives me the same dopamine fill I could get eating a chocolate cake (yes the whole cake.) Why waste moments on the lips and years on the hips when I can indulge in savory, intense, drama filled action and hurt feelings to no detriment of my own psyche or physique?? I actually had to have a serious conversation with my husband about laying off the guilt tripping with my obsession over this show, cuz my bitches ain’t goin nowhere. These women may be married to their husbands for money, but I am married to them for life. 

"She's not like us. She's young. She's still hopeful and kind."

"Well, ok, we're gonna ruin that."

-Housewives of New York

This show has resulted in limitless hours of TV bingeing, a comical amount of internet rage, unquantifiable judgment, 2 faux pop stars, 634,937 gallons of wine consumption, 132 glass-shattering screaming matches, 146 gallons of tears, numerous spinoffs, one Lady Gaga video, several bankruptcies, literally innumerable divorces, one super model, two prison sentences, one suicide (yes), and infinite eye rolls from baffled husbands across the world. 

As Andy Cohen laughs his way to the bank. 

How has this franchise become so successful?? Why? How has a TV show about bored, “empowered”, overly made-up vain women with money and bones to pick become so enormous? Oh wait, I think I just answered my own question. Personally I watch for the Alaia dresses, Chloe bags, and sky-high heels. These ladies have closets bigger than my first apartment. They could pay off my student loans merely with their shoe collections. I constantly find myself asking where the women go to make sure their makeup regime is up to date and flattering – picture perfect modern rich-lady lewks. Like seriously though, where do you go??? It’s not like I’ll find Erika Girardi at the Bobbi Brown counter at Nordstrom. Or even Saks! Do you sift through elite makeup artists till you find the right look? (If anyone knows what LVP’s fuchsia nail polish is, DM ME.) SPILL IT LADIES. The other day I was lost in one of their repetitive, neurotic arguments just hypnotized by how damn PERFECT Kim Richards’ hair looked. (“You Richards sisters have good hair genes.” – she ain’t wrong.) 

As a self-hating female (with decidedly NOT good hair genes), I truly truly truly hate drama when it happens in my own life. I feel too delicate, neutral, people pleasing, un-petty, and non confrontational to deal with the emotional weight it brings me. Since I’ve been watching the show I’ve been mulling around the idea of why I still watch it. The extravagance and wealth can only keep a viewer so long – why do I find myself more invested in the drama than I thought I would be?? Just like people indulge themselves in personal vices, I think there is something to be said about viewing someone else’s drama. Especially people we can disconnect to as we do with celebrities and tabloids. We don’t know them, so their lives feel open for judgment and critique at the expense of our own entertainment. Instead of dealing with the suffering I might feel going through the fights they go through, I can sit comfortably on my crumb festered couch and ask “what would *IIIIII* do if I were Kim Zolciak when Sheree just tried to pull my wig off??” (Sheree claims she just ‘tugged’ on it, to be fair.) Being able to criticize how these women respond and react to situations is what brings the actual entertainment to the show. A viewer can excitedly assess how they think they’d respond when they’re the only cast member excluded from a trip to the Berkshires. I can’t help but ask…..is this a new, tortured, psychological sense of entertainment? Since the brink of reality TV, our world has become obsessed. Some of you are too good for reality TV, but I am fascinated with the psychology behind it. Why am I giddy at the question of To Confront or Not Confront at these petty, overwrought arguments that somehow propel an entire season of bitchiness, brawn, Botox, and beauty?? 

In case you are new to planet earth, women are extremely complicated, nuanced creatures. Men don’t know women like women know women. A crux of the show is ladies being decidedly offended when one is “sorry you were offended”, when in reality we all know what that bitch’s intent was, don’t we?!? How can she pretend she was jesting about my “Herman Munster” Louis Vuitton shoes?? SHE WAS MAKING A DIG AND I KNOW IT. (Try and keep up.) This is the classic “housewife apology” – being sorry for your hurt feelings, not for what I said. Cuz you interpreted it wrongly. These women are ruthless. They know what they’re doing, they know the scrutiny they are opening themselves up to. They are SMART. Lisa Vanderpump’s favored dog has his own contract renewed each year for the show. He must appear in a certain allotment of time in the show. WUT?!? They are very aware of what they signed up for. Former ABC producer and actual princess Carole Radziwill says she was drawn to being cast on the show since she is naturally drawn to spectacle. That’s exactly what the show is. It survives on the sole premise of being offended, addressing issues at the wrong place and wrong time, exposing people’s flaws, humanism, extremism, bitchism, and the ancient yet time-tested act of “TALK(ing) BEHIND MY F**KING BACK!!!” (– Ramona Singer) 

We watch for many reasons. Some watch to revel in how others live, some watch to make their own problems feel minute, some watch to get inspired by what heel width I should be wearing right now (– asking for a friend.) THE POINT IS, my husband was slightly disturbed when I noted that his revolt for the show is actually disgust at the female mentality. What he sees on screen is what goes on in my head, which is what I hate about myself. I hate that I over analyze what she said, how she said it, and what she ACTUALLY meant when she said it, that narcissistic elitist. He’s quick to point out this is not Reality, no, these women would not be meeting at Nobu to discuss the nuance of an argument over what syllable exactly was emphasized when she said “Who gon’ check me boo??” (- Sheree Whitfield) And it’s true – this is not reality. It’s pomp and circumstance with the feminist subconscious sifted to the surface for my own gluttonous, wheel-of-brie eating pleasure. And I’ll take it gladly, if it means avoiding those pains in real REAL life. 

At the end of the day, this show is a frothy, fun-filled celebration of all that is girly. (“GIIIIIRRRLLLLS TRIIIIIP!!!!”) The players on the show aren’t ones to scoff at. They are not what makes the franchise an astonishing display of egos and money and wealth and offense. No. What makes the whole thing sad is the fact that I recalled all the quotes in this blog entry from memory. And that’s what the problem with this franchise is – it’s not the cast who propels this over indulgent self-absorption and vanity. It’s the viewer. And if being the viewer of this sardonic display is wrong, I don’t want to be right.