Spons`d Smut: The Real Housewives of New York City
One of the reasons I find it so hard to watch reality tv is because I’m too embarrassed for them. I can barely get through The Office without hiding under the table every time Michael Scott speaks. It’s mortifying. And he’s not even real.
But still I feel humiliated.
Because my mother gave me too much shame. My entire childhood she spent shaming me or subjecting me to the way she shamed other people, be it pointing out my long torso and short legs at Sunday dimsum with 20 of her closest friends, or telling my cousin he was destined to clean toilets because his report card sucked ass.
Shame is often spoken of like it’s a bad thing. My mother understood that shame doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Shame can be motivational. My cousin can attest to it. He’s now in 3rd year engineering at UWO.
Shame can also be preventative. Shame can stop you from looking like a f7cking twat. Or a Real New York Housewife.
Unfortunately, shame these days is a dying attribute. Not enough people feel enough shame.
Fame > Shame…which accounts for the increased lifespan of what was once a 15 minute ride on a vehicle called reality tv.
These people are literally incapable of embarrassment. And we’re not talking Hollywood tarts barely out of their teens.
We are talking the Real Housewives of New York City.
Five mature women living on the Upper East Side who’ve opened up their lives to scrutiny for our weekly entertainment. Last night, truthfully, I couldn’t stop watching. With my mouth open.
The things they say.
How can they say the things they say?
Reminds me of a training session I once participated in – at the beginning, as part of the icebreaker, everyone was asked to state their name and offer something interesting about themselves. I said, Hello I’m Elaine and I recently brought home my first dog.
Pretty generic right?
Until we came to Miss Special who announced that: My Name is BK and I’ve spent every winter of my life in Vail because it’s so much better than Aspen.
That came out of her mouth.
And she had no understanding, at all, whatsoever, that you just don’t.
And this is how it is with the New York Housewives. It’s f&cking amazing the lack of filter. Or perhaps it’s the accepted standard of pretention, to the point where the “Duchess” (and she’s a REAL Duchess!) is totally comfortable saying ON CAMERA that she’s ok with her kids not learning how to take care of the new puppy responsibly because the Latina housekeeper will do it – will wipe up the piss and sh*t.
Cut to a shot of the housekeeper shrugging her shoulders.
Then there’s Alex and Simon, the loser rich wannabes who live in Brooklyn but can’t wait to get “in” – raw ambition like an uncooked piece of tenderloin dripping around their necks thereby guaranteeing that they’ll never be “right” for the Right People.
New York has always seemed so romantic and spirited (maybe even superior) for those who don’t live there. I don’t live there. And to me, New York was supposed to be smarter, cooler, edgier, funkier than everything and everywhere else.
But this New York? This is not the New York vibe of Sex & the City the tv show. Rather this is Sex & the City the movie. It’s how New York ended up in the hands of the tacky who want it too badly: New York for the pretenders. New York for the desperate. New York for women who toss around the word “fabulous” like it’s the secret code at the Waverly. New York for 5 Dina Lohans who actually have some cash… and use it to hurt each other in the most vile, but compellingly watchable ways.
The Real Housewives of New York City premieres tonight on Slice at 10PM Eastern/Pacific.
I do it with my hands over my eyes. And yet I can’t stop…