A Cautionary Tale from the “Real Housewives”

 

I flipped by the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” the other day and made a bold, if not foolhardy, decision. I decided to check in on the show after not watching for ten years. Like an anthropology experiment, there were several interesting findings…

What’s changed?

Everyone’s divorced. Even those couples who started out seemingly happy have split. There’s a sadness about the women that wasn’t there before. The kids have grown and flown. The husbands have flown too, usually with younger women, similar to what those housewives were years ago. Sure, there’s lots of “girl trips” to fun places. But they quickly devolve into drunken cat fights. In fact, every encounter seems to devolve into a drunken cat fight.

The kids are now adults. I wonder what growing up in front of video cameras, and having content shared to the world, does to your life? Especially those who were toddlers when those Bravo production crews pulled up. To see your family’s most private moments, tension, and heartache played out for the cameras—even encouraged—must not only be hard, but therapy-inducing. Several kids said they developed tough skins. Others say they wish it never happened. Can’t say I blame them.

 What’s the same?

The materialism. Money is still plentiful in Beverly Hills. These women love nothing more than designer clothes, Bentleys, and private jets. Shopping splurges abound where thousands of dollars are plunked down on a few blouses. In fact, their eyes grow large and excited by any shopping spree, even though they already have huge custom-designed closets lined with couture, jewelry, and hundreds of pairs of shoes. I wonder if they’re self-medicating with all that excess.

They look good. If they have plastic surgery, for most of them, it’s done well. They’re still sleek and toned and in gorgeous shape. These women should have no trouble finding other mates. They’re beautiful and wealthy, which never hurts. Still, most of them seem to want love and companionship (with either men or women, surprisingly), while the guys want sex. One could say men seem shallow in that regard. The women seem shallow materially.

The endless sniping. I know, it’s all producer-driven, but it still amazes me. The bickering. The betrayals. The backstabbing. The World Wrestling Federation has less tension. So much negative energy. Is that what draws people in? Apparently, you can have everything (at least materially) and still be utterly miserable. Maybe that’s the hook: We can envy and pity these women all at the same time.

So, what’s the cautionary tale? Don’t allow television cameras into your home—ever. I’ve yet to see a good outcome from this experiment. Sure, the fame is probably exciting, not to mention, addicting. But that lens soon becomes an open maw that must be constantly fed—with intensity, drinking, or “having talks” for better understanding that always go badly. You start to live for the approval, entertainment, and opinion of strangers. I can see how life becomes lived only on the surface, and marriages and kids pay the price.

I hope that someday these women free themselves from an existence constantly “witnessed.” I believe many, if not all, would benefit. As an anthropological experiment, it was exhausting to watch. I can’t imagine living it.

 

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