How Real Housewife Reunions Are Like WWE Cage Matches
Don't come for them unless they send for you.
I know, wrestling? Ew. But hear me out. It’s reunion season! We just sat through three glorious weeks of infighting on Salt Lake and it dawned on me that the gals from Beverly Hills, and Potomac are suiting up in spangled garments and raring to come for each other during their reunions the very same way WWE wrestlers suit up in spangled garments, enter the ring, and herniate each other's discs.
Some parallels are even uncanny. On RHOSLC, housewife Monica Garcia's recent reveal as SlamGrammer Reality Von Tease matches the energy of Vince McMahon's 1999 reveal as The Greater Power, beat for beat: "The Greater Power knows what makes all of us tick, each and every one of us. He knows our fears, he knows our strengths, and our weaknesses, and exploits those fears, strengths, and weaknesses for the betterment of his corporate ministry, and his own personal amusement."
Why are these emotional cage matches so damn gratifying? They are a huge contrast to the current self-help propensity for conflict avoidance.
As of late, interpersonal discomfort is something to be dodged at all costs. If our precise emotional needs aren't being met, we're made to feel justified in metaphorically swiping left on anyone and anything, regardless of history or potential. Even the most basic acts of interpersonal communication, like simple phone calls or texts, are now regarded as weighty emotional demands or obligations, pushing us further and further away from having to 'engage' (see Meredith Marks). We take our connections for granted. We ghost and we ghost for the lamest of reasons sometimes and think nothing of it, while our fraying connections to each other snap due to apathy and neglect.
This might be why it feels so damn good to watch people hash out their ish, even if it's fabricated for the camera and a contractual obligation is the impetus. Try as they may to avoid (Gizelle Bryant v Candiace Dillard Bassett), or exclude (Meredith Marks v. Angie Katsanevas) each other, Real Housewives are bound by contract to work their shit out in front of us or lose their shit trying as we surround the ring and cheer them on.
Should we stay in cycles of dysfunction that won’t change when you express your needs? Hell, no! But boundaries are necessary for healthy relationships and watching these women defend theirs every single week allows us to watch and learn how to engage with and enforce them, for better or worse.
Vanderpump Really Fuckin’ Rules
You didn’t think we were going to get through this week’s MUTHR FCKD without addressing the holy resurrection of VPR, did you? Because that would’ve been FOOLISH.
This was all of our faces when Lala told Ariana that she left a voice message for Rachel, am I right? How can you tell Ariana you want to build a real friendship with her after leaving an empathetic message for the woman who betrayed her?
Oooooh we are in for a messy season, friends! I don’t know how Lala and Scheana (restraining order aside) get off on making Scandoval about them. Meanwhile, Schwartz, displays himself as a mild mannered dude who talks to plants and bugs while trying to make amends with the ex-wife he carelessly dismissed because he “didn’t like the sound of her voice,” or Ariana, the friend he lied to while his other friend shamelessly cheated on her. The Schwartz redemption arc may be lots of work for the editors this season, but let’s see what they can scrounge up.
Ahhhhhhhhht
The New York Times ran a lovely profile piece on the prolific self-portraitist Cindy Sherman, an artist who’s work I absolutely adore for its innovation and irreverence.
If you’ve seen her work, you know that Cindy does these self-portraits where she plays with image and age, distorting herself for her own art and amusement. Yet, she feels about aging like many of us do. “I’m not going to go into this aging process silently or happily,” she said, aptly summing up how we all feel about our inevitable erosion.
Between the Botox and Ozempic of it all, we gals are always getting messages (and, I’d argue, peer pressure) to fight aging, tooth and nail. Goddess knows I’m not psyched about it either. But what if we seek solace in the humor of it all, like Cindy does? What if we were to laugh in the face of the bully of time instead?
Musique
If Mean Girls or SNL didn’t throw you on the nonstop-to-Reneé Rapp train, I’d urge you to jump on, tout suite. The girl’s got pipes. For all its wonderful theatricality, “Snow Angel” makes me cry—the lyrics aren’t literal but my SAD is in high tide right now.
Socialite Media
Someone PLEASE let me write about the new Alexis Bittar social media campaign centered around the saga of Upper East Side ex-Studio 54 bon vivant Margeaux and her long-suffering, perpetually traumatized assistant, Jules? Pretty please?! Since they launched this campaign, they’ve quadrupled their followers or something. If you haven’t seen it yet, give it a peep—it’s fucking hilarious. It’s got booze! Two gen RHONY cameos! A Kelly Cutrone cameo! A Mel Ottenberg cameo! LET ME AT IT.
Fruits of My Actual Labor
Usually, the best ideas for essays spring out of convos with your pals, and my latest for DAME—a feminist publication you really need to check out right now (especially now!)—is no exception. A little over a month ago my pal Kera, a genius writer and editor, and I were going off about how the boredom we so fruitfully enjoyed as kids was a luxury. She very generously asked me to pen an essay for DAME and lo…check it!
Like what you’re reading? Writers are criminally undervalued and your pal over here is trying to get this puppy off the ground, so please consider ………………
It’s more hyper and cheaper than a latte! And….
the shit out of this MUTHR FCKR and make your friends read it too, mmmmmmnkay?
DANKA! Until we meet again….
xoxo