I have a confession to make, and it’s not one that I am proud of. For the past few years, I have been devoted to something that I know is not always good for me. While I know I could be spending my time more productively each instance I find myself preoccupied by this entity, my weakness for it is unrelenting. What exactly is this fixation I’m speaking of? It’s my complicated relationship with Bravo TV.
The network that underwent a momentous transformation in the early 2000s has since seen itself rise to prominence as one of the top hosts for television programming. It broke barriers with the 2003 premier of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, elevating a show that recognized homosexuality at a time in which sexual orientation was a hot-button issue. Bravo also broadcast the critically acclaimed Inside the Actors Studio series, offering viewers an insightful look into the world of the performing arts.
Since its more modern inception, the network also moved into the realm of producing reality television. Among the channel’s most well-known titles are shows like Top Chef, Million Dollar Listing, Flipping Out, and of course the notorious Real Housewives. The latter, I must admit, has been my pop culture downfall.
Ever since Teresa Giudice flipped a table in a heated rampage and Ramona Singer walked the runway with a demon-like look in her eye, I have been pitifully mesmerized by the Real Housewives franchise. I can recall watching the New York Housewives as my first introduction to the series, having been completely fascinated by the over-the-top lives these women led. Not only were they living luxurious lives in the city of my dreams, but they were doing so with a zeal for experiencing everything the world had to offer to its fullest extent.
Recently, the conclusion and beginning of my two favorite Housewives franchises took place within the same week. Since December 2016, I have watched the Beverly Hills crew navigate their way through everything from sobriety accusations to fabulous (and yet somehow tumultuous) overseas vacations. As Beverly Hills came to an end in April, the housewives of New York embarked upon a run of their new season, which began filming around the time of the November election. A teaser for the show hinted at the utter shock and grief many of the women experienced with the results of the 2016 election, and I found myself even more invested than before. Not only was I now watching this show as a source of entertainment, but now I was viewing it with the ability to emotionally connect on a certain level; a recipe for embedding the show even deeper into my life.
The conflict I struggle with in watching these shows is the inherent awareness I have that these programs highlight the worst aspects of a person’s, specifically women’s, nature. When I watch a meaningless quarrel among the women unfold, I am uncomfortably aware of how futile these disagreements are and how careless they seem to be with their privilege.
Feminist icon Gloria Steinem has even shared her distaste with the Real Housewives because “they present women as rich, pampered, dependent, and hateful towards each other.” I can’t disagree. Steinem event went on the Bravo show Watch What Happens Live with Housewives producer Andy Cohen to discuss and defend her position, describing every aspect of the show as “manufactured.”
The reality (no pun intended) of these shows is that they are, for the most part, silly and inflated. There is no genuine motivation for these types of programs to exist beyond providing an entertainment experience for viewers. In large part, they serve as an escape for people looking to distract themselves for a while in something they know they could never relate to. And this is the very reason I find myself tuning in every week.
I’ve come to the conclusion that if watching the Housewives, and reality television in general, is the worst thing about who I am as a person, then I’m doing pretty ok. If the biggest vice in my life is turning to an hour’s worth of trivial entertainment, instead of indulging in substance abuse or other reckless behavior, then I can still be proud of whom I am at my core. Sometimes, at the end of an especially demanding week, I simply want to turn my brain off and relax with a glass of wine and an episode of the latest unfolding drama. As long as I continue to recognize the flaws in the shows I watch, and identify which behavior is acceptable and which is not, then I see no substantial crisis in indulging in my Bravo guilty pleasure.