Keeping it Real: The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills

WWHL pajama party with Ralph Fiennes & Holly Hunter

Okay, confession time: I watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Religiously.

I know. I really do.

I've given myself the talk about all the other things I could do with that hour Monday night. Didn't work. I've justified watching "the ladies" as a kind of pop culture anthropological experience. Right. I started lifting weights and doing fifty sit ups and a set of Pilate's 100 during the commercials to feel better about watching very privileged women behave like brats. Tuesdays are sore muscle days.

I have watched every single episode, reunion, interview, and video preview. I read the blog posts and twitters. I watch Andy Cohen's after show, Watch What Happens Live, and love the wide variety of guests and eclectic bartenders, the mazels, Plead the Fifth game, and Sandrology, (Bernhard is a droll wit). If you missed Ralph Fiennes and Holly Hunter pajama party a few weeks ago, well, that's just sad. (I've posted my own scratchy iPhone photo above - squint a little and it looks better).

I've kept my housewife viewing a secret. Why? I don't know, maybe I'm a tv snob and think that I should only admit to PBS programs.

I think about these women and their problems, their families, thier hopes. I want things to turn out for them. A couple I want Karma to take out for a good spin. I know I will never know any of them. I have no aspirations to be them. I just want to tune in every Monday to see how they navigate their lives.

Admitting this feels similar to how I felt seventeen years ago when I confessed to a friend as we sat on her porch sipping champagne, that I liked country music. I had happened upon Independence Day by Martina McBride while speed dialing stations driving. Well, that song was my gateway to other songs, and pretty soon I was singing along affecting a bit of twang crooning about country roads, and men that did you wrong, and angels with broken wings.

And while I'm at it, I love to sing Gaga at the top of my lungs, and really believe I do a mean Louis Armstrong, Hello, Dolly!

So now you know.

Here's the reality of watching reality TV: our better selves may be embarrassed for us, that we side with Queen Mother Lisa, love Brandi's directness and irreverent humor, are happy that our first impression of Camille was wrong, want Taylor to just stop crying, need Kim to stay away and stay sober, need to never hear or see Dana ever again for any reason, feel annoyed that Kyle got under our mean girl radar, (but we'll put up with her as long as we get to see Maurico), and that we may just harbor a little obsidian shard for her and her partner in passive-aggressive crime, Adrienne, with a intensity of our former brutalized junior high selves, but, these women, are a window into the secret lives of others.

At some point, the housewives forget the cameras and reveal themselves. They are our mirror, and we see our reflection, sometimes through a glass darkly, but many times, all too clearly.

I've posted a link below to Kate Arthur's view on the Taylor-Russell story within the housewives stories. Camille made a thoughtful point when she voiced that the season shouldn't have been aired. The reality of this reality season, is that domestic violence and its effects, knows no socio-economic boundaries.

It was difficult to watch the Russel-Taylor segments knowing how it ends, and many times felt prurient. Taylor's meltdowns were especially painful and unsettling.

Read the article and decide what you think.

The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills’ Season 2: Taylor and Russell Armstrong’s Riveting Story - Kate Arthur