After a 20-year wait, the UK capital gets an edition of the US reality franchise – and the results are as hellish as you might expect. It was worth the wait
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t’s taken nearly 20 years for the American reality franchise to wind its way across the Atlantic to the capital. In the meantime, there were pretenders and near-misses – Ladies of London, Real Housewives of Cheshire – but now, finally, west London’s ex-model community has a viable retirement plan.
The delay seems all the more inexplicable, when you consider how to the manner born – if not to the manor born – these ladies are. Take Amanda, who lives in Belgravia, drives a Bentley convertible, runs an underperforming luxury beauty brand and is in a co-dependent relationship with her poodle-cum-stylist, Monty. Amanda has it all – clearly – and in the first episode’s first five minutes, she cements her status as RHOL’s Queen Bee by saying: “I’m actually a really private person.” Direct to camera. On a reality TV show. With a straight face. Now that’s a Real Housewife.
It’s all about being “real”, you see – in the sense of being fake, but in a really committed way. The “house” bit also matters. Hence, we’re introduced to every cast member with a property-porn interiors montage (a slow-pan of the walk-in bag/shoe closet is the obligatory third or fourth shot). To a lesser extent, the “wife” bit is also important. That’s why, and no offence to the one from Wham who’s not George Michael, but Amanda is going to need to accrue some more impressive ex-husbands if she hopes to secure her top spot for many more series to come. I’m rooting for you, babe. We’re all rooting for you.
