Scathing RHODC Review

Post from PB Pulse.


By: Leslie Gray Streeter
The Washington Post’s Hank Stuever had a great, scathing column about Bravo’s “The Real Housewives of D.C.,” about how the only accurate things in the title were “the” and “of,” as there are no housewives, most of them live in the suburbs and they’re as fake as fake is fake.
You got that right, man!

“RHDC” is another chapter in Bravo’s attempt to present the most fabulous and exclusive ladies in a fabulous city, never mind that the REALLY exclusive socialites would never, ever be on a Bravo reality show. It’s all social climbers and people trying to promote their businesses. And that’s cool – I can’t be mad at somebody trying to get paid. Let’s just not pretend to those outside of the city that these ladies are the creme de la creme. They tried to get those ladies, and had to settle for, like, the Redi-Whip.

Photo: Bravo

We first meet Mary, granddaughter of famous broadcaster Arthur Godfrey, and her family, as they prepare for their cutesy family portrait. Mary says she is a life-long Washingtonian, although she now lives in the Virginia suburbs. I cry foul on that – you don’t live in D.C. You live in Virginia. Don’t get all proprietary about being a lifelong resident of a city if you fled to the burbs.

Stacie, our next housewife, agrees with me on the suburbanites who claim to live in the city they bounced from. She’s a realtor selling crazy expensive homes, a wife and mother who runs a tight ship, and the first of several people who will name-drop the Obamas in this episode. And if you think her reference is obnoxious…well, just wait.

Lynda runs a modeling agency, the top one in the city, although she admits that there aren’t all that many fashion clients there, anyway. So, yay for you? She flirts with a tall, yummy male model, who looks like a more pretty-boy, younger version of Ebong, her tall, young boyfriend. Ebong can work a turtleneck and seems too nice for Lynda.

Michaele is that bleached-blond lady in the sari who crashed the White House state dinner with her husband back in the fall. You remember her – the chick who insisted that they were invited by a third party but didn’t have an invitation? I always thought that was a fail on their part and on the part of the White House – the security should only let those in with an actual invite, who are on the list, and the Salahis shouldn’t expect that the White House is like getting into a party at Pookie’s house – “No, no, we talked to his cousin, Ray-Ray! You know Ray-Ray, right? He said it was cool!”

You know who thinks Michaele is cool? Nobody on this show. They seem to all think she’s flighty and possibly anorexic. You see her flitting around the polo event that her husband runs, kissing and hugging for five seconds before she runs off to hug somebody else. She seems to be really sort of sweet, actually, but she’s so unfocused that she’s sort of unprofessional. Also, she’s too tan for that hair color. Just saying. Then again, all of these catty bisnatches saying they “love” her while rolling their eyes at her don’t warm my heart, either.

So far, I kind of like Stacie, don’t love Michaele but wanna hug her, and am indifferent to Lynda and Mary. But I’d rather be handcuffed to any of those ladies for the rest of my life than to have half a latte at the Starbucks with Cat, the husky-voiced Brit who has just moved to town (well, the suburbs of town) with her new husband, White House photographer Charles. (Apparently, they aren’t even together anymore. Awkward.) Cat is one of those people who is impressed enough with herself to cover all the people who hate her, so she doesn’t really care how she comes off. She looks down her nose at Michaele’s polo event, and makes a comment to her kids about how much bigger Americans are than other people. Come over here, Skinny, so I can smack you with this Twinkie.

We go back to Mary’s, where she explains that she’s had a biometric lock put on her closet so that her slacky daughter can’t wear her clothes. Oh, please. If you don’t trust her, don’t let her stay in your house! Or, just share! Or tell her “Girl, stay out of my closet!” I know it’s expensive, but it’s the pricey version of not leaving your purse around parties when you know some of the guests are shady. It’s upscale ghetto.

It’s Mary’s birthday, and she’s invited a lot of the ladies, including Stacie, who she sits next to Ted Gibson, hairdresser to the stars. She tells them that they’re gonna be best friends. Oh, Mary. You have no clue how obnoxious that is, do you? No, you don’t. She also drunkenly tells them that now that Obama is in the White House, it’s time for black people and white people to integrate their hair salons. I understand her point, but, seriously. That’s the key to harmony? Stacie and Ted give her that polite, pursed-lipped “Silly person, please” look that Clair Huxtable used to give Cliff.

Stacie gets to return the favor as a hostess next, as she is getting Janet Jackson’s chef to come over and give a cooking lesson. It’s so cute that she and her friend pretend that there is any question about the guest list – “Should we invite Cat?” Of course you’re inviting Cat. That’s in the script. Sigh.

Various catty messes ensues- Mary’s husband gets an award from the Washingtonian for being a style setter, but the presenter mispronounces his name; Lynda and stylist Paul Wharton, who has that ’80s flat-ironed black man’s hair like half of Prince’s band used to sport, get catty about how she missed Michaele’s polo event, which she never really intended on going to in the first place. They’re both foul.

Speaking of foul – Cat shows up at Stacie’s party intending to explain how awesome she is, whether or not she has to insult everyone in the place. Whatever. She’s fabulous, right!? She sticks her nose up at the sake being served, but does score some points with the shots that Charles took of Joe Biden that afternoon. And I am not kidding when I say that they are sexy. Well, Joe Biden sexy. He’s all smooth in the back of a limo with his shades, on the phone. Very GQ. Go Joe!

Unfortunately for Cat, she can’t stop name-dropping there. She talks about how President Obama “lived our whole romance” through his association with Charles, even though she’s never met the President. Stacie sort of notes that and moves on. Cat, however, does not – Seems she’s mad at Obama because he didn’t RSVP to her wedding or come to her husband’s award ceremony.

Stacie interviews that the president, you know, may have been busy running the country or something, which has not occurred to Cat. Cat’s one of those “I gotta be real” people, whose realness supercedes politeness, or propriety, or other people’s feelings. She’s sort of a jerk, which we find out when the chef mentions that he cooks for Tyra Banks.

“Poor you,” you says.

SCREECH!

Apparently, Cat is not a Tyra fan, which she demonstrates with an unfortunate imitation that involves a bit of Ebonics and some stereotypical neck toss. And here’s the thing – that’s exactly what Tyra does, so Cat’s not wrong about her, and about her ridiculousness. Stacie and her friends get offended because she is trashing two prominent people they like, who happen to be black. Personally, I don’t think Cat’s racist. She’s just clueless, You have the right to dislike Tyra Banks’ imaage, but it’s rude to say that in front of someone who knows her personally, when you don’t. Rude, rude, rude. And while the Obamas should have RSVP’d to her wedding, she sounds like an idiot grousing about it, because he’s busy. A lot. Let it go.

So to review: Mary doesn’t trust her kid and thinks we’d all be better off if we went to the same hairdressers. Lynda’s phony, with a hot boyfriend. Michaele is a clueless, sweet ninny. Stacie is not a fan of Cat’s. Cat is a fan of Cat’s.

Coming up next – Party crashing at the White House! Saltiness! More Ted Gibson! Lots of wine drinking if I’m gonna get through this season!