Everything’s relative. That’s the only way it makes sense to say the reality-TV women in Miami seem more authentic than those in Orange County.
Another adage might be trenchant here, too: Familiarity breeds contempt. Because “The Real Housewives of Orange County” are entering Season 6, beginning March 6 on Bravo, the various despicable, vapid and golddigging personalities are better known — and our patience for them is more exhausted.
Since “The Real Housewives of Miami” is new to the schedule, premiering Tuesday on Bravo, the women are more engaging as unknown quantities. We’ll know which ones to hate soon enough.
For now, just know that there’s way more cursing in Orange County.
The “Real Housewives” franchise, of course, is built on the viewers’ anticipated dual response. Revulsion and envy. These women are beneath contempt for their two-faced, self-indulgent, overly materialistic and excessively shallow lives. They are intriguing for their over-the-top manses, cars, freedom from work and, for that matter, freedom from reality.
Look at them drinking mohitos on the beach! Aren’t they awful? Wouldn’t we like a day in sunny neverland, too? Look at them spending money like crazy! Aren’t they awful? And while we’re dreaming, would we prefer the Ferrari or the Bentley?
The concept is endlessly renewable in upscale markets nationwide; the dramatic tension derives from our fight within ourselves the whole way through.
These two editions differ mostly in hair color. On the Left Coast they’re all blonds. On the Right Coast, a mix of proud Cuban- American, Brazilian and more adds a bit of brunette variety.
In Miami, “We don’t wear a whole lot of clothes,” we’re told at the start. That means lots of gym time, because “it’s a lot of work to go shopping and look cute.”
They socialize, meaning they drink and gossip, in both editions. A couple of the Miami women have famous basketball husbands (Scottie Pippin’s and Glen Rice’s wives are present) plus a famous defense attorney (Roy Black’s wife is onboard). The California women have so much bad blood built up over the seasons that it takes only a few seconds for the fighting and name-calling to turn the whole scene especially ugly.
Frenemy vibes are the rule in both series, revealing the augmented and Botox’d specimens to be stunted adolescents at heart. As they wage all-out war against time and gravity, these women display the worst sort of mean-girl bickering inside the cavernous kitchens of overdone McMansions, as if transplanted directly from middle-school sleep- overs to middle-aged cocktail parties.
From the gated communities of Southern California to the deco clubs of Miami’s South Beach, the challenges of upwardly aspiring women are daunting.
Leading a meeting at her Miami PR firm, Marysol, a longtime divorcee whose lips resemble balloons, asks her staff, “How was your weekend?”
The staffers are puzzled. “How was your weekend?” she asks again. Finally someone at the table speaks up.
“It’s Friday.”
Life can be so very complicated.
When Alexis in Orange County confides that she previously had two nannies for her three children, but that now she’s down to one nanny and, in fact, she’s off today, her burden is apparent. It’s all simply too much.
“Every day I wake up trying to do what Jesus would do,” Alexis says. While she’s in the bathroom, one of her kids bites another.
The shrieking, shopping and pole dancing will turn to pushing, shoving and stealing of an assistant before the season’s over.
It’s insufferable. It’s a peek inside a certain slice of America.
Ultimately, we can all take valuable lessons from the Real Housewives: Everything’s relative, familiarity breeds contempt, and tattoo removal is painful.
Joanne Ostrow: 303-954-1830 or jostrow@denverpost.com
