I have an addiction to reality t.v. Basically, anything Bravo is gold. While the Real Housewives brand is the epitome of recognizable, I save my salivating for New York, Beverly Hills, and Potomac. But I’m most surprised by my obsession with Vanderpump Rules. I didn’t see it coming. I am straight up with Stassi obsessed with the drama. <–See what I did there?
Seriously, where else is it acceptable and attractive to be a starving artist these days?
Take out all of Jax’s cheating, Scheana’s entire storyline, and most of the Vegas trips, and I can relate to these people.
It feels genuinely good to see people my age all over the place.
I live for Tom Sandoval’s musical ventures. More trumpet, Tom. Buba, can you hear me? Katie and Schwartz, underneath the drama your love is palpable. Keep on sending each other Mariachi bands throughout the years. Lala, I have no words. Seriously, no words. Stassi, let’s drink together. We’ll recreate some NOLA vibes in your LA landscape and podcast our asses off. Ariana, make me a drink and let’s party like it’s your birthday. Brittany, talk Kentucky to me and then tell me all your secrets. Doute, you’ve grown on me. Here’s to your evolution. And Mr. James Kennedy, you’re a hot mess and I love every second of it.
If you have no clue who these people are or what this show is about then everything up until now doesn’t matter. And while I label them starving artists, the reality is their ‘realities’ earn them six figures. So I guess the reality t.v. avenue is like most things these days, artificial and acutely absent of total truth.
But I still love these wild creatures for their ability to be imperfect inquisitors. See, they’re seekers. These people seek out everything and everyone. From drama to paid promotions, they seek.
And I can get down with seekers. After all, some of us sit and consume while others chase and create.
Who knew reality t.v. could render me some epic fika material? Vanderpump Rules, you’re the gift that keeps on giving.