Crack My Reality

Although I am in public relations, I try to limit my mass media marketing consumption to about 2,000 calories a day. It’s the only way I can keep the stupid away. But an indulgence every once in a while is OK, no? I mean, what better way to end a long, grueling day than with a glass of wine, and an episode (or two) of good ‘ol junk TV? And when I say junk TV, I am mainly speaking of reality television.

Notice that I wasn’t condescending and didn't write “reality”. Yes, I know its somewhat scripted (I like to say "provoked") television. Can anyone be themselves when they have 2 cameramen, a sound guy, a director and a producer following you around? And I know that once taping ends, the production team skips happily to the editing room and tries to put together the 2 kajillion hours of footage into a show with an actual storyline- And I know that if they play their cards right, they may have end up with an Emmy nomination. I know this. But, I can’t help scratch my head, laugh, and roll my eyes all at the same time as I watch my latest brain crack addiction known as The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Is it just me, or does this show remind you of high school- just at age 30+ and with an über-dose of ubiquitous indulgence?

And this holds true for all of the “Real Housewives’ installments, not just the ATL-iens. But this latest Atlanta edition, well, it’s special. It’s special because although I cannot identify with being a millionaire divorcé, or an NFL/NBA wife, it reminds me of the Atlanta that I encounter (and run from) on the regular. (Yes, I live here, I am a NY transplant). Everybody is kind of like a cartoon character accentuated with too much bling and a $3,000 handbag. So in that respect, it’s pretty accurate. Reality: check!

As far as the women are concerned, I am inclined to think that this is their reality. The galas, the self-imposed photo shoots, the personal assistants, the corny air kisses- who am I to scoff at that? (Scoff, scoff!) And if I hear “oh my gosh, you look so beautiful!!” in that phoney-baloney shrill voice one more time….I just may turn of my TV. Nah, who am I kidding? I’ll be back for more next Tuesday. It’s self-assuring, in a sick way, to know there are people in this world who need more psychotherapy than me. Like I said: brain crack.

More Chic Articles

• Why Such Hate for the Real Housewives of Atlanta ?
• Bravo conjures up more Housewives, this time from Atlanta
• If you can get an Emmy for judging reality shows, we want one for blogging