Despite appearing on reality TV as a teenager, I’ve never been a fan of the genre. But Housewives is different – and I’ve become an evangelist for its illicit thrill and numbing quality

Already, 2021 has had no shortage of sobering moments. Armie Hammer (allegedly) being a cannibal. Azealia Banks boiling her dead cat. The pandemic refusing to evaporate like Cinderella’s stagecoach the second we bellowed “happy new year” into the eerie silence of our living rooms. But none has been more sobering than the moment when I realised that I have watched more than 190 hours of Real Housewives during lockdown.

It was especially startling because I had never considered myself much of a reality TV fan. Certainly not the type of lunatic who dedicates hours to watching extremely privileged women scream about whether or not they have Munchausen’s. Having appeared on reality TV as a teenager, I felt as though I understood the format and took for granted that much of the action is stage-managed. I reasoned that, if I was going to watch people ham it up unconvincingly, I could watch Pose, or a Boris Johnson press conference. But Housewives is different.

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Source: The Guardian