An Open Letter To Bravo

Dear Bravo,

We need to talk.

Before I start, let me remind you how much I love me some Real Housewives of New York/Atlanta/New Jersey/Miami/Orange County/Beverly Hills (damn, that’s a lot of Housewives, yo!). And in case you doubt my loyalty, let me remind you that I even sat through that shitty season of D.C. That’s love.

Having said all of that, there are a few things we need to discuss.

First of all, do you really need to overwhelm us with THREE Housewives franchises running simultaneously? What’s wrong with allowing us to enjoy one at a time? Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know. Saturation just makes the heart (and the head) hurt. And all that angst and drama in bulk form just makes me stabby. Theresa, Ramona and Vicki all in the same week? Too much. It’s just not fun anymore.

What’s worse is, every episode is an infomercial: books, alcoholic beverages, clothing lines, jewelry. It’s endless.

I don’t mind when they promote and existing business like Lisa Vanderpump’s Sur. I didn’t mind Bethenny’s Skinny Girl Margaritas—she was clearly working up to a product like that before the show. It wasn’t something she developed to hide her rapidly increasing alcoholism (I’m looking at you Ramona Singer). Speaking of Ramona, her True Faith jewelry line is perfectly lovely and she should have focused on that. Does anyone actually use her Tru Renweal face care line? (Does anyone actually remember she has a skin care line?)

Now we’re inundated with Gretchen’s horrible handbag line, Nene’s Miss Moscato wine (and coming soon, her fashion line), Teresa’s cookbooks, and a whole lot of shitty, manufactured pop music (Countess LuAnn, Melissa Gorga and Kim Biermann). Even Giggy is going to start a line of dog stuff.

Bravo, when are you going to get back to the basics? Your first season of RHOC was great—Vicki running her business out of her home was more interesting than the bullshit cat fights. Watching Laurie Waring deal with her drug addicted son and the aftermath of her divorce made her more relatable than Melissa Gorga and her circa 1982 fringed bikinis and Cher hair.

I don’t buy it anymore. Worse, I’m starting not to care anymore.

So I tell you this from a place of love. I really do want to stick around, but you aren’t making it easy on me.

Think about it.

Love, Me

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