The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills
These days you can’t swing a miniature $5,000 Hermès handbag without winding up in a political discussion, which is why I sort of love the fact that tales of our nation coming apart at the seams are rarely a part of our favorite reality-television franchise. Sure, Carole Radziwill repped Hillary Clinton for the better part of two seasons, but all of her co-workers either agreed with her or were too smart to get into a substantial debate on television.
What happens between Lisa Rinna and St. Camille of Grammer is different. The hardest part of this episode for me was relitigating the case of Judge Brett Kavanaugh and Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, because the wound is still raw. Even months later it still makes me sick to think about it, and I feel that is probably true for a lot of people, no matter which side of the debate they fell on. In this instance, Lisa Rinna believes Dr. Ford and Camille believes Brett Kavanaugh. Even though Camille says she was a victim of sexual assault, she doesn’t believe Dr. Ford because Camille has been the victim of a “smear campaign” as well.
For Camille, it seems like the “untruths” that were spread about her trump her being a sexual-assault victim. But is she talking about the lies spread about her by her ex-husband, or is she talking about the misconceptions about her after the first season of the show? The edit, which flashes back to Andy at the very first reunion reading all the awful names Camille had been called, makes it seem like she is referring to lies that were spread about her on TV. Is she talking about when Kyle said, “You’re a fucking liar, Camille”? Because, if that is the case, then it’s really weird that nine years later she’s asking the very same person to be one of her bridesmaids.
The most effective part of this scene, which is held at a dinner Lisar throws in celebration of her 90-year-old mother, Lois, is that so many women around the table end up discussing how they were sexually assaulted and whether they told anyone at the time, or if they’ve even told anyone now. No matter how you feel about Kavanaugh and the politics of the situation, I think we can all agree that women should not be sexually assaulted, and whatever can bring more attention to this widespread problem is good — even if it is on a stupid show like Rich Women Doing Things.
What things do the rich women do this week? Well, Lisar takes her mother and her two daughters, Amelia and The Other One, to some crazy retail medical spa of Goop quackery where they get vitamin injections, go into a cryo chamber, and lie in some sort of infrared tanning bed that doesn’t give you a tan at all. Lisar’s mom is a spry 90 years old, has never had a facial, and survived an attack by a serial killer. This either means that none of this New Age stuff works at all, or that Lisar and her kids are going to live to 137. I hope it’s the former. That said, the only person I want to massage my energy more than Denise’s husband, Aaron, is Kevin Peake, the co-founder of Goopville or whatever the hell it’s called. I’d lie in his infrared bed any day of the week. (While Googling to find his shirtless pictures, I discovered he was a contestant on Bravo’s ancient male-model-hunt show, Manhunt. What a small, horny world.)
While Lisar is getting vitamins put into her arm, Kyle Richards is riding around in her Vanderhall, which she describes as a luxury go-cart, but it’s more like a sidecar without a motorcycle attached to it. Here I thought a Vanderhall was just one of the passageways in Villa Rosa. (Not only do I have a dad bod, I tell dad jokes, too.) She takes this tiny little thing to the grocery store wearing her maroon hat that still has at least one extra “Goodbye, Kyle!” stuck in the dome of it. Didn’t she realize that there was nowhere to put the groceries in this tiny contraption? It’s just astounding to me that Kyle has a $30,000 car that is essentially a gag. It’s like the world’s most expensive pair of novelty socks.
The rich women also hold a wedding shower for Camille, and everyone shows up in cute outfits in pink, red, or white, except Lisa Rinna, who wears leopard print. I’m beginning to think that is the only color she is capable of seeing. Her closet must look like a taxidermy outlet. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Dorit is actually wearing a killer outfit. It’s a blush-pink blazer with a sheer blouse underneath, and it’s the chicest thing I have ever seen her wear. In fact, it’s one of the best outfits we’ve seen all season. It almost makes up for the barrettes on steroids that she wore when she went to visit Denise’s house in Malibu.
Denise invites Dorit over because she says she likes Dorit. Well, we knew there had to be one thing wrong with Denise, and it looks like we finally found it. Dorit asks Denise how long she was in that Malibu house, and Denise says, “Only a month. We wanted it more simple and Zen and just get rid of the shit. Know what I mean?”
Dorit says, “I totally know what you mean.” Um, no. Dorit does not know what Denise means. Dorit has lived her entire adult life combating the very idea of things being simpler, more Zen, and full of less shit. Dorit likes things complicated, frenetic, and with as much shit as she can fit in two armfuls. Dorit has, like, $40,000 of Hermès flatware, for Christ’s sake. That is not cutting the shit out. That is piling three scoops of shit on top of each other, covering it with whipped cream, pouring shit sprinkles on top of it, and calling it a shit sundae.
Anyway, I got diverted from Camille’s shower. The big event isn’t what happens at the shower, but rather that Lisa Vanderpump doesn’t show up — and that somehow no one comments that Teddi looked exactly like Melania Trump for some strange reason. When Camille texts Lisa to see why she didn’t show, she tells Camille she “wasn’t invited.” Kyle, who’s throwing the shower, says that’s bullshit. I don’t want to get into it. Can’t we take a break from Lisa this week? We already had to talk about Brett Kavanaugh and, honestly, I’m exhausted.
Let’s end, instead, with my girl Erika Jayne, who is busy rehearsing for her tour. (I’ve seen the show. It’s amazing.) While writhing around on the ground, she gets kneed in the jaw by one of her dancers named Locky. I am not even going to make fun of his name because, well, he looks like this. That man could knee me in any part of my anatomy that he wants. But because Erika is working so hard on her show, she doesn’t have time for Camille’s shower or Lisar’s dinner for Lois or anything. She’s just getting abused by Lucky in a rehearsal space somewhere in the depths of Hollywood, and it looks like she couldn’t be happier. This is what she loves to do the most. “Follow your dreams,” she tells us, taking a sip of her Champagne. “And have a kickass checkbook.” Better advice I have never heard.