Ok, I should be.
As a male in society there are certain habits and behaviors that I’m supposed to partake in and be happy with: mowing the yard, watching football, drinking muscle milk, listening to Nickelback and Daughtry, and playing video games with little to no dialogue because men bond better through activities than conversation. Well, screw that.
While (after years of resentment) I find myself liking to mow the yard, I cannot truly attest to liking any of the latter. Muscle milk tastes like chalk, popular rock music sounds like the souls of a million welsh corgi puppies being dragged to Hades, video games frustrate me because I’m stubborn and want to win without a challenge, and football on TV is about as entertaining as watching The Tree of Life on mute, that is to say not. I really am a product of the aught age where the gender gap is beginning to narrow and androgyny is the new black. I enjoy building things with my hands and getting dirty, but I also enjoy shopping and long conversations about anything. While most men have come to embrace their feminine side (the Christian world is filled with them! Honestly, you would be insanely surprised), there is one thing that I only feel comfortable telling a select few female friends about: I am completely obsessed with the Housewives franchise.
(all of you, I’m sure)
There it is. The taboo statement has come out of the proverbial “only my thumbprint can access it” closet. I honestly do not know what it is about this franchise that keeps me tuning in, but I feel like it has to do with what Battlestar Galactica preached throughout the whole series: all of this has happened before and all of this will happen again.
Week after week, city after city, the housewives play that statement like chess, instigating their signature quip of “drama.” TNT thinks they know drama, psh, just watch New York City’s outing, then you’ll know drama. Words and insults are thrown like Chinese daggers, the ever-changing relationships and alliances could give the men of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy a run for their money, and the glamorous 1% world that, as Americans, we’re supposed to aspire to be like seems more like the playground harassment of elementary days past. So, as a man, why is this so utterly entertaining to me? Women fighting is the greatest thing in the world. By no means am I condoning physical violence. Verbal assault is where it’s at! When men fight, we throw a punch and it’s done. When women fight, it is catty, strategic, manipulating and oh so entertaining. Basically all the plot lines on Alias were derived from a meeting of dance moms.
When I watch the series I like to think of it as a collecting of data. I’m learning how to decipher women and understand them better. If I ask you to bring wine to my charity fundraiser, I need to clarify that I want you to bring the wine to be donated, not to drink yourself. If you decide that you want to be a pop star instead of a hospital nurse, I need to be supportive instead of attacking your credit as a singer. When you start your own shoe line of overpriced high heels, it would be the most evil thing in the world of me to make a pun on words about the brand name. And the most important advice I’ve learned, never throw someone out of your party for being rude, it’ll come back to haunt you 3 episodes and one trip to St. Bart’s later.
While my enjoyment of this show definitely discredits my manhood, I don’t really care. We live in a world where Glenn Close is being praised for her performance as a man in Albert Nodds, and there was a time where dudes had frosted tips. I thank the lord I was never one of them. And hey, I know plenty of men who watched Gilmore Girls for actual pleasure. Ok…it was one guy.
The Real Housewives of Orange County premieres tonight at 8pm on Bravo.