Becoming a Real Housewife is only for the spiritually formidable. All reality shows thrive when at least one person is being annihilated — socially, financially, through food deprivation or alcohol overconsumption — and Bravo’s franchise is no exception. Expertly designed to embarrass the rich, the Housewives franchise follows the “friendships” of a group of wealthy women as they drink too much in public and fight amongst themselves. There are moments of warmth and growth, yes, but I’m certainly not spending hours upon hours watching Real Housewives of Miami because I’m invested in the production of Adriana de Moura’s music video. I’m watching because Larsa Pippen is dating her ex-husband’s former colleague’s adult son, and I want to watch everyone feel uncomfortable about it.
Periodically, though, the Housewives shows get dark enough to make us viewers consider the ethics of our consumption. It came up in Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, in 2011, when Camille Meyer (formerly Grammer) loudly pointed out that Taylor Armstrong had told the group off-camera that her husband was physically abusing her. It came up in 2012, when RHOBH’s Kim Richards admitted to host and executive producer Andy Cohen that she was an alcoholic. Then, it came up in 2017 on Real Housewives of Atlanta when Kandi Burruss confronted Phaedra Parks for spreading a false rumor about Burruss drugging and raping a friend.
The fallout from these plot points is always a little devastating to watch: Armstrong crumbled in real time under her husband’s abuse (and her fear that the world would find out, which we eventually did), Richards acted erratically on national television while in the throes of addiction, and Burruss wept with anger and despair over a sick rumor spread by a friend.
Now, a slew of complaints against Bravo, its producers, and its handling of talent is forcing viewers to think especially hard about what we’re watching and whether our entertainment comes at the expense of televised suffering.
There are allegations that emerged last summer around how Bravo was using nondisclosure agreements to keep reality show stars quiet about harassment claims. In the fall, a butler from Real Housewives: Ultimate Girls Trip filed a lawsuit saying he had been sexually harassed by cast member Brandi Glanville. Then, in October, Vanity Fair published an investigation into the “Real Housewives reckoning,” speaking to former Housewives Bethenny Frankel, Leah McSweeney, and Eboni K. Williams. McSweeney said being on the show was a troubling test of her nine years of sobriety, describing a culture within Bravo that encourages the women to drink. Williams spoke about the exhausting racism she had to tolerate, plenty of which came from former RHONY co-star Ramona Singer. Frankel, of SkinnyGirl and RHONY and “Mention it all!” fame, has been calling for a reality TV cast union and a release from their NDAs, allowing the stars to discuss alleged mistreatment. “Just because you can exploit young, doe-eyed talent desperate for the platform TV gives them, it doesn’t mean you should,” she told Variety in July. (A Bravo spokesperson told Bustle, “Confidentiality clauses are standard practice in reality programming to prevent disclosure of storylines prior to air. They are not intended to prevent disclosure by cast and crew of unlawful acts in the workplace, and they have not been enforced in that manner.”)
With these new allegations comes a tough question for any reality show acolyte: Is there a world where a more ethically produced Housewives series is also a watchable Housewives franchise? The worst thing you can call a Bravo show is boring; the worst thing a Housewife can do on the show is fail to bring a plotline. What if the pop culture behemoth we love so much was indeed built on irresponsibly supplied alcohol, Machiavellian producers, and nothing more?
“I don’t think Bravo mistreats the women, but I do agree with Bethenny’s points that they deserve residuals, they get sh*tty deals, and that Bravo makes intellectual property around them that they don’t get a cut of,” says Brian Moylan, author of The Housewives and a regular Bravo recapper for Vulture. “The real abuses are happening on shows where [the cast members are] one-and-done. A Big Brother, a Survivor, a Bachelor.”
Indeed, it seems like the worst of reality television is coming from competition shows where contestants rarely return: Three Love Island stars have passed away in so many years, Big Brother is a veritable catalog of people being racist, and Bachelor in Paradise is known for an alleged sexual assault that happened on set in 2017. “They f*cking torture those girls on The Bachelor,” Moylan says. “Are the Housewives going to be the ones who get a good [union] contract for the people on Survivor? Do they care about that?”
They know what it takes to stay on the show and earn their paychecks. It’s people internalizing what it means to be a Housewife and showing up like that.
How the Housewives will play into the broader reality TV reckoning isn’t yet clear, but we at least know what they want for their own franchise. Their complaints seem to fall under two main categories. The first is about whether the Housewives’ profits are commensurate with their contributions to the franchise. The amount of money that Housewives make on their shows reportedly varies by city and individual, but it can take a few seasons before you’re really making any real money — in The Housewives, Moylan reported that $60,000 is a common salary for new franchise additions and that most of the Housewives don’t make anything off of, say, Bravo merch based on the ludicrous things they say on the show. (It has also been reported that Bravo cast members are offered equitable deals structured on a buy-out basis.)
NeNe Leakes, formerly on Real Housewives of Atlanta, has said that it took until Season 3 for her and her co-stars to make around $150,000 a season. Leakes previously sued Bravo for racial discrimination, in part because she didn’t feel like the network respected her — it was neither giving her the episode time nor the amount of money she felt was commensurate with her work.
“I grieved with NeNe,” says Kiki Monique, who runs @talkofshame on Instagram, where she analyzes pop culture and Bravo legal happenings. “[She] wanted there to be a recognition that she is one of the greatest reality stars of all time. I don’t want her to be forgotten by a network. They made her, but she made them.”
Which brings us to the second issue: how the women are treated, particularly the POC talent. Leakes aside, RHONY’s Eboni K. Williams, RHOBH’s Crystal Kung Minkoff, and RHOD’s Tiffany Moon have all had to put up with racist viewers harassing them. Addressing this — or the women’s pay, for that matter — isn’t likely to affect how the women act on screen, but when it’s a castmate who’s overstepping, it gets a lot more complicated.
The old clarion call of “the producers made me do it” is a frequent one on most reality shows, Housewives included. But there is a looming question of whether producers should be protecting these women from each other, or more pressingly, themselves. The Housewives universe is built on a central tension every season, but the stars often need some gentle nudging for any simmering, under-the-surface conflicts to come to a head. Sometimes that nudge is a producer, and other times, it seems to be a few bottles of Vanderpump Rosé (which is terrible, by the way).
This season on RHOBH, Kyle Richards was criticized for not getting wasted on camera, while Sutton Stracke’s excessive drinking concerned some viewers. “This 50-year-old woman would probably be drinking this way even if she wasn’t on camera,” Monique says of Stracke. “I’m not going to diagnose her. We watch these shows based on what we know is reality. This is what happens in a reality TV world.”
And while a good producer might be able to lean a plotline in a certain direction, no one is taking credit for what the Housewives are doing or saying. “From what I got talking to producers, they say the women do all that sh*t themselves,” Moylan says. “They know what it takes to stay on the show and earn their paychecks. It’s people internalizing what it means to be a Housewife and showing up like that.”
Competition-based shows like Survivor have good reason to restrict alcohol — they’re predicated on restriction, from everything from sleep to food to creature comforts. But shows like Housewives are designed to show women living in excess. How could you ever stop someone like Sonja Morgan from having another drink? “Sonja is not capping herself at two drinks. By trying to litigate that, you’re making a faker show,” Moylan says. (According to a Bravo spokesperson, the company recently updated its guidelines on alcohol consumption in addition to increasing psychological support, workplace training, and other measures.)
What is a fireable offense for a Housewife? It’s not being racist.
On some level, the depravity is the point. The Bravoverse isn’t where you go for accountability; even if it changes some of its production practices, it’s still a franchise that follows the delusional and out-of-touch.
“Luann [de Lesseps] did blackface and is still employed; Ramona was actively racist and was invited on Ultimate Girls Trip, and then they were burned again by her being a racist,” Moylan said. (De Lesseps apologized and denied that her Diana Ross costume was an instance of blackface.) “What is a fireable offense for a Housewife? It’s not being racist.”
So, would a more ethically produced Housewives series be watchable? The reality is there’s no franchise without maintaining some of the shamelessness; that’s what brought us to this party in the first place. “I want the debauchery and the drunkenness,” Monique says. “I knew what I was signing up for when I became a reality fan.”
Maybe it’s prudent to think of Housewives as more akin to pro wrestlers than other reality show contestants; they have more in common with people paid to fight, theatrically, than regular people vying for temporary celebrity or six-figure prize money. Wrestling and Housewifery come with unusual risks, but ones that are established, known, and mitigatable — if the higher-ups are willing to do so. Most of us are averse to stepping into the ring, but there will always be those who are not only able, but who thrive in it. And as a coward watching from the safety of my own home, where no one can hit me in the face with a metal chair or throw a glass of wine in my face at my dog’s quinceañera, I couldn’t be more grateful.
