Oh Beverly Hills. So posh. So beautiful. So vapid.
Believe it or not, I’m an enormous fan of Bravo’s reality series, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I’m guilty of indulging in a little mindless entertainment and RHOBH does the trick. What can I say? It can be fun to watch an hour of rich people doing rich people stuff, and it’s also humbling to see that money doesn’t buy happiness. We all have issues, whether we can afford a Bentley or not. But my enjoyment of Beverly Hills does not extend beyond the television screen.
About two weeks after moving to Los Angeles I was offered a job somewhere small and cute and just off Rodeo Drive. After only four weeks of working there, I came to terms with the fact that the job wasn’t the right fit for me. But as is the case with all things in life, the experience certainly wasn’t a waste. I met some wonderful women, discovered what I was and wasn’t willing to accept in a working environment, and realized that Beverly Hills is not somewhere I want to spend significant amounts of time.
Many of the customers I dealt with were tourists looking to show off their escapades in 90210 by snapping lots of Instagram worthy photos. My thoughts? What’s so special about this zip code, anyways?
There are aspects of Beverly Hills that I enjoy, like the Greystone Mansion and tree-lined streets, but nearly everything else seems to be strictly about money and image. What car you drive, how big your ring is, how much cash you carry. Although Rodeo, Beverly, Brighton, and Dayton are traversed mainly by visitors, it’s easy to spot the locals. They’re often dressed to the nines and in their own little bubbles. Sixteen year old boys speed by in their shiny red Ferrari’s and women walk into salons with their Loubitons glimmering and their Birkin bags in tow.
To me, it’s just bizarre. Nice things are great, but they shouldn’t define you. Many of Beverly Hills’ residents strut around like what they own is all they are. Condescension lingers in the air. Sometimes it’s not blatantly obvious, but just a touch can always be felt.
So for now, I’ll experience 90210 the way I like it best; sitting on a couch watching my favorite gals on Bravo. Because maybe the reason that The Real Housewives is better than the real Beverly Hills is that the cast show their flaws, rather than mask them desperately behind the luxuries they’re lucky enough to afford.
Photo courtesy of pachd.com