Maybe the Bravo lineup lacked the “visual panache” of prestige cable, Hirschorn wrote. But shows like The Real Housewives reflected something authentic, if you knew what to look for. They were mirrors of the bleakness of supposed privilege, reflecting themes that scripted drama had never captured, a fractured world in which “financial anxieties, fraying families, and fear of aging leave inhabitants grasping for meaning and happiness as they steer their Escalades across Southern California’s perfectly buffed, featureless landscape.”
