Usually when I deplore something as much as I do Bravo’s Gallery Girls, I have to ask myself where all of my vitriol is coming from. Typically it’s because, deep down, I’m jealous. There’s something about this show that I feel threatened by, that makes me feel insecure about my place in life. I want what they have and I’m pissed I didn’t get it.
I can honestly say though that that’s not the case with Gallery Girls. I simply hate it because it’s awful. There’s no shrink-wrapping necessary for this one, no deep-seated issues that would reveal why I have such disdain for this reality show. I hate it because Bravo has (brilliantly) taken a dump on my generation and I can’t stop watching the massacre. They’ve cast seven girls who represent every bad stereotype about Millennials and are so defiantly unlikable that it’s almost breathtaking. I guess Kerri, the Long Island Lolita, is supposed to be the Greek chorus of the show because she’s (gasp!) middle class but her personality is so bland that she’s unable to reverse any of the damage incurred by these psychos’ behavior.
Let’s see what these freaks on a 20-something leash have been up to these past few weeks.
Liz: I know Liz has been sober from coke for a few years and I love that for her, I really do, but I think in some ways she’s a total dry coke head. Yes, she doesn’t actually do it anymore but the coke rage is still there because she always acts as if she’s coming off of a three-day bender. I mean, hello, she snaps at anyone that comes within a five-mile radius of her. At first it was funny, like “Ha ha, I get it. You’re a rich mean girl!” But now it’s getting to be a bit tiresome. On last week’s episode, she went to Kerri’s housewarming party because Bravo producers made her and she just sat down on the couch with Xanned out Maggie and scowled at everyone. “This is so stupid. Everyone here is ugly. I swear, like, why am I here?” Um, going to a party and dissing everyone as you sit and gingerly sip your wine is not chic, Liz. Get that eight ball out of your ass and have some fun, hon!!!!
Amy: Poor Amy. Poor, poor Amy. Before we delve into what messes she got herself into the past few weeks, can I please suggest that Amy’s lazy eye gets its own spin-off? It would be called, Forever Lazy (Eye), and it would track its misadventures on the Upper East Side as it tries to date other “more active” eyes and search for the right corrective lenses! Bravo, are you listening? Babe? Hon? Is this thing on? Okay I guess not. Moving on. So despite all of the horrible things I’ve said about her, I actually feel really bad for Amy. I feel like everyone knows a girl like her, someone who hangs around like a bugaboo, is terrifyingly insecure, and can’t take a hint when you don’t want to be friends. In perhaps the scariest scene of the season, Amy stops by Eli Klein’s art gallery to drop off cupcakes (????!!!!) and talk to Liz about the state of their non-existent friendship. Seriously, you guys, I was experiencing so much second-hand embarrassment for Amy when she stopped by the gallery, cupcakes in tow, like a single white female desperate for people’s acceptance. The conversation she had with Liz was super sad too. Liz was like, “You’re not comfortable in your own skin!” and Amy was like, “I love my skin! I LOVE YOUR COAT MORE THOUGH. IT’S GORGEOUS. WHERE’D YOU GET IT?” and Liz was like, “What?” You see, Amy has this nervous tic where she needs to compliment everyone on everything and it’s completely cringeworthy to watch. Like, just stop being such a desperado, Amy. Please. On last night’s episode, Amy threw the saddest dinner party in the history of all dinner parties and we all got to see the creepy Old Lady interior of her apartment. I’m becoming more and more convinced with each episode that Amy is secretly a 45-year-old widow who moved to New York to start over and create a new identity as a 24-year-old intern/reality star. That seems plausible, right?
Maggie: Maggie continues to be heavily sedated this season which means that I continue to be obsessed with her. Last night, she went to her mom’s house with her beefcake boyfriend, who I’m disturbingly attracted to despite the fact that he’s balding, and drank like four bottles of wine. Her family kept asking her questions about her future which freaked Maggie out since she’s not interested in exploring general human emotions. She just kept dodging questions, twirling her hair, and taking trips to the bathroom to take more Xanax bars. The night ended with her passed out underneath the dishwasher. It was sad.
Chantal: Chantal and her evil black heart haven’t been getting much screen time lately which upsets me to no end! I think it’s probably because the cameramen are actually scared of her. They show up to her apartment in Williamsburg, ready to film her, and she answers the door in a black floor-length robe. “Excuse me for one more minute,” she hisses. “My daily ritual sacrifice isn’t finished yet.” The cameramen then peer in to her place and see the naked body of her boyfriend Spencer who’s tied up in the living room and screaming for help. “Let’s get out of here!” Jimbo, the head cameraman, says to the crew. “Bravo doesn’t pay us enough for this kind of crap.”
Claudia: Claudia continues to live in the broom closet of End Of Century, hiding from Chantal and avoiding the credit card bill collector’s incessant phone calls.
Angela: Oh my god, Angela. You are rocking my world with your delusional diva moments. First of all, can I just say how OBSESSED I was when Angela decided to throw her first photo show and then, after booking the venue, was like, “Oh, I guess I should actually take some photos for the show first, LOL.” So she decided to go to a donut shop and photograph old people because, why not, it’s art! Old people are scary and yucky and poor, so it immediately translates as deep or, in Angela-speak, “moroseness.” All of her friends came to her show and laughed politely into their glasses of warm white wine. An art critic came and described the show as being like, “If Nan Goldin lived in the South Coast Plaza” and then Angela cried into her dress, which was allegedly made out of the bones of missing children.
Kerri: I can’t.