‘The Real Housewives of NYC’ Restored My Faith In TV

Graphic by Austin Kim

There’s a lot of stupid television out there. I tried to stay in touch with the hysterics of “The Idol” this summer but stopped watching long before the Lily-Rose Depp song “World Class Sinner / I’m a Freak” appeared in the show. After the social media hubbub about “The Summer I Turned Pretty,” I attempted to catch up to season two but couldn’t get over the moms taking edibles and adolescents played by 20-somethings.

I settled for the classics: a rewatch of Lena Dunham’s “Girls,” which was the catalyst for an existential crisis on my 20th birthday, and “Sex and the City,” of course. The world after “Succession” and the now concluded five-month Hollywood writers' strike is one without good TV, apparently.

Last week, I stumbled upon the rebooted 14th season of “The Real Housewives of New York City” (abbreviated “RHONY” for those in the know). I had seen Instagram Reels of the wives but had never dived into the show. Now that I have, I confidently argue that “RHONY” is among the most subversive reality TV of recent years and an excellent example of how intentional diversification benefits storytelling.

Season 13 of “RHONY” ended in flames in late 2021, with Bravo booting the old cast of housewives after allegations of bigotry and racism. Seven new housewives were recruited with an emphasis on representation, resulting in a majority POC cast. Most important to me, Jenna Lyons was cast as the first openly gay New York housewife.

Lyons is the former president and executive creative director of J.Crew. She’s clearly the chicest on the show, with confidence in her lowkey style of denim and fine sweaters that starkly contrast the other wives’ ostentatious gowns and logo-mania-driven styles. The housewives often question Lyons’ regimented uniform, though it never seems to bother her.

Photo Courtesy of Vogue

Lyons is the epitome of the queer experience, something I never thought I would say about a “trashy” reality show, but it makes so much sense that the cinéma vérité style of reality TV would be the perfect format to tell LGBTQ+ stories.

In episode two, the cast takes a trip to the Hamptons, where they ask about Lyons’ romantic life at the dinner table. She opens up about her divorce from her ex-husband and when the New York Post outed her in her first gay relationship. When asked about her current relationship, she refuses to share more details.

This scene is particularly powerful to watch. Lyons completely ignores the conventions of reality TV, a medium that cashes in on vulnerability and brutal voyeurism. She simply refuses to say anything more about her personal life. It is an act of demanding privacy in the most public-facing arena. The other wives talk endlessly about their sex lives and issues with their husbands, as expected from the form. Lyons’ lack of vulnerability is out of place, yet vital to the compelling chemistry of season 14.

Partitioned identities often define LGBTQ+ people. There’s pre- and post-coming out. There’s a way queer people act when they’re around others with a shared identity versus how they act in hostile environments. It’s a life of code-switching, juggling private and public concepts of self.

The housewives often comment on Lyons’ purported shyness, sometimes taking personal offense that she won’t open up to them, but it’s not an issue of friendship and closeness. There’s a learned isolation in a lot of queer experiences. For most of my life, discussions about seemingly silly topics like crushes and relationship troubles weren’t something I felt comfortable sharing with even my closest friends. Like Lyons, I had kept things to myself for so long that it was hard to be vulnerable even in the most welcoming spaces. Yet, I’ve learned from her on “RHONY.” There’s extreme power in embracing my own need for privacy. There’s no self-blame for my discomfort in sharing parts of my story; I can keep things to myself and still have them be parts of my identity.

LGBTQ+ activism of the 21st century has centered on publicly and confidently showing up as queer. It promotes being proud of yourself and showing others they’re not alone. These campaigns have important goals to normalize the presence of queer people in all places, yet it has also felt isolating for those who aren’t ready or don’t feel the need to express themselves publicly. It has caused internal tension for me to want to showcase my pride while being extremely self-conscious of how those around me perceive me. As Lyons showcases in “RHONY,” not being public about your identity doesn’t mean you aren’t confident in yourself. She somehow represents many LGBTQ+ stories and how we all differ in levels of presentation and visibility.

Maybe I was wrong about the state of TV. The “Real Housewives of New York City” is truly some of the most powerful storytelling I’ve seen recently, and that’s not a hyperbole.

Sure, arguments about cheese boards and dinner reservations drive the plot, but past all the frivolity of the wealthy elite, there’s a formidable story about a gay woman who knows her worth in the world. She’s powerful, chic and incredibly private. That’s certainly not something to write off or take for granted.