Reality Bites: Blood, Sweat & Heels
Sure, they're getting along *now*.
There are a million reality shows on the naked television. We're going to watch them all, one at a time.
When preparing (cough) for this piece every week, I try not to let myself procrastinate to the point where I'm scrambling on Tuesday night for something to watch. Better to find something on Saturday or Sunday, so I can absorb it and write at my leisure.That doesn't always work, of course, and if you're wondering why, you've obviously never had to force yourself to sit down and watch a show about eight-year olds giving each other concussions.
And so it was last night that I found myself with a blog to write and no show recorded. Luckily(?), Bravo On Demand was there for me. And with a show I'd never heard of to boot. What could possibly go wrong?
Blood, Sweat & Heels follows six black women as they attempt to further their careers (and, one assumes, their love lives) in New York City.
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Mica Hughes is a former model who owns her own agency and a chinchilla named Rocky (named after ... Barack Obama?), while Daisy Lewellyn is a style consultant who appears on shows like Good Morning America and Katie and is the author of a book called Never Pay Retail Again, which is probably important to women without access to Ross or Marshalls.
Demetria Lucas is another author on the show. She wrote a book about how to live single in New York, even though she's engaged. I can't decide if that's comforting or not. I giess romantic advice from a woman who's actually in a relationship is preferable to the alternative.
Demetria is concerned about friend Daisy's sex life ... or lack thereof. I admit it's puzzling why a woman like Daisy who wears hot pink lipstck and speaks at a volume level slightly below "Fran Drescher" might have trouble finding a mate.
Moving on. Melyssa Ford is a former music video vixen trying her hand at being a real estate broker. She's smart, though a bit rough, and her strategy for selling a penthouse (the view is a "panty dropper") causes hilarious consternation among her painfully white supervisors. More importantly, I now feel guilty for those ... infrequent times my gaze would linger over her King magazine photos.
I always respected you for your mind, Melyssa.
Geneva Thomas is a fashion and pop culture journalist. How embarrassing for her. Also, her mother is a sex therapist. Brie Bythewood is also apparently a real estate developer. Not that any of this (except the sex therapist part) is made apparent in the debut episode. I even had to look up their last names online.
The women get together for their "Brooklyn Brunch," and there was enough lack of drama at the outset that I found myself thinking, "What a welcome change: a reality show about professional women who aren't constantly at each other's throats." Well, minus the Manhattan dwellers (Mica, Melyssa) complaining about having to cross the East River. Such traffic!
The brunch gets sort of interesting when the six debate the question of whether women can run the world. Brie and Daisy assert women are "too emotional" (hey, they said it), with the latter going to far as to say men are "traditional leaders." This is true. They then discuss how all men are cheaters. This is also true. No, wait...
I hate to say it, but this conversation stuff is really boring. Mica dishes on her early issues with boyfriend Terry's infidelity (yawn). Demetria goes home and she and fiance Greg break down the brunch conversation *we just watched* (snore). I swear to god, I actually wanted to see some shoes getting thrown.
And that's when the shameful truth hit me: this is what Bravo and its cable cohorts hath wrought: after two and a half years (Jesus!) of doing this, I can no longer watch a TV show depicting adult human beings behaving in an adult manner and be remotely entertained. Even the nasty texts sparked when Demetria blogs about the brunch and slags Daisy's position on women in power don't help. I need torn clothes, bleeped f-bombs and flipped tables.
The rest of the season has potential, if you want to call it that. Mica's alcoholism seems to figure prominently, leading to possible dress-tearing fight action (please be Melyssa, please be Melyssa), but other than that, Blood Sweat & Heels is depressingly ... tame. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to get my fix with a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon.
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