There are a million reality shows on the naked television. We’re going to watch them all, one at a time.
TV has always held the power to inform as well as entertain. At its best, the boob tube provides us with a means to further our education and helps give us a wider perspective of the world around us. Amidst all the crime procedurals and shows about Hollywood washouts attempting to dance, television occasionally imparts a valuable lesson about who we are.
And the lesson of Shahs of Sunset, it would seem, is that the repulsiveness of rich people knows no ethnic or cultural boundaries.
A couple of the players mostly go by abbreviations, possibly because the suits at Bravo think their audience would be unable to bridge their cognitive disconnect of an attractive woman with the name “Golnesa Gharachedaghi.” And they’re probably right, hence, “GG.”
GG gets together with friends “MJ” and Reza for a debriefing about some pool party thrown by their friend Mike (his girlfriend is *totally* skanky). This is also where we hear about Asa, another of the cast, who is lambasted for favoring “ghetto” styles (“ghetto” in this case meaning clothes that are too small, I guess). And to be fair, Asa is a bigger girl than GG or MJ (though not by much).
In the interest of full disclosure, I had a huge crush on a Persian girl of similar build in college. I only wish she’d dressed more like Asa and not, you know, like a person with self-respect. But anyway.
It’s Reza’s birthday. After an awkward phone call with his dad (who it appears finally loves his not dead gay son), he and the others pack for Vegas. Reza’s preparation involves Rolexes, designer togs, and lots and lots of gold (MJ — I think — addresses the truth behind the “Persians love gold” stereotype). Meanwhile, MJ and GG recruit friends to help coordinate their outfits, because when you’re about to get Boris Yeltsin drunk in a bunch of barely lit nightclubs, matching top and shoes are crucial. Asa, on the other hand, just grabs whatever oddments of underwear are lying around, mocking the idea of wardrobe planning. I’m liking her more and more.
Reza hires a party limo for the trip to the airport. GG and Asa are the first in, and tensions are apparent. Mike is along, too. Mike apparently lost his ass in the real estate crash back in Nevada (Asa is the only one on the show aside from the unemployed GG who isn’t in the real estate game, another point in her favor) and is rebuilding in L.A., but hopes none of his Los Angeles friends embarrass him. Because, you know, He’s Mr. Vegas.
Sammy informs us at one point this weekend will be all about “heyvoon bazi” (which means “animal style”). I predict this will be the next beloved American catchphrase, replacing “Winning!” and “Bros before hos” in our nation’s rich cultural lexicon.
MJ “feels sorry” for anyone who can’t fly in a Learjet when the need arises. This, plus the unfortunate decision to refer to these people as “shahs,” pretty much validates everything the revolutionaries who forced their families to flee Iran said about them. But don’t take my word for it, let’s listen to Reza:
“Persians love Las Vegas because it’s all about glitz and glam and cash.”
or
“I cannot tell the difference between Dom and Cristal.”
Reza is also quick to say, “Hello, I’m Persian!” whenever he needs to explain why he rented a limo with a stripper pole or any of his other obnoxiously materialistic actions. Comments like these have drawn predictably negative reactions. Hey, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.
Back in Vegas, we spend five minutes watching everyone get dressed to go to dinner. It’s funny because Mike looks he’s wearing a long underwear shirt. But what do I know of fashion?
MJ continues to be slightly more annoying than GG, and pisses Reza off by dissing his friend Anita’s outfit. For her next trick, she gets puke sick at the club before Asa takes her back to the suite, where she commits the classic drama queen move of getting Reza to leave his own party to help take care of her. MJ is the Southwest Asian Snooki, only without the latter’s dignity and sense of refinement.
The rest, of course, get ushered into some exclusive club. We know it’s exclusive because people wait in line for three hours to pay $20 for a cosmopolitan and scream to be heard over shitty house music. GG comes back with some meatbag named Chris genetically engineered to piss off Mike, with whom there are apparently some unexplored feelings. Unfortunately, Mr. Vegas knows Chris from the old days. This irks Her TrustFundness. GG is That Person on the Vegas trip who *doesn’t* want to get all fucked up and naked.
Of course, then she acts like a total asshole at Liquid, a poolside version of Prospero’s castle from The Masque of the Red Death, mocking Anita’s swimsuit and “bony ass.” I especially liked her bragging how she spends “thousands of [Daddy’s] dollars shopping every day” while oblivious to the idiocy of this statement.
Ultimately, there’s little to say about Shahs of Sunset. Their background as the offspring of those driven from Iran by the Islamic Revolution is probably quite interesting in its own right, but is unimportant to any of them but Asa, who only brings it up obliquely. Aside from embodying the clichés of the vulgar and grasping Persian-American, most of these people are interchangeable with any of the other wealthy creeps. Hell, Bravo should just create a new series each year featuring the sleazy rich descendants of a variety of immigrant cultures. Do the Irish (Micks of Manhattan) and Vietnamese (VC of the OC) next.
