The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills

My take on the RHOBH…

I had never watched any of the Housewives until after my heart surgery—and well after the delirium-fuck part of it. I couldn’t follow a single one. To me it was just squabbling and arguing—noise—everyone yelling over each other. I couldn’t deal.

And it was just like that with my friends, they would talk—depending on what they were saying—it either shot through me, missed me altogether, or I resonated and was able to listen, and that’s because of the mode I lived in my entire life. As the layers piled on, the more deaf I became to normal conversation.

So I popped on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills one day from the beginning. It’s California—palm trees all day long—leggo. Immediately I recognized Kim Richards from Escape to Witch Mountain. When I was a kid I was fascinated by it, by her—Tia. I hopped on Google, started checking out who the fuck was in this show.

Truth be told, I didn’t know a fucking thing about it or the characters that appeared along the way—well, most of them.

I never knew that Kyle was the little girl on Little House on the Prairie—had no idea who she was. Or that Kim Richards was her sister. Or that Kathy Hilton, this big mogul, was also their sister and the mother of Paris Hilton—The Grande Dame of Hollywood. Hahaha.

I never paid attention to shit like that. I was never into celebrity gossip, let alone following along. I figured because I wasn’t Hollywood—I couldn’t relate and never really understood its popularity.

But as I started watching with consciousness, I got into it—I got into these women. When some of them felt, I felt—in 3D.

I have very different views on the women who stood out to me, watching with different eyes, because I see good after all the shit I’ve been through. It’s like I’ve got X-ray vision.

Lisa Rinna, who I wasn’t sure about when she came bouncing on, became my favourite—always happy, always real, always grounded, just living her life, working, being a good wife, being a good mother, a good daughter, doing her thing. She was an anchor for me on the show for the longest time.

Kyle—for me she was just there. I knew she was the head honcho of the show. She was middle ground for everyone throughout the whole show. For me—she was just there, neutral.

I saw a shift in her when LVP left. Kyle once had mad respect for her, but LVP was playing her like the puppet master she is, and once those strings loosened and were no longer being pulled, Kyle’s true self showed up—uninhibited, happy, carefree, saying what she wanted without holding back. Finally, without judgment. A new Kyle emerged.

I felt happy and relieved for her, as I’m sure she was, after grieving LVP exiting her life. After grief comes relief.

Listen, I’ve got zero hate for LVP. That giant tiny pretty lady is a show all in itself—and, well, it is, isn’t it? Hahaha. I just haven’t gotten around to that yet.

I watched fifteen seasons in a year while healing physically, emotionally, and psychologically. Kyle, Erika, and Rachel—they’re my age. So everything I’ve just been through these past three years of my life, how fucked up it was for me—watching fifteen years of Kyle and Erika’s lives—seeing them change, watching them grow, reflecting on my own growth—it was very tranquil for me. Nothing at all like when I first put it on, whenever that was, when all I could hear was noise.

I saw things in these women they probably can’t even see in themselves—or that the people around them every season don’t see. Of course I do. It's outside perspective.

Because of the life experiences I’ve had, even though these bitches have millions and I don’t—I realized I don’t need millions to resonate with what some of them are going through.

When Lisa’s mother died, I watched her go to these different events, putting on a smile, saying—“I’m here because Lois would want me to be here.” I could feel her burying the grief—I could see when she was yelling at Sutton—that was grief coming out as anger, and I was surprised as fuck she held it together as long as she did. 

I felt release when she finally belted out that cry. I felt relief because I knew it was coming. I was watching her like a time bomb, waiting for it to go off, and I didn’t care what event it happened at—it needed to come. I was so proud and happy for her when she finally got it out.

She’s an All-Star in my books. I feel like the show was lucky to have her for as long as they did. Her time there was very respectable—she brought much to the table.

Then along came Garcelle. Let me tell you something—in the ’90s when she was on the show with Jamie Foxx, I was young. So was she—I thought she was the most beautiful Black woman I had ever laid eyes on. Yes, Garcelle—I see colour. I saw her as grace, as elegance. I was smitten by her.

Then I saw her come on the show. I don’t see with the same eyes I had in the ’90s. My eyes have been blurred since the ’80s, quite possibly the ’70s, but I saw her—and she wasn’t beautiful to me anymore. I didn’t see the grace and I didn’t see the elegance I once thought she was all about, and when I say she wasn’t beautiful, I’m talking about her inner self.

I saw in her a very jealous, sad, and angry woman right away, a woman who needs the room. She needed more attention than she ever got on the show, and it felt like she spoke on it right from the beginning, using colour as a poker chip—and that’s why—well, one of the reasons why she left, I’m sure. I’m not a judge, only a witness.

She immediately started picking on Lisa. This is where I started looking at the show a bit differently, thinking up until Garcelle’s introduction I didn’t feel like any of it was scripted, and then when she came on I felt like she was planted, just like Brandi, to stir up some shit, because that’s all I ever saw her bring to the show.

After a few episodes, I had to fucking Google it and see when this bitch was leaving, because I couldn’t wait for her to go. I didn’t like her picking on Rinna, at all. Her friend for years, or the fact that she immediately jumped on the Sutton train and pretended to be her friend.

Who does that? Ain’t nobody trying to be Sutton’s only friend—I don’t know how Tilly fucks with her on the regular. She’s got a high tolerance, I’ll tell you that.

Garcelle knew how quirky and how much of an oddball Sutton was, how everyone was gonna have or already had beef with her so she chose Sutton as an ally or shit—maybe that shit was scripted.

Because we know it was not authentic, authentic friendships don’t leave you hanging in the wind—ghosted.

I didn’t enjoy her cheesy style, and I never understood the hair. Come on now—Real Housewives of Potomac, Gizelle—bad-ass bitch, gorgeous. She had some fucked-up hair going on in the first season, but after season 1, after she saw that shit, that bitch’s hair was laid like the million babe she is. Why didn’t Garcelle’s hair ever get fucking properly done? What the fuck was that about? I kept looking at that wig, saying, holy fuck, man, that wig again?

It made her look cheap. So did some of her gaudy outfits, including the coat she was wearing on a trip—I believe they were in France. The left side blew open and back and the fucking tags were still attached—blowing in the wind. What the fuck was that about? I’m a Virgo—I don’t miss much.

Her little subtle comments, pretty much beggin’ a Birkin. Yuck. She was jealous of Erika immediately and kept her distance because she knew better, and I’m sure that last reunion, Erika saying she doesn’t find her interesting and speaking on how her son made himself present on the show on his own accord, in his own time, because after two seasons of her being on the show one of her sons already told her the kind of mother she’s trying to be now—he needed two years ago, and she just ignored that shit and carried on with the show with him in it, until he finally said no thanks—and didn’t want to be on the show anymore because—did he even have a choice in the beginning? Probably not, so when Erika spoke about her son—Garcelle felt all that shit. I felt it. I especially think the “she peaked” comment hit her sideways too. A woman I adored, put on a pedestal for thirty years. Poof—gone.

Kim Richards—when I first saw her, man, I could see and read the pain all over her like it was my own. I remember asking a friend one time what the fuck was up with her, and she rolled her eyes and was like, “Oh she’s all messed up on drugs and whatever.”

That wasn’t what I saw. I saw a childhood star who was carrying way far more weight than she ever should’ve had to carry—a weight Kyle knows nothing about.

Something happened with Kim that didn’t happen to Kyle, and it doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to see that. I think she deserved a lot more grace than she was given.

Dorit—holy fuck—I couldn’t fucking stand her in the beginning, still struggling since I’m being honest—the fake accent, the funky hairstyles that only she seemed to think were all that. 

She thinks she’s a fashionista with labels and logos coming out of her ears, but not once do you ever hear any of the other girls call her that—except for Boz, which I found weird. The rest of the cast and I don’t think anybody else sees Dorit the way she sees herself.

She was also somebody I had to Google and be like holy fuck, how many more seasons of this bitch? I messaged somebody who was also watching the show and I commented on her. My friend told me—“Oh don’t worry, she calms down,” and she did, right after LVP put her in her fucking place. Hahaha. She was quiet as kept there for a while—maybe being more of herself and less of an actress.

But the actress came back out in season fourteen, didn’t it? There was a part at the reunion—it was unspoken, but it was there—when Kyle alluded to the fact that she was behaving that way—feisty and in your face with her was because she wanted to stay on the show and might not have been invited back. Immediately Dorit shot back, saying, “You know, you’re a part of the production—you knew I was coming back.”

The look on Kyle’s face was as if to say—“It was a close call, bitch.” Hahaha. I’m sure I’m not the only one who caught that.

I never looked at Dorit and saw a supermodel, an icon, or even a fashionista. All I ever saw was this desperate little girl starving for attention. Strong, mighty, and determined—yes. But also kind of empty inside. Until PK fucked her over, all I can see now in her is rage, and I think it’s amplified by her desire to remain on the show. Out of focus.

Little does Dorit know she is embarking on a healing journey herself if she allows herself—leans in. Right now all she is, is angry. When she’s able to get past anger, to finally grieve her marriage and allow that to move through her, I think a more pleasant, caring Dorit will emerge. Well, I would like to see that for her anyway.

I grew up seeing Jennifer Tilly here and there over the years. I thoroughly enjoy her candor on the show. She is real. She is sweet. She is quirky. She is funny. When she said to that young new girl, “1985—I was doing this and that, struggling. You were struggling to get out of the womb,” I laughed my face off, literally, because it was exactly something I would say. She is a great addition to the show, and I hope she stays.

Only fair I get to Sutton. This quirky, miserable woman needs to find a healing journey too, and I think she’s finally seeing that herself. I don’t know what it is—mommy issues, daddy issues, or both—but there’s definitely something off, and everyone, including me, can see it in those eyes—when they do their thing—it ain’t cute.

Then we have Erika Jayne—of course, when I first saw her, I thought she was stunning, beautiful, her outfits, the platinum hair—not fucking once did I see a flaw in that head, and I know hair and extensions—I’m always looking.

The fact that she was a waitress and married to dude twenty years older, who gives a fuck about that part—she was on stage having fun, doing her thing had her cute little gay boyfriends. I wouldn’t even say I liked her, I would say I was observing. Checking her out from the second she appeared on the show— she was cold as ice. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

When I watch this show, I won’t lie—I try to see my friends and who would identify with which characters, and the only one that I saw myself as, which I struggled with by the way—because it was cold as ice—was Erika. Not the money, not the marriage, not the fame or her looks—her demeanor. The way she entered a room. The way everybody immediately was intimidated by her.

As time went on with her and I saw her lose her shit a time or two, I watched closely because I could see something was broken. It made me sad. Then she saw it when the show aired and she dialed it back and she was strong again. Fierce. What do they call her? The Ice Queen? I know a little something about Ice Queen—I once was one.

Erika was always holding it down, straight up. She’d tell you flat out, but she was reserved. Then Covid happened and, like most of us, she became unhinged. Who knows what the fuck happened behind closed doors with them two—I can only imagine after being with somebody like Tom for twenty years and then being sequestered with him for fucking years during a pandemic, how all that shit went down. I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.

When she filed for divorce and, shortly after, the scandal came out, all her friends did—especially fucking Sutton—was doubt her. Hounding her, asking her questions, and blaming her for not having empathy, for fuck’s sake—for not answering to their liking or not answering at all, because holy fuck she lived with a fucking monster of a lawyer for twenty fucking years.

Of course she’s not speaking about it. She’s not fucking stupid and has probably been told to shut up those entire twenty fucking years—for legal reasons at the very least.

But her friends—her so-called friends—beat her up regularly—well, they tried. They watched her move out, downsize into a rental. She sold her clothes—I know because in one of the earlier seasons she had a little get-together in her huge yard with the pool and I saw her in the Cavalli dress and I almost fucking died, because I’ve had that Cavalli dress on my phone since it hit the runway—a flowy, monarch-butterfly-ish kaftan—and it was only then when I searched it—I Googled “the Cavalli dress Erika Jayne owns”—up popped: “She probably sold it like most of her other clothes.”

So here’s what—the rest of the house bitches are buying $13K–$30K Birkin bags while watching Erika, their friend, downsize everything, especially her closet, probably hundreds of Chanel, Dior, and God knows whatever items, and they just fucking let it happen.

Yo, if that was my friend and I had millions, I would’ve at least told my friend to pick out her top ten dresses and I would’ve fucking bought them and gave them right back to her. It made me fucking sick to think she might’ve had to give up that Cavalli dress.

You know them dresses were anywhere from fucking $2K to probably, who knows, $50K, $75K, maybe more. I have no fucking clue, just guessing here, and I’m sure she got a pretty penny for them, but her friends stood by and watched that happen.

Nobody but quirky weirdo fucking Sutton gave her a little divorce party bag. If she was a solid ass friend, first of all, she wouldn’t have been pounding her for fucking information constantly and saying she didn’t want to be affiliated with her in whatever personality she was in at that time.

With all the money Sutton has or claims to have— how rich she is why didn’t she pay 6 months fucking rent for Erika? Give her friend six months to allow her central nervous system to calm the fuck down.

Then you watch Kyle and Mauricio get divorced, and I won’t lie, that shit was devastating because they were once, obviously, so in love—I do see Kyle as a total sweetheart—but watching everybody cater to her—pizza party this and that—and then Dorit and PK separate and everybody caters to her as she’s crying and screaming about it every fucking day this whole fucking season fifteen.

Holy fuck—I love the ten second fast forward button. Hahaha.

And there’s Erika watching it all, recognizing it, and she spoke on it a couple times, as she should—she has every right to—but she does it with such fucking composure and restraint while everyone tries to subtly ignore her. I have watched that woman go from an icy brick house to a meltdown, having her brick house demolished while still maintaining her composure.

Oh, I’m sure she had dark days where she cried herself to sleep many times. But for the most part, she held it together after losing fucking everything. Her friends just stood by watching it, losing nothing more than a man, and now beg her to have compassion for them—their divorce. Cha.

They’re lucky she didn’t tell them to go fuck themselves—I would have. All she got was Chuck E. Cheese—was that a joke? An attempt from the cast or production to humiliate her? Because she didn’t deserve that—at all. She deserved to be blindfolded, whisked away on a jet, and taken to Venice.

That’s the me, me, me shit about the show I don’t like. That’s how jealousy seeps out in people who want to compete but can’t. It’s like Erika knew it was jealousy the whole time—cause she knows its face and allowed that shit to bounce right off her—but did she? I’m sure she felt that shit. How do you not? Once the layers peel off, nothing ricochets anymore.

Erika knew from the jump that Garcelle was either planted—picking on her or was just straight-up fucking jealous—she tried. Erika clocked Garcelle’s vibe out the gate. She didn’t come for Garcelle fucking half as hard as she could’ve. As a matter of fact, she didn’t come for her at all. What she did do for Garcelle was hold up the mirror for her.

While watching season thirteen, the reunion, and moving onto season fourteen something in me changed for Erika. I finished season thirteen, which ended off with her getting a residency in Vegas. I started Googling about her and how a residency works, how much they get paid—and I was like damn, this bitch is on the rise. She fucking did it.

I think it was that season, which I don’t usually watch the intros, but her intro was—“You know what the best part about losing everything is? Getting it all back.” Whattt! I fucking lost everything multiple times, but this last time, with the heart surgeries, being in limbo for two years—where I’m at right now, knowing I’m on the rise—when I heard that intro one day after never listening to them—it hit me like my own story talking back to me.

I just went through three years of a bestowed-upon-me healing journey, a rebirth—as she was. Three years it took for me to crash, burn, heal and arrive. No, they’re not the same, but in many ways I’m sure we felt the same. The stripping of identity—because she was—and she made it back to Erika Jayne because Erika Jayne was always there. There was just some interference—and that was unbecoming Mrs. Erika Girardi.

When I watched that two-part docuseries and saw her sitting there on the floor second-guessing herself, wondering if she could do it, it was like I was able to see exactly what she was feeling. How much of an effect that controlling prick had on her, the grip he had—you know he had her. He had her on a fucking leash and she had gotten used to the leash like it was a part of her, so when the leash broke—it took her a minute to find herself—prescriptions, drinking on prescriptions. Fuck, yeah, I saw it. I felt it. I lived it.

And let me tell you when I watched that two part series I felt all the feels and when she fucking killed it in the end, I swear to God, I turned into Erika Jayne’s biggest fucking fan. Hahaha!

She’s inspiring, to say the least, and it wasn’t until the end of my own excavation that I realized why I was so engaged in the show with these women…

These women are fucking real—their lives are unfolding on the show. I could feel Garcelle’s darkness, especially when she tried to make Erika’s brief—and it was fucking brief—but messy state on the boat, and with “Merc is in the purse.” Hahaha, a big deal—she was fucking going through it! 

Erika hit it on the fucking head—she was right, like she is about most things—Garcelle had already peaked.

You know what I saw—I saw her all fucked up on the boat and nobody taking care of Erika but Erika. She passed out, legs wide open, and her friends just left her there—not hey hun get up, eat something, drink some water. No, instead they all walked away.

Erika was on a healing journey and never do you hear the words healing or journey, like Whitney in every fucking episode of Salt Lake City bitches. It is only in season fifteen that you hear the word survivor come out her mouth—when she says—“Survival isn’t my story. It’s my superpower.” Oof! Holy fuck—yeah, it is girl. It’s mine too. Hahaha!

I turned into Erika’s biggest fan and I’m not a fan person—at all. The only people I was ever a fan of were Prince, Michael Jackson, Madonna, maybe a few others, and well, yeah, I once was a fan of Garcelle. Never a fucking groupie.

So when I see Erika walking into a room and she’s now floating—no longer stomping, I smile, I resonate. I thoroughly enjoy watching her as she really did transform during the same time I was and it took three fucking years to complete.

The transformation isn’t on the outside, even though that has also improved. But still she looks the same—even better than when she first came on the show actually—and she still looks the same as she did when she was a teenager. She’s like the only woman on these shows that still looks the same and that good after having a little poke here and there. At fifty-four she’s fly as fuck. Fucking preserved.

After watching her all of those years, not sure what I really thought of her, I turned into her biggest fan. Ha! Respectfully.

When I finished my book and put on another episode and saw her fully in her new skin, I said to myself now Erika needs to write a book. This is the book—the healing journey, the excavation of Erika, the rebuilding—that’s the book I wanna read and I’m sure everybody else does too.

Yes, I finished the book. The book is ready—I am not. When the time is right—it’ll be launched. It won’t be long now.

It was funny to me when Boz came on the show that she took to Dorit. Oh, I could see why Dorit took to Boz—but couldn’t understand it the other way around. However, Boz came with a very calm, feminine boss vibe. Not uppity, bitchy boss—down-to-earth boss—I liked her right away. She came in fresh with love and rebirth right from the get-go. I can’t wait to see where this all goes with her.

There is another addition in season fifteen—I can’t even remember her name actually. She wrote some book—Rich As Fuck—and in confessional, Boz called her out: “What kind of fru fru is this?” Hahaha! She spoke exactly what I was thinking. I laughed so hard.

She made millions off of manifestation, life coaching, online seminars—offering healing for a price—the very thing I called out. When Rachel or Boz speak on her fru fru shit—I won’t lie—I love that shit. I feel like I’m sitting right there at the table.

Season fifteen comes with Rachel Zoe. Never heard of her before, caught a glimpse of her, saw her intro, looked at her style, her face, and her hair—immediately I Google her—nosey me. I wanted to know her age—she’s exactly my age—born nineteen days before me, Virgo child. That helped because sometimes I don’t really take to new introductions easily, but I was like she looks good, well put together, and she’s a Virgo like me—let’s see what’s good.

I think we’re almost all the way through season fifteen I’m digging her. She says all the right things, she’s got good vibes. She wears lux gear head to toe without feeling like she has to flip tags so everyone can see who she’s wearing—that alone speaks volumes. And she’s going through a fucking divorce after being with a dude forever. I feel for her and I don’t even know her, but I know what’s coming.

I’m gonna keep it real the shit that I have been through—I used to think—not knowing what it felt like mind you or what it was like at all that divorce was a walk in the fucking park compared to all my shit.

But after watching this show—watching Maurice and Kyle go through it their way, trying to be amicable all the way, watching PK and Dorit go through it the nasty, angry way, and then watching Erika, having gone through it, getting stripped down and having to rebuild herself, for herself, by her fucking self after all the fucking scrutiny and scandal she was under. Waking up every day to a new fucked-up article about her, her marriage, her integrity, and surviving all of that—well, all I can say is it sure as fuck gave me a different perspective on divorce.

It’s life-changing. After being one way for so many years—decades—and then separated, the ties cut. It’s a rebirth, learning to walk on your own, on your name. 

I know firsthand that shit ain’t no walk in the park, and I’m not talking about divorce. I’m talking about finding yourself.

Some people would call this gossip—and that’s because that’s all they see in these shows—this ain’t gossip—I’m not recapping episodes and I’m not dragging women for fun. I’m clocking behaviour, loyalty, grace, abandonment and composure under collapse—through everything I’ve lived.

I watch who gets held when they’re bleeding and who gets iced out when the power shifts. I watch who can sit in their shit and who needs the room to keep from folding.

Everything I see comes back to me—what I survived, who I was, the Ice Queen, the layers, the bounce-back, the ricochet that stops once you’ve done the excavation.

This show is just the screen—the gist here is how I see, how I move, and the code I live by when it comes to loyalty and friendship. My recognition of wounds and armour—the breakdowns and triumphs.

I’m just sharing—thought I’d share my perspective on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills—as I said, I was never interested in or even able to watch a show like this before.

—Jaye