Everyone’s favourite Netflix series is back (bitch). The incorrigible Selling Sunset has just returned for season 6 and I have things to say.
Four world-weary years in and the stars have become a parody of themselves. They are grotesque cartoon women in ruthless pursuit of our attention and, of course, the big property bucks (“I’m all about my money.”).
The glaring omission from this season is Christine Quinn. Quinn was the show’s original baddy, all peroxide blonde hair, skyscraper heels and acerbic one liners. I had the pleasure of interviewing her last year and when we spoke, she was charm personified - funny and absolutely in on the joke.
Quinn left at the end of series 5 having successfully torpedoed her relationships with every fellow cast member and leveraged a whole new career off the back of the show. All the usual stuff: beauty brand, book, fashion collections plus her own property company and something to do with crypto.
The queen of the zinger - “I just wanna say whatever the fuck I want and for no one to get offended. Is that so much to ask?” - Quinn’s departure has left a personality vacuum. We have the B cast, comprised of Chelsea, Bre and Nicole amongst others - lacklustre imitators to the throne. They’ve cottoned on to the fact that it’s fun to be the bitchy one but don’t have the personality or finesse to pull it off. They’re just mean and boring.
I know that Selling Sunset is scripted reality but the connection to any recognisable reality feels more tenuous than ever. Drama is fabricated from less than nothing to sustain the “plot.” The same minor incident (usually at a “broker’s open”) is discussed, rehashed and reviewed ad infinitum until you can’t remember how the hell it started or when you last felt the will to live. I like to call this the Selling Sunset Simulacra Effect. Every character and situation is a copy of a copy of a copy…..you get it.
All of this is obviously a preamble to me saying that I watched the first 5 episodes in one dirty, shameful gulp and I don’t plan to stop any time soon. Don’t look at me!
On the one hand, the show makes me despair about the state of modern femininity, society and the future of humanity. On the other hand, I’m tired and it’s funny. Also, the houses! Whether it’s $5 million or $500 million, every house LOOKS EXACTLY THE SAME. They are all white boxes with beige interiors, revolting, blingy chandeliers, “chefs kitchens” with “herb coolers” and those depressing, subterranean cinema rooms. One has a “real English pub” (that is exactly nothing like an English pub) in the basement. Also, why does every house has 10 more bathrooms than it has bedrooms?
Are you watching? Make me feel better about myself and share your disdain/love in the comments.
See you next time!
Hannah
Solidarity with you on the hate-watching. And what's with the bathroom/bedroom split?! Baffling.
A little known fact that makes me inexplicably happy (and less guilty?) is Hilary Mantel admitting to being a fellow SS binger in a 2020 Guardian interview: “At the moment I am not above enjoying Selling Sunset on Netflix. Chrishell, c’est moi.”