The first time we see Anna Shay on Netflix’s “Bling Empire,” she’s in a red ball gown with a blindingly sparkly diamond necklace draping down her décolletage — and she’s taking a sledgehammer to the beams in her walk-in closet. She’s decided it needs to be fixed, and she won’t let the fact that she’s about to go to an exclusive Chinese New Year party on Rodeo Drive stop her from getting at it.
“I think it’s very important to have fun,” the 60-year-old heiress says to the camera in a subsequent interview, her semi-monotone, soothing voice oozing through the screen. “You have to live for you.”
I was immediately obsessed with her.
In some ways Shay is exactly the type of person you’d expect to see on reality TV, and in some ways she isn’t at all. Her life is textbook American aspirational — she owns a giant Beverly Hills mansion and flies to Paris on a whim and Dior comes to her when she wants to shop. But she’s also the kind of rich (billionaire rich) that often shies away from such lowbrow publicity as reality TV. (Her father is the late industrialist Edward Shay, who, as one cast member says, made his money in “weapons.”) And at 60, with four marriages and divorces under her belt, you might expect to find her more at home within the Real Housewives franchise than on a show primarily focused on 30-something Los Angeles socialites. Except that Anna is friends with those 30-somethings, and isn’t prone to table-flipping theatrics, drunken stripping or screaming matches that are essentially required to be a successful Bravo-lebrity.
Anna is also exactly the type of person I wish I was, but never will be. (And I don’t just mean because of her vast generational wealth; the anti-capitalist in me will leave that one for another day.) She projects an enviably cool confidence that feels both earned and low-key. She’s excessive sometimes, but never overly showy, wielding her fancy clothing and jewelry not as weapons of superiority, but as fairy dust to be sprinkled on her less wealthy friends. (On “Bling Empire,” she gifts one friend an $1100 pair of sneakers, and flies another to Paris for a birthday dinner.) Her energy is giddy, whether she’s segway-ing around Los Angeles or jumping into a ball pit at an extravagant childs’ birthday. She doesn’t mince words. (“There ain’t no dick that good,” she says wryly after watching cast mate Kelly go back to her shitty boyfriend.)
Anna also has an admirably zen approach to romantic relationships, a stark contrast to my own incessant, intrusive neuroses. She refers to her divorces fondly, and views romantic partners as people who might come in and out of your life and then help you “move on to the next chapter.”
And when confronted with derision from other people in her orbit, Anna isn’t ruffled. She reacts calmly and draws clear boundaries. “I don’t feel this need to compete,” she says after fellow cast member Christine shows up to Anna’s dinner party wearing an ornate diamond necklace that Anna also owns, an intentional power play. “I find it fiercely annoying.” She ends up answering Christine’s sparkly slight with a power play of her own — moving Christine and her husband to the far end of a dinner party table.
She is, as the kids say, #goals.
Since the 2016 presidential election, my reality television intake — which used to exclusively involve the “Bachelor” franchise — has rapidly expanded. I’m now fully ensconced in Bravo world, have dabbled in a fair share of HGTV, and dove headfirst as Netflix began to more rapidly roll out their own non-competition-based reality content over the last two years. I even dipped my toes into the “90-Day Fiance” mega-verse when the pandemic began. However, I remain “meh” about cooking shows and “Survivor.” In the words of one of Carrie Bradshaw’s shitty ex boyfriends: I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t hate me.
As my anxiety about the state of the world increases, so too does my craving for watching other people’s real — albeit produced — interpersonal conflicts and triumphs. Reality TV worlds tend to be contained. The conflict occurs within a set of steady parameters and the stakes are refreshingly low. (The most recent season of “Southern Charm” is a notable exception.)
Anna Shay is an incredible avatar for navigating that low-stakes drama; a form of personal wish fulfillment for viewers like me. Imagine being that woman — so assured, so full of joy, so full of excellent shade. A woman who commands the room without sucking all of the air out of it.
All hail.
I’ve been listening to…
“Even The Rich” podcast’s 4-part Paris Hilton series. I am a fan of anything that looks back at maligned women of the ‘90s and ‘00s, and Paris Hilton is one of those cultural figures who I fancied myself as the opposite of as a teenager. I’m glad to see her constructed media image revisited.
I’ve been reading…
I got a galley (an early reader copy) of “The Other Black Girl,” Zakiya Dalila Harris’ upcoming novel. It’s a brilliant, gripping look at the ways that casual racism permeates the workplace and drains the mental and emotional resources of the people who are on the receiving end of constant microaggressions. It’s being billed as “The Devil Wears Prada” meets “Get Out.” Pre-order it now.
I’ve been buying…
Caved and got Bon Appetit personality Claire Saffitz’s cookbook, “Dessert Person” after being casually influenced by my friend Jess Kane, who has been reviewing recipes on her Insta. I’m ready to bake my way through winter. (Do I need a beautiful stand mixer now?!)
These adorable coiled storage baskets from Studio McGee’s Target line, Threshold.
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