Nothing Real About Real Housewives of New York City Except My Agony

Richard Lawson · 03/05/08 11:07AM

In last night's premiere episode of Bravo's Real Housewives of New York City no one bothered to stay in New York City very long. They all flounced off to their gaudy Hamptons manses or, in one ridiculous case, to the classy-talk speaking island of St. Barth's. Ramona, the most image conscious of the leathery ladies, flirted with her nincompoop tennis pro and got drunk poolside with her dopey friends, much to the chagrin of her stick-up-her-ass daughter. Betheny, some sort of aspiring Martha Stewart (and the youngest and only single member of the group) didn't do anything memorable. Jill, the one from the Long Island "Jewish ghetto" who does bulk resale, pranced around playing tennis and sending her perfectly healthy looking daughter off to some sort of weight loss detox program. LuAnn De Lesseps (the countess) barked at her maid and talked about money. And then there's Alex, the stern-jawed Brooklynite (she's the only one who doesn't live on the Upper East Side) who, with her fey Australian husband and forcibly French speaking children, trotted off to St. Barth's to avoid the crush of the Hamptons. There she and her husband wore hideously skimpy bathing costumes and bought tens of thousands of dollars worth of ugly dresses.