The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City has broken through

A guest essay by writer and critic Joshua Harris, commissioned by tvscholar.

The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City (Bravo, S4)

RECEIPTS. PROOF. TIMELINE. SCREENSHOTS.

Heather Gay’s words echoed around the internet and my head for months. After five seasons, it feels like The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City has transcended the Bravoverse and pierced through spheres of pop culture in ways I did not expect. It has become an unstoppable phenomenon, a show I hear about at every turn.

When friend of tvscholar Joshua Harris told me he had binged all five seasons as someone who typically watches more “prestigious” television, I wondered about his experience. Is it possible for a show positioned as “low culture” to excel in its form to the point that it somehow elevates itself into “high culture”? Or am I just absolutely desperate for an escape, neglecting to problematize a show in favour of the pacifying catharsis of constant argumentative confrontation?

I’m thrilled to have Joshua contribute to the tv scholar newsletter in what will hopefully be the first of many occasional guest essays by writers I trust to tease out what we’re all thinking. His thoughts, with a shiny tvscholar stamp of approval, below the fold.

Joshua Harris (he/him) is a freelance writer, lover of television, and proud dog parent based in Virginia, USA. He is a member of the African-American Film Critics Association (AAFCA) & The Society of LGBTQ Entertainment Critics (GALECA). His work can be found in Paste Magazine, Mediaversity Reviews, and more.

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At the beginning of 2025, I was in the midst of a personal slump—feeling overwhelmed by the state of the world and grieving the loss of a beloved canine companion. In that fog of emotion, I turned to my old reliable: television. But nothing felt right. I wanted something that would grab me, something that would feel exciting enough for me to look forward to each evening. I hoped The Penguin might do the trick, but it instead left me uncomfortable and unsatisfied. Shrinking had moments of charm (Jessica Williams), but its tonal shifts didn't resonate with me. As I bounced from one show to the next, I wondered: was I simply jaded? Had I fallen out of love with TV altogether? Was there any such thing as captivating TV anymore, or was "prestige" TV a thing of the past?

Just as I was beginning to wonder if the TV world had lost its charm, a conversation with Michel changed everything. In one brief exchange, the ever-reliable TV Scholar dropped a recommendation: The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City. I had always been skeptical of Bravo shows, assuming they were full of manipulative drama and manufactured spectacle. But due to Michel's glowing review, I pushed aside my doubts and opened up Peacock, unknowingly embarking on a 95-episode journey that would completely change my perspective on television.

The snow-dusted backdrop of Salt Lake City perfectly set the stage for a world brimming with wealth, drama, and privilege. From the moment I started the first episode, I was captivated. Mary Cosby's razor-sharp one-liners had me laughing so hard I cried, and Meredith's ever-shifting accents kept me endlessly amused. But what surprised me were the intense stakes beneath the surface, especially as Jen Shah's business ventures unraveled. What I had expected to be mindless entertainment quickly evolved into a gripping exploration of identity, religion, shame, and privilege—far richer than I ever imagined, and I couldn't get enough.

RHOSLC instantly felt incredibly versatile. The show, often seemingly impossible to pin down, shifted from slapstick comedy to crime thriller to theatrical tragedy in the blink of an eye. It was an emotional rollercoaster from which I couldn't get off. One minute, I'd be doubled over laughing at Lisa Barlow's genuinely impressive rendition of "Away in a Manger," and the next, I'd be on the edge of my seat, holding my breath as a simmering gossip-fueled confrontation finally erupted. It's as though the show knew exactly how to keep me on my toes, never allowing me to settle into one type of viewing experience. And somehow, through all these transitions, I was deeply invested, captivated by how unpredictable and complex the drama truly was.

As I devoured episode after episode of RHOSLC, I couldn't help but compare my viewing experience to my feeling of watching Succession for the first time—though I know it seems like a wild comparison. Both shows sucked me in with shifting power dynamics, distinct personalities, and the unraveling of seemingly perfect worlds. The sharp editing (and snap zoom cinematography), the cutting snark, and the dramatic confrontations gave me the same rush I felt watching the Roy siblings tear each other apart on a yacht in the Mediterranean. Moments like Lisa's hot mic rant or the explosive Vail trip mirrored that same operatic energy, proving to me that RHOSLC was running on the same narrative level as its scripted counterparts, just in a much more chaotic, raw setting.

Succession (HBO, S4)

As I watched the women's journeys unfold, I was fascinated by how their religious and cultural backgrounds—particularly their complex relationship with Mormonism—shaped every interaction and argument. Some still connected with their religious upbringing while others rejected it. Still, they all struggled with the contradictions between their public personas and their private beliefs. (For Heather Gay, in particular, it was clear that her religious trauma shaped how she viewed herself and how others saw her.) I was surprised by how emotional and raw these dynamics were, making every fight or betrayal feel personal. It was a stark reminder that beneath the drama, real pain and conflict make each moment feel more charged between the cast.

My series MVP, however, is Monica Garcia, an instant game-changer introduced in Season 4. A single mother who often felt out of place in the Housewives world, she never shied away from candidly sharing her financial struggles or the details of her complex family dynamics. Watching Monica interact with the other women exposed just how out of touch they were with the realities of working-class life. Monica's no-nonsense approach to calling out the hypocrisy of the other women was refreshing. Her presence forced the audience to confront the contradictions at play, giving voice to my growing discomfort surrounding the cast's privilege and entitlement.

When the other women eventually ostracized Monica in a dramatic confrontation, I couldn't shake the deep discomfort it stirred within me. The infamous Season 4 scene quickly became a fan-favorite, instantly meme-able for its Big Little Lies-esque beach dinner and iconic catchphrase. But instead of being swept up in the drama, I grew unsettled. A single mother of color and survivor of domestic abuse, Monica navigated a world of wealth and privilege foreign to her experience and was vilified by the series and its central group of wealthy white women—many of whom had engaged in far more questionable behavior than she ever had. The show had a real opportunity to explore the dynamics of class, race, and privilege, but it missed the mark. My enjoyment and appreciation for the series deflated, and I wished the show had given us the deeper analysis these issues deserved.

Monica's "takedown" made me question the deeper issues at play—the glaring hypocrisy and classism that RHOSLC (and Bravo in general) seems reluctant to confront, especially when the behavior of other cast members was far more damaging. For example, Lisa's staunch support of the Mormon Church is unsettling, evident in her tearfully joyous recounting of her son's missionary trip to Colombia—a country where Christianization and colonization have long inflicted violence on Indigenous peoples. Additionally, cast members homophobic and racist comments received little to no acknowledgement from Bravo.

On RHOSLC, the lines of morality are often blurred, with privilege and power shielding the women's most questionable actions. What bothered me even more was how the show highlighted these contradictions without fully addressing them. Instead of confronting the uncomfortable truths it exposes, it leaves them unresolved, forcing viewers to wrestle with them without encouraging accountability. But given the minds behind the franchise and the show's central conceit, maybe that's too much to expect.

By the end of Season 5, RHOSLC may never hold its characters accountable in the way the best scripted shows do, but that doesn't necessarily diminish its value. In fact, it made me realize that the line between "prestige" TV and "guilty pleasure" TV is becoming harder to define. Instead of trying to compartmentalize these genres—one revered for its intellectual depth and the other dismissed as mindless entertainment—I started to see that both can deliver rich, captivating stories. They both incite discussion and reveal the complexities of human behavior in ways that keep us hooked. So, maybe it's time we stop drawing these arbitrary distinctions and recognize both as integral parts of the television landscape.