As much as I abhor most Reality shows, I, too, have been known to fall under their powerful, evil spell. My latest guilty pleasure is "Millionaire Matchmaker"
(I suspect this show is turning into another Bravo mega hit, as they are now running 2 or 3 back-to-back episodes each week).
This program is such a delicious freak show, it's hard to know where to start.
I spent the entire first episode just trying to adjust to the Matchmaker's bizarre appearance. She's obviously had so much "work" done, her face is like a strange, Kabuki mask. This is exacerbated by an odd, Cher-like cascade of long, black hair that partially obscures her pale face. Since she also totters around on stilettos and favors cleavage-revealing tops, the end result is more drag queen than Beverly Hills businesswoman. But no matter. What comes out of the Matchmaker's mouth is far more riveting, and frankly, quite entertaining. I'm really starting to enjoy her blunt, outrageous commentary. She's often very funny.
What's not so funny is what transpires between the Matchmaker and her millionaire (male) clients. It goes without saying that the guys demand only the "hottest", "cutest" babes. No surprise there. Inevitably, these Masters of the Universe also request a woman far younger than themselves. By "far younger", I'm talking really young. To these guys, 30 is the new 50. The clients turn up their noses at anyone over 29, regardless of how charming and drop-dead gorgeous they might be (and since this is the "A-List", they are all drop-dead gorgeous; every one of them a "10" or "11"). Although the Matchmaker takes the guys to task for their obnoxious biases ("...when she's forty, you're going to be seventy and incontinent!"), it falls on deaf ears. They want what they want - and they get it (one mystery is why these powerful, uber-wealthy dudes even need a matchmaker. I suspect they don't, and they're just doing the show for publicity or to have their fifteen minutes of fame).
Of course, we've long known that L.A. is the capital of blatant Age-ism, Looks-Ism and Sex-ism. The horror of "Millionaire Matchmaker" is that it reveals things are actually far worse than we ever suspected. Now I understand why even relatively young actresses in Hollywood bemoan the lack of good roles, or feel they're all washed up at thirty-five. Hell, if "Millionaire Matchmaker" is any indication, a woman over the age of twenty five is damaged goods. It's scarier than the prices at Fred Segal.
It's also frankly loathsome to watch the Matchmaker trotting out her "wares" - an actual line up of gorgeous, young things - for the Millionaires to inspect, judge, and find lacking. It feels like the modern version of Slave Trade, harking back to the days when women were displayed in the town square, to be sold to the highest bidder. Take away the Beverly Hills office and fancy trappings, and the Matchmaker's "A-list" girls could be hookers at the Bunny Ranch, lining up to be chosen by johns.
The show is offensive on so many levels, it's almost beyond reproach. Of course, that's what makes it irresistible. Week after week, I tune in to stare at the latest train wreck, unable to take my eyes off the carnage. I keep waiting for one of the Millionaires to pick a woman over thirty. Of course, that will never happen.
But the Matchmaker is right: before they know it, these guys will be seventy, bald, and alone - their twenty-something trophy wives having long ago deserted them for greener pastures. Now there's a show I want to watch: "Incontinent Ex-Millionaires of Beverly Hills." I can hardly wait.
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