With the nights getting colder, and a greater proportion of my time at home spent under various layers, I find myself lamenting how poor I am, and how I wish I could have the central heating on more often. Poor student problems in a nutshell, that.
Every Monday night, without fail, my flatmate and I will watch Made In Chelsea together. She loves it, and I love to hate it, so it works.
I first came across the sheer vapidity that is the partly scripted show a year or so ago, when my sister insisted I watch Made In Chelsea: NYC with her. My mum didn’t want her to watch post-watershed television alone, so I was forced to be TV chaperone (bless mum and her conservative ways). I hated it at first. And then I got oddly invested, whilst still hating it. Now I dip in and out of episodes, hating all the while. To my teenage sister, though – Made In Chelsea represents the dream. She wants perfectly-coiffed hair and a seat at London Fashion Week. She wants a barely-there job in fashion (like, seriously, what do the cast even DO for a living?) and a private jet to whisk her away to Morocco at the drop of a hat. And I hate that. I hate that the cast have this sway over impressionable kids who aspire to be just as shallow and just as moneyed (but without doing any work for it, of course). It’s 40-odd minutes of badly-scripted conversations, eye-rolling, hair-fluffing and bitchy backstabbing.
“Call it class hatred on my part, but the money they blow on drinks alone makes me sad”
For those who aren’t familiar with it, the show centres on well-dressed young people with far too much spare time on their hands, and more money than sense. They also seem to have odd pets and can’t seem to stop getting involved in each other’s relationships. I’m not going to lie – it is a bit saddening to come home after a long day at uni, followed by a stint at work, having searched the pockets of my bag and jacket to scrape together money for an eat4less baguette – and then watching Made In Chelsea, where money is never any object. Call it class hatred on my part, but the money they blow on drinks alone makes me sad.
“All they ever seem to do is bitch, cheat on each other, walk poufy little dogs, and throw lavish parties”
All they ever seem to do is bitch, cheat on each other, walk poufy little dogs, drink and throw lavish parties. If ever in search of a drinking game, drink through every obviously-scripted scene – you’ll be well and truly Chelsea-d in no time.The drama (most of which is probably written into their lives by screenwriters who aspired to better, let’s be honest) is the only thing that keeps the show going. Without Lucy Watson pulling her pouty spoilt-little-rich-girl faces, and throwing some serious shade, Made In Chelsea would have bit the dust a long time ago. Having said that, each season is just more of the same. The cast is as incestuous as would be expected, but over ten seasons in, it’s just getting tired. Drinks being thrown, tears galore and at least one love triangle involving Spencer Matthews every season, Made In Chelsea is, contrary to its premise, a pretty cheap show. The only thing that separates it from TOWIE and Desperate Scousewives is daddy’s millions and his yacht, darling.
