Why People Are Losing It Over a Former J. Crew Executive’s Star Turn on TV

Earlier this summer, the tremor of another vibe shift could be felt across the world—the world of Bravo, that is. In July, the reality TV network’s long-running The Real Housewives of New York City (popularly known as RHONY) was born anew for its 14^th season, marking the first time the franchise has gone for a full reboot, effectively firing its entire cast and starting over from scratch.

Casual Real Housewives viewers will know that reboot was well warranted: The previous season faced faltering ratings and complaints of boredom, amid the agony of watching RHONY’s first Black housewife, Eboni K. Williams, having to spend much of the season fending off casual racism from longtime housewife (and apparent Trump aficionado) Ramona Singer. This time around, Bravo’s casting department was evidently atoning for its sins: Gone was the blinding whiteness of RHONY seasons past; here was a new, notably diverse cast that appears to better reflect the country’s most multiethnic metropolis.

But the vibe shift doesn’t come from just the diversity in and of itself—as other, less-white Real Housewives series have taught us, wealth can turn anyone into a tasteless, sociopathic monster. Rather, it’s the attitudes of the new RHONY cast that feel intrinsically different: They’re young, bootstrappy girlbosses, several of whom come from little to no money at all; none of the six new cast members married into wealth, and only one—a seemingly well-adjusted real-estate nepo baby—was born into it. And, in a startling departure, all of them have real full-time jobs, as compared to the vanity projects that sometimes occupy Housewives cast members (from Autotune-drenched music careers to floundering toaster-oven startups).

No one better exemplifies the modus operandi of the new RHONY than Jenna Lyons, the most highly anticipated of the new housewives by far. The former president and creative director of fashion retailer J. Crew raised eyebrows when Bravo announced that she was joining the RHONY reboot—a seemingly strange move for someone who had once been heralded as a style icon, nearly as recognizable a figure in the early 2010s as Anna Wintour, even if she has fallen off in recent years. (Her short-lived 2020 HBO Max reality show, Stylish With Jenna Lyons, lasted only one season.) Lyons’ casting signaled RHONY’s new direction: less of an old-money, “ew, Brooklyn, Upper East Side ONLY!” air, and more of a whiff of, dare I say, coolness (at least, by Bravo TV standards).

The jury’s still out on the reboot’s success—the season premiere’s ratings have been called both “disappointing” and “high”—but even if the show tanks, one thing is clear: The Jennaissance is upon us. Lyons has been dubbed the “queen of RHONY” and a “new crush” by the likes of fan accounts and Vogue. Google search trends suggest that viewers are more interested in her than in her castmates. (Only Brynn Whitfield, with her outrageous catchphrase—“Make me mad and I’ll date your dad”—comes close.) Lyons is also getting the lion’s share of mainstream media attention for her involvement, appearing on The View, in a New York Times profile, and on the Today show; coverage of the other five housewives has been relegated mostly to tabloids and outlets known for catering more directly to Bravo fans.

So, what is so captivating about Lyons on Real Housewives? Most viewers watch shows like RHONY because of their soap opera quality, or for a hit of schadenfreude at the expense of aggressively privileged people, or, most typically, for their depictions of aspirational wealth: the level of rich you have to be to charter helicopters to the Hamptons, launch a wine brand with your name emblazoned on it, and throw a lavish funeral for your dead dog. The old RHONY—and the franchise at large—was all about signifiers of wealth that one could reasonably call tacky: expenditures that are of questionable taste (think shiny metallic outfits worth the GDP of a micronation), or whose sole purpose seems to be to remind viewers just how moneyed these women are (see: charity fundraisers fueled by caviar and champagne, splashy trips to exclusive Caribbean islands).

But Lyons, who comes from a middle-class background, is not that kind of rich; she’s wealthy, certainly, but not in the habit of such ostentatiousness. What she trades in is not aspirational wealth, but something far more elusive: aspirational taste. She brings her own dress code to the show that completely departs from Real Housewives norms, eschewing feminine dresses (even in the show’s promo photos, where dresses are practically a mandatory uniform) for pants and button-downs. She has a developed sense of what she wants and likes—a sign of a self-assured palate that is taken as novel or even a little freaky by her castmates. (To quote her fellow housewife Erin Lichy, “[Jenna] does weird, quirky things. She doesn’t like dill, but she loves parsley; she loves olives but not the black ones.”) She owns a home—a SoHo loft done in tasteful, brassy, Art Deco gold tones—meticulously styled to fit her personality and needs. It’s a home to live in, not just to flip for a quick profit, which seems to confuse her castmates: “As a real estate agent, I have to say, it’s a very sexy apartment,” Lichy remarks during a visit, before adding a caveat: “It’s not really useful to any other type of person except for Jenna Lyons. I mean, who are you selling it to?”

It’s refreshing, too, to watch how Lyons operates beyond her material tastes. She is a lesbian (and the second openly queer Housewife), and her on-camera description of her sexual awakening at age 40 is astute and emotionally mature: “When I turned 40, I had this beautiful little boy, I had this great job, but I had this feeling inside that I wasn’t happy, and I remember thinking to myself that I don’t want to feel this way for another 40 years.” She is realistic about her faults, and manages to weave these into the requisite reality TV setting with poise. She stumbles at times—her maladroit social skills occasionally lead to conflict, even if she’s unfailingly honest about her shortcomings. She thoughtfully reflects on her mother’s late-in-life Asperger’s syndrome diagnosis when considering her own awkwardness, yet without laying blame or weaponizing the condition as a get-out-of-jail-free card for bad behavior. She comes across as a real person, albeit one with much better taste than you.

That fans both new and old are charmed by Lyons’ brand of down-to-earth class should come as no surprise. In a cultural sense, it seems as if the Real Housewives’ brash richesse may have become a little démodé. After all, understated “quiet luxury” is the trend du jour, and this is evident elsewhere on TV—just look at the Kardashians’ vastly toned-down new show, which feels markedly different from the raucous Keeping Up With the Kardashians that built their fame. Of course, this may just be a blip: Inconspicuous consumption tends to be more popular during periods of economic strife, so if anxieties about inflation and potential recession fade, the quiet-luxury moment may be over quickly. Whether or not Jenna Lyons (or indeed, the rebooted RHONY) endures long enough to permanently shift the tone of docudrama reality TV remains to be seen. But for now, she’s a refreshing, chilled-out twist to a show better known for harpies who throw their prosthetic legs around. To paraphrase Lyons’ RHONY tag line: Her lashes may be fake (to be fair, it’s due to a medical condition), but she’s pretty darn real.