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But if you want a perfect metaphor for a society selling out to the dollar, look at The Millionaire Matchmaker. Patti Stanger sells wealthy men a dating service--for fees of up to $150,000 a year--mixing retro courtship rules with a mercenary take on romance. However, Stanger tells us (and herself), she has standards. She'll take only classy rich guys as clients, like the one who shows off a painting he did of Britney Spears tongue-kissing Madonna. "We're not an escort service!" she insists. Of course not. Those are much cheaper.
Bravo executive vice president Frances Berwick promises more schadenfreude to come. RHNYC taped from summer through fall 2008--meaning we'll see its stars' charmed lives against the backdrop of the autumn meltdown. But don't expect them to start clipping coupons. "We're certainly sensitive to the feeling that spending excesses are a little taboo," Berwick says, "but people still want to see it so they can judge other people."
Truth be told, the appeal of Bravo is not just about seeing the rich get theirs. It also helps us deal with the aftermath of getting ours. After all, its subjects' shameless indulgence is just a pricier version of America's credit binge. Maybe we overmortgaged, overbought and undersaved. But hey, at least we weren't throwing dog parties at Hamptons Hound!
Some people weather bad times by thinking of people who have less. Bravo lets us vent at those who have more--while consuming vicariously through them. This is what makes this kind of escapism so sturdily recession-proof. Laughing at the housewives, we see a comforting moral rebuke to the last national spending spree. And admiring their beach houses and bling, we quietly nurture the seeds of the next one.