The Unreal Housewives of Clark County

Sin City Rules is faker than fake, which might make it the purest form of ‘reality’ entertainment

It was only a matter of time until Vegas got its own Housewives show—and just like the Eiffel Tower at the Paris, it’s a knockoff. TLC’s shameless new reality series Sin City Rules does nothing but perpetuate Las Vegas’ image as grotesque playground for tactless wannabes whose motives are faker than their breasts. But damn if it isn’t fun to watch. (Full disclosure: I say this as a native New Yorker who only knows Vegas by the aforementioned stereotype.)

The tried-and-true vapid catfight recipe of Bravo’s esteemed franchise remains the same: A cast of five entitled women with lots of disposable income (and even more free time to meet for long, boozy lunches despite their much-discussed careers) is thrown together under the guise of friendship. They attend gaudy charity functions and throw parties for the sole purpose of ostracizing each other and/or wearing elaborate costumes. Much like on Survivor, alliances form and shift, until, ideally, everyone has been in a heated feud and/or physical altercation with everyone else. Rinse (preferably with a nice pinot gris) and repeat.

Bravo has purportedly scouted Las Vegas multiple times for Real Housewives but couldn’t cast a show. But the TLC producers have found an amazing quintet of fickle freaks. The breakout star and most obvious sociopath is Lana Fuchs, who looks like Maya Rudolph doing an SNL impersonation of some amalgam of Cher and Donatella Versace, and who is prone to declaring herself to be God. Lana runs Billionaire Mafia, a company that sells overpriced graffiti-adorned T-shirts, among other questionable enterprises. She owns 37 guns, eats raw bacon, employs a “Lantourage” of dwarves, and is generally Fuching crazy.

Next craziest is probably Amy Hanley, the daughter of the late Mafia hitman Tom Hanley, who equates being offensively blunt with being “real” and who never met a bustier she didn’t like.

Alicia Jacobs, a former KSNV Channel 3 entertainment reporter, who considers antiquing with Louie Anderson to constitute being “friends” with “celebrities,” is the outcast of the group, owing to whispered allegations that she enjoys affairs with married men.

Rounding out the circus are the token sane people: Lori Montoya, the founder of Rain cosmetics, who has a sweet, Jennifer Coolidge-y vibe about her; and pro poker player Jennifer Harman, who barely fits in with the rest of the cast, mainly because the muscles in her face can still move.

Bottom line: if you like watching Botoxed bitches brawl, you could not find a better show. But you’ll have to take a shower afterward.



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