I have a lowbrow confession to make.
Not only do I watch The City, I record it, which is exponentially worse.
For those of you with laudable, better things to do, I should explain that this show follows The Hills alum Whitney Port as she totters around NYC, dates an Australian musician, and occasionally shows up for work over at Diane von Furstenberg.
I’m strangely transfixed by Whitney’s frenemy Olivia Palermo (pictured here). She’s a snooty-pants socialite who’s refreshingly impervious to each episode’s tizzy du jour.
WHITNEY: So, like, there’s all this drama right now? With that model Allie and her boyfriend?
WHITNEY: It’s super-awkward and I’m just not sure, like, how to bring it up with her?
WHITNEY (thunderstruck): What? But–
OLIVIA: I wouldn’t get involved in that, no.
Now, O.P. may not be the sweetest girl in town, but so what?
- She calls champagne “champy.”
- She wonders aloud why aspiring rock stars don’t dress up for charity events.
- She has sensational, shampoo-commercial hair that falls in glorious, bohemian waves.
In short, she’s a real-life Blair Waldorf, people.
This show is vice-a-roni!