Reality TV Time: Euros of Hollywood

During the last year that this blog has been dormant (almost one year to the day!), I’ve been on some fabulous trips that I have just been dying to talk/write about. I can’t tell you, gentle reader, how many times I’ve been witness to something and thought: Man, this would be great for the blog.

For example, we went to South Africa in March (with a super sketchy layover in Nigeria that I cannot wait to tell y’all about), spent a long weekend in Copenhagen (where I discovered my love for open-faced sandwiches – genius. Pure genius), revisited Costa Rica, and most recently, we went to Bali, where we worked extra hard to avoid all references to “Eat, Pray, Love” (spoiler alert: we failed).

In fact, I was working on an oh-so-clever Bali post when I saw the most amazing thing ever: Euros of Hollywood.

“Euros” (which I’ll call them for short) are on a new reality show on that most amazing of networks, Bravo. I swear, that Andy Cohen is a national treasure and no one can convince me otherwise. He should get a Nobel Prize just for his general programming greatness.

“Euros” is like that other great Bravo delicacy, “Ladies of London” but in reverse. “LoL” followed the lives of a mixed group of women comprised of Americans and Brits, so it had just a touch of that “fish-out-of-water” storyline that folks find amusing but then it also had the added fabulousness of the reserved Brits reacting to the American “fish.”

But “Euros” is all in on the fish-out-of-water storyline. And unlike the Americans on “Ladies of London,” these Euros haven’t even the slightest interest in fitting into their new pond. In fact, they seem quite determined to make America conform to their Euro-standards.

We start the show by meeting Bleona, an Albanian pop superstar with a name that sounds like an over-the-counter diuretic. Looks wise, she resembles Angelina Jolie. But then she opens her mouth and it’s more like Nene Leakes. She’s brash, loud, diva-esque, rude, opinionated, and sees slights where none exist. I, of course, love her, and want to sit and chat over a plate of sheqerpare cookies, and be her very best friend in the whole wide world. She’s gorgeous and she’s crazy and I’m pretty sure we’ll be seeing her in Playboy very, very soon.

Unfortunately, there is trouble brewing in Euroland because Bleona isn’t the only chantreuse in the cast. A little later on, we meet Fawni, a boobilicious blonde Austrian who has had a number one single in Japan, which, as we all well know, is practically a gateway to American pop chart greatness. Fawni, however, has informed us that she’s in America to be a great painter, and Bravo kindly shows us a few of her paintings. They’re…..ok, I guess. OK fine, they’re not horrible….but since I’m firmly on Team Bleona, maybe I’m a bit biased. I will say that they’re definitely much darker than you might expect from an Austrian Barbie doll. Although, there is the ubiquitous Marilyn Monroe tribute piece.

Aaaandd, I love that Fawni’s Bravo page says “Sorry, nothing here yet.” Indeed.

We also meet Sascha, a German entrepreneur/DJ/music producer who owns what appears to be a very successful clothing store in LA (where I presume all the Euros get their too-tight, deep v-neck t-shirts, button up shirts that start around the navel, elaborately embroidered skin-tight jeans, and unisex scarves). And yet, Sascha’s wife and two children are still in Germany and he only sees them every couple of months. Now, listen, I know that the United States has a somewhat difficult immigration system. Believe me, I KNOW. Eight years of writing for the nation’s largest lobbying organization in Washington D.C. gave me a lot of familiarity with the difficult politics of this issue. But I find it hard to believe that with all his money and having himself established as a business man in LA, Sascha can’t find a way to bring his family over. Maybe he could hire a lawyer or something to help get the wheels in motion? I hope we hear more about this issue during the season. If for no other reason than the fact that I always like to cram pop cultural references into the otherwise-dull policy debates when I can.

Speaking of unisex scarves, I absolutely cannot finish this post without introducing you to Massimo, a holder of several “slashes” – model/actor/choreographer from Italy. Massimo’s biggest credit so far appears to be in a movie titled “We Have a Pope,” which is a horrible title but an interesting premise: “A story centered on the relationship between the newly elected pope and his therapist.” Wonder if that’s On Demand somewhere. Somehow, I doubt it.

If, by some miracle you are able to resist watching all these other over-the-top wannabes trying to get a foothold in one of the most difficult industry towns in the world, you have to at the very least watch Massimo attempt an American accent. It’s pretty bad. But I have a feeling I’m going to be cheering for his success before the end of the season.

Not in the field of choreography, however. He’s really, really awful. He’s like a cross between a Muppet and someone who is dizzy from thrashing about in the final stages of a debilitating illness.