The A-List has finally come to an end. For real this time. And though it was only nine episodes long, I can confidently say it was enough. It was enough time to allow fake relationships to be forged (since these people would never have known each other if it weren’t for central casting), producer-contrived plot lines to play out (that, as it turned out, were kind of lame), and viewers to make snap judgments (which was basically my job for the last two months). I am guessing it was also enough time to assume that this show won’t be winning any awards. So, in the spirit of the season, I’m going to take this opportunity to bestow superlatives upon the first – and, depending on ratings, possibly the only – members of The A-List. More
Author Archives: Adam Fox
The A List isn’t on Thanksgiving vacation after all. So, consequently, that means I’m not either. On the bright side, it’s probably meant to be, because there’s real-time breaking news to report about Reichen. His autobiography, a 350-plus page-turner called Here’s What We’ll Say: Growing Up, Coming Out and the US Air Force has been adapted into a screenplay. And wait, there’s more: Gossip Girl’s Chace Crawford and Twilight’s Taylor Lautner are said to be among the top picks to play Reichen. Though they’re fine choices, I’d be shocked if his ego allowed anyone other than himself to play himself. But in either case, the whole idea sounds pretty much like a mile-high Brokeback Mountain (which I fell asleep watching in the theater anyway) with far less intriguing actors. It’s a fail you can add to my mistake along with the laundry list of atrocities witnessed in this week’s wreckage. More
The Middle East has enough battles to fight without fashion needing to be one of them. Within this dry stretch of land lies a place with a much freer and sluttier sense of style that includes midriff-baring wedding dresses and underwear at the beach. It’s called Israel.
I had pretty much come to terms with the fact that while my people could invent the theory of relativity and Google Instant, they were entirely incapable of designing a decent dress. Then that all changed – and Tel Aviv-based designer Mirit Weinstock is the reason why. I caught a glimpse of her collection at a small SoHo shindig a few weeks ago, and Weinstock’s shimmery silk dresses and handmade jewelry strewn on haphazardly hair-bunned models served as the evening’s main course. The whole thing could have easily taken a disastrous turn toward dowdy. But it didn’t. That left me intrigued enough to have a word with her on everything from career and Israel’s track record of sinful style to some of the challenges faced by designers outside of major fashion capitals. More
’ve been ceremoniously announcing the A-List’s farewell for about a week now and everyone, without exception, has replied “Already?” [Editor's note: Including me.] I had fully expected a handful of “Thank G-d”s or at least a few “Finally”s, based on the general feedback received thus far from a non-random sampling of five friends. So, that got me thinking. Victims of Time Warner or other such crappy cable providers that have access to the A-List and actually watch it probably claim to hate it on the outside. But on the inside, the story is quite the opposite. In short, I’ve learned there’s a shred of fake in all of us – only more so if you’re an A-lister. More
For anyone who hasn’t heard the news, let me be the last to break it: The A-List is turning into a true Real Housewives-style enterprise by applying the same drama-filled formula to other top-tier cities (sorry, Philadelphia). I guess we should have known this would be the case, since the official title of the series isn’t The Gay Housewives Show (which is everyone calls it) or even The A-List (which is what my DVR and this recap call it). The show is actually The A-List: New York. Swap out the locale for fresh faces that deliver more or less the same contrived crap. It’s genius. Then, I realized that I am sort of bored with the Big Apple debut mainly because, well, not a whole hell of a lot happens in the full hour that I spend watching it each week. Frankly, I would have expected more from the production company responsible for the deliciousness that is the Atlanta edition of The Real Housewives. But perhaps that’s where the magic lies – in relocating the show to a city (like Atlanta) or a suburb (like Orange County) that no one really cares about except for the self-important people who live in it. So, let’s get back to the Big Apple queens, shall we? More
I received a present following last week’s A-List affair – a pack of mints in a Stoli-sponsored container promoting the show. They’re in the shape of little dollar signs. I tried not to take offense both as a gay and a Jew and ate them everyday after my morning egg white omelet and then again following my salmon sandwich at lunchtime. I even subbed them for my regular afternoon snack of a mini Milky Way and Diet Dr. Pepper. Could it be possible that these mints were helping me cut calories and wash the nastiness out of my mouth that comes with each passing episode? Needless to say, for this week’s installment, I came armed with the few pieces of those delicious breath-saving sweets I had left. More
Normally, I can devote half an eye and a quarter of a brain cell to watching any reality show. It’s a gift. But with the amount of characters the A-List graces us with each week that invariably need subtitles, I’ve been forced to drop everything, glue myself to the TV, and ultimately sacrifice a small part of my soul to every episode. In exchange, I’ve acquired conversational proficiency in both Portuguese pidgin and Cockney. I’m fairly certain at this point that despite my assumptions about the A-List being a show by gays for gays, it’s really just a seven-part promotional video for INS and the entire country of Brazil. More
Now that the A-List is in full swing, it has become clear that gays are not only treated as second-class citizens in all things marriage and military. They’re also not afforded the usual Housewivian billing complete with a smile and sashay on a blue screen-effected background. I’ve considered that the production company thought this would be too gay. But once you’ve seen Ryan in a cowl neck top and stonewashed hip huggers, like we did this week, there’s really no turning back. More
After last week’s introductory episode, part deux of The A-List: New York delivers on its promise to be The Gay Housewives Show. In fact, I’ve started referring to it as such, because I got tired of trying to explain what it is since most people either haven’t heard of it, don’t get Logo, or simply don’t care.
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From the gifted creators of The Real Housewives of Atlanta, comes a gayer, whiter version known as The A-List New York. Fortunately, I was reminded about the show’s Monday night primetime debut on gay-themed channel Logo by glancing over the shoulder at the morning Metro of a fellow straphanger on the 1 train. Dubbed “Housewives With Balls”, these are five faux-cialite gays who, like their sistahs down south, ain’t got shit to do all day. Unless, of course, you consider parading down 8th Avenue and talking about bullshit charity work a packed schedule.
In true Housewives fashion, the season opener provides an all-important setup for the cast of characters (I could say something about fairies here, but that would almost be too easy). More