I’ve found my new favorite show to hate-watch (well, I love it but you will definitely maybe hate it): Gallery Girls on Bravo. This grotesque reality TV canvas is like a post-surrealist hybrid of The Hills and Girls — priced at $0 for all you art collectors! — that should probably just be called Bitches. It stars six young snots and one hardworking woman from Long Island who live and “work” in NYC and Brooklyn, which the show treats like a separate country.

Have I lost you yet, or do the two melting clocks in the desert (pictured) have you intrigued?

If so, you’ve only missed two episodes, and you’re in luck! In an effort to determine what exactly is their damage, I’ve ranked the Gallery Girls on a scale of 1 (mildly annoying) to 10 (bunny-boiling). Let’s do this.


As far as we can tell, the Long Island native is by far the least-spoiled and hardest-working of the bunch. Her parents are genuinely proud of her, even if they worry about her spreading herself too thin. And her football-fanatic dad loves TV’s most popular reality show about NFL standouts — Dancing With the Stars! Con: Her West Village apartment is tiny, but twice the size of the one I lived in for years. Bitch! (2 out of 10 on the Damages Scale)


I already feel like I’m listing my fave to least-fave members of the Babysitters’ Club, and yes, I’m disappointed that such an artistic person named Claudia does not have the last name “Kishi.” But this one’s okay. I’d like her more if she’d stand up for herself once in a while against her lazy goblin friend Chantal (the two co-own a Lower East Side gallery space). But Claudia did lash out with this threat: “If Chantal is a no-show, I swear I’m driving to her house and killing her.” My first thought was wait, this bitch owns a CAR? (2.5)


Terrible picture of her, but the most representative of her odd plight on this show. This trust funder doesn’t need job, but she sticks around terrible Eli’s gallery to perform the dumbest tasks, like refilling a water bowl for strangers’ dogs and folding plastic grocery bags. WTF is up with their relationship? Anyway, I admire Maggie’s ability to be both polite and a stealth bitch at the same time. Cons: Speaks in a baby voice [[[often in an inexplicable whisper]]] and lives in Murray Hill. When she was sent on an errand in Williamsburg — proud sponsor of abandoned warehouses and broken glass — the Brooklyn-hater murmured to herself about being all alone “in like the worst most ghetto place” ever. “It’s like a zombie apocalypse had come through,” she whined. And she was at the BEDFORD stop! Guuuurl please. She’s pretty amusing, for real. (4)


Her dad Marty (center) is a famous art collector, so it’s extra funny/horrifying when the Brooklyn girls (Claudia, Angela, Chantal) refuse to greet Liz at their gallery’s opening. I loved that she blatantly lied about having to get her hair done in an effort to avoid creepytime with Eli and Maggie. Liz is easily one of the top five most triumphant bitches I’ve ever witnessed, completely confident in her invincibility. Very inspiring! But her nonexistent work ethic bums me out. She complained on her first day in the gallery: “If he’s bossing me around” — um please note the word BOSS in there — “I’ll get pissed off and tell my dad.” Ugh, typical rich intern in NYC who needs a place to wear all her new outfits more than she needs an actual job.

“I will do anything that involves me sitting down in a chair, or making a phone call, or walking across the street,” she offered magnanimously. The fact that she gets away with this and will NEVER be questioned…… honestly feels like I’m being murdered on my couch! (6.66 repeating)

NEXT PAGE: A gothy Olsen twin dipped in formaldehyde


She’s definitely obnoxious and would freak me out in real life, but on TV I find this type of aggressive narcissist to be a treasure. At one point the nude model/waitress/photographer asked the producers during a confessional, “Do you like how I light up when we talk about me?” That’s funny. You can tell this bitch is smart. Case in point: Angela enjoys surrounding herself with catty gay friends who’ll make her even more honest: “I’m a needy c—!” she screams at a bar before admitting a man has never given her an orgasm and that her “p—y needs to be plundered!” I mean that’s just bonkers, to say any of that on TV.

I do have the urge to award Angela full immunity for tossing off the best line of the show so far: “Like, don’t get béchamel sauce all over my clothes. No one f—s with my wardrobe.” And the side-eye she threw when Amy attempted to order a lychee martini was priceless. (7)


“I’m very lucky to have a father that takes care of me so I can work for free as an intern,” explains the Upper East Side enthusiast. 24 years old. Looks 40. Acts likes she’s 6. Treated the luxurious application of 100 fake lashes to her eyelids as if it were open-heart surgery. Every time we’ve seen her, she’s gotten drunk and it’s been embarrassing and annoying. But she seems really sad and lonely in that great big bathtub filled with money and booze, so I’ll only give her an (8).


This is exactly the type of hipper-than-thou turd I’d go out of my way to avoid eye contact with on the subway (and we’d totally have been on the same train) because it’d just ruin my morning. She strives to act like the coolest girl in Brooklyn, but that’s all it is, and the effort just oozes out of her like a smear of red lipstick onto her front teeth. She speaks — lines like “I always get offended when unattractive men hit on me” or “I don’t like wines from Oregon” — as if her face is melting off. Shows up to “work” two hours late and promptly leaves. Just floating through life, ready to flee for Cuba and “just chill” if this gallery hobby doesn’t work out. No respect for her bestie Claudia, who’s actually trying (not to mention wigging out because her parents put up 15 grand). (9)


Is so gross. I can’t even. (10)

Do you love-to-hate the Gallery Girls in a different order that I do? Do you just outright hate all of them? Was I too nice to Amy? Pray tell.

And what is with you today? What’s with today, today? Let me know what’s annoying you, pop-culture wise, here or in the comments and I may address it in the next installment. (Warning: I may attempt to determine who’s more damaging: These artsy farts or the farting family on Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. It’s been a very cerebral summer.)

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