You Don’t Have to Watch Dynasty to Have an Attitude

(But It Sure-as-Shoot Helps)

There are (100) days—hell, entire weeks—when the chaos of the world feels like a cocktail of Xanax and Red Bull: numbing and jittery all at once.

Wars. Elections. TikTok fights about oat milk. DOGE.

I don’t want meditation.

I want melodrama. Preferably with shoulder pads, champagne, and a good old-fashioned staircase slap.

I want Dynasty.

What happened to the glamour of unhinged women?

Remember Dynasty? Falcon Crest? Dallas?

These weren’t just shows. They were fever dreams in sequins.

The plots made zero sense and the wardrobes made more than sense—they made statements.

Women with hair high enough to orbit the sun said things like:

 “I don’t get mad, I get everything.”

They didn’t go to therapy.

They threw martinis.

They did not journal.

They faked amnesia, married their enemy’s ex, and always—ALWAYS—had a slap at the ready.

These women weren’t real.

That was the point.

Sorry (not sorry), but Real Housewives isn’t the same.

The Real Housewives franchise tried to bring the drama—but they brought it too close to home.

They cry over doggy lawsuits and Instagram likes.

It’s all too messy. Too relatable.

Too badfillerinthelightingatBravoreunion.

We don’t want real.

We want skanky.

We want sparkly.

We want Alexis Carrington slapping the truth out of Krystle in a koi pond.

Enter the Korean Drama Era?

Maybe the soul of Dynasty reincarnated in the bodies of Korean drama queens.

Have you seen Penthouse? It’s like Dynasty, but with murder, piano competitions, and more fur collars than a Russian mob wedding.

The fashion? Impeccable.

The betrayal? Shakespearean.

The slaps? Oscar-worthy.

And the best part? It’s all pretend.

So your dopamine doesn’t get drained—it gets fed.

A (Depressing) Note About the Dallas House

When I finally visited the Dallas house (because obvious…I live here), I expected sweeping opulence. Oil baron energy. Something... epic.

Instead, it was a 4bedroom ranch outside Dallas in a place called Parker, Texas.

(I know. “Parker” doesn’t exactly scream power and petroleum, does it?)

I nearly slapped myself.

Still, the power of the illusion stayed with me.

Because even if the house was humble, the drama it contained was Texas-sized.

 Why Glam Drama Heals

Greek theater had two faces: tragedy and comedy.

But if the Greeks had access to CBS in the 1980s, there would’ve been a third:

Catfight Couture.

Fake drama gives us a place to put our feelings.

We get to feel it without living it.

It’s controlled chaos, and that’s therapeutic as hell.

Real drama? Exhausting.

Fake drama with lipliner and slapecho? Renewing.

 So Let’s Bring It Back

We need a return to Dynasty energy. Not just in TV—but in life.

Wear the enormous clip-on earrings. Say the line.

Don’t just walk into the room—make an entrance.

And if the world tries to hand you another depressing headline?

Look it straight in the eye, lift your chin, and say:

 “I was born for this boardroom, darling. Now get out of my scene.”

PS:

If this made you want to watch Dynasty reruns or start wearing perfume again just to walk through your own house… you’re not alone.

Let’s glam-and-slam together.

💋 And for the love of Joan Collins, don’t forget to grab your copy of Quickies: One Hundred Little Lessons for Living Sexily Ever After in Midlife.

Or just come hang out here every week for a little high-drama, high-glam perspective.

Slaps optional. Fabulousness required.