On a recent Wednesday at the Capitol, while seven reality television stars with a penchant for explosive confrontations and theatrics paid a visit, one Republican senator angrily confronted another about what he had been saying behind his back.
In front of the cameras and with other lawmakers seated around him in a stately hearing room, Senator Rand Paul of Kentucky looked Markwayne Mullin of Oklahoma, now the homeland security secretary, in the eye and dared him to repeat his insult that Mr. Paul was “a snake.”
“Today, I’ll give you that chance to clear the record,” Mr. Paul said. “Tell it to my face. If that’s what you believe, tell it to me today.”
The women, all current or former “Real Housewives” from various cities who specialize in such antics, were elsewhere, lobbying lawmakers to increase funding for H.I.V. and AIDS research and care. But when Erika Girardi, a 10-year veteran of the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” learned of the exchange, she cackled.
“Oh my god,” she said, her eyes widening. “That’s — it’s just like a reunion.”
Then, Ms. Girardi, a sometime singer and actress known as Erika Jayne, leaned forward eagerly, like a television viewer on the edge of her seat. “So? What’d he say?”
Such is the way of things in the hallowed halls of Congress, where the austere and grave business of legislating has given way to intense tribal politics and made-for-camera clashes.
With a reality TV star in the White House and an increasingly bitter fight for control of Congress underway, the blend of hostility, showmanship and drama President Trump cultivated has made its way to the Capitol. Lawmakers less accustomed to courting television ratings now chase viral moments, test pithy catchphrases and eagerly seek out confrontations to win over would-be donors.
“I think Congress isn’t too different from the Bravo universe,” said Representative Debbie Dingell, a Michigan Democrat who went to meet the “Housewives” cast members despite, she admitted, having no idea who any of them were.
Many congressional hearings remain dry affairs. Some even contain serious discussions of legislative issues. But Mr. Paul’s hostility at the Senate hearing last month was not an outlier, even on that same day.
Hours later, a group of House Democrats stormed out of a closed-door briefing with Pam Bondi, then the attorney general, about the investigation into the convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, complaining that the proceeding was “fake” and they were not getting straight answers.
Behind closed doors, when Representative Summer Lee, Democrat of Pennsylvania, had angrily objected to the private format, Representative James R. Comer of Kentucky, the Republican chairman of the panel, said she was “bitching,” a characterization he owned up to on social media after the episode was reported.
The weeks that followed have been equally explosive, with a flurry of finger-pointing and name-calling between the Senate and the House over a homeland security funding bill. Though not fully resolved, that fight calmed down after the president, essentially congressional Republicans’ executive producer, intervened.
If the “Housewives” stars tend to revel in their messiness, neither they nor the nation’s elected representatives seem particularly proud of how life in Congress has come to imitate art.
“The fact of the matter is that Congress is supposed to represent what’s happening in this country,” Ms. Dingell, who has served there for more than a decade, said. “And unfortunately, they do. Social media posts and cheap shots at each other are replacing relationships.”
Ms. Girardi, 54, the singer-actress-personality from Beverly Hills, said that she was disappointed that lawmakers exhibited less decorum than they had when she was growing up.
“There should be, like, a level of respect in our government — a little bit more seriousness,” she said.
With a sardonic smirk, she added: “We don’t need you to descend into ‘Housewives,’ because you’re not doing it right anyway.”
Congress has always embraced theatrics, including centuries ago when lawmakers came to blows on the House floor in a sectional brawl over slavery in the run-up to the Civil War. The introduction of television and the omnipresent C-SPAN camera capturing the proceedings brought new scrutiny to lawmakers, and encouraged many of them to play to their audience and grandstand during debates.
But the internet has accelerated the feedback loop. Every floor debate and congressional hearing is streamed live, then easily repackaged into a social media clip. Lawmakers are fighting for attention not just with each other, but with camera-ready reality television stars who are experts at scene-stealing one-liners.
And consciously or not, members of Congress have incorporated the tactics of reality TV favorites into their legislative practice.
The “Housewives” stars aim for fiery retorts that they parlay into merchandise and, in one case, a congressional hearing on franchise businesses. Lawmakers now seek out quick comebacks at congressional hearings they can use in their fund-raising emails (and, occasionally, merchandise).
The ladies of reality television and lawmakers also use similar tactics to tarnish their adversaries. Just as “Housewives” stars send anonymous gossip to bloggers in order to plant rumors and nastiness that they can hash out on camera, members of Congress often leak damaging material about their political opponents to generate news coverage they can use in ads or to fuel an on-camera confrontation.
Representative Jim McGovern, Democrat of Massachusetts, who has been in Congress since 1997, lamented what he acknowledged was a new dynamic in political discourse.
“I worry about the fact that this place is becoming less serious because it’s become more about theater than about substance,” Mr. McGovern, who did a TMZ interview this month, said. “And, you know, we’re kind of getting used to that.”
It dismays many of the “Real Housewives” stars, too. Marysol Patton, who appears on “Real Housewives of Miami,” looked uncomfortable as she weighed a comparison between her co-stars and their elected representatives.
“We’re doing entertainment, and they’re — you know, they’re making laws,” she said. “You can’t compare the two.”
At a moment when bipartisan accord is vanishingly rare, Luann de Lesseps, one of the original “Real Housewives of New York City,” suggested that members of Congress might learn something from her and her co-stars.
“We don’t always agree, but we’re going to agree how to move forward,” said Ms. de Lesseps, who was ultimately forced from the cast.
“Otherwise,” she chuckled, “you get canceled.”
Michael Gold covers Congress for The Times, with a focus on immigration policy and congressional oversight.
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