She has done a keg stand, renewed her wedding vows (and soon divorced), busted her leg, peed on a bed and screeched “I have never been with multiple partners in my life!” while on skis. In her first 13 years on TV, Vicki Gunvalson did not hold back.
Known as “the O.G. of the O.C.,” for her status as “The Real Housewives of Orange County” debut-season cast member with the longest full-time tenure, the emotional, klutzy workaholic, who oversees an insurance empire from her gated community in California, was one of five women hired before anyone knew what a Real Housewife could be.
“When we first started, Scott Dunlop said, ‘This is going to be a social experiment,’” recalled Gunvalson, 64, referring to the show’s original producer, who recruited her. “‘We have no idea what’s going to happen. It’s a documentary of your life.’”
The show, which follows the camaraderie and conflicts of an upwardly mobile group of women, not only became a juggernaut — spawning 10 American spinoffs, a constellation of adjacent businesses and a full-fledged commentariat — but exploded the idea of who could be a reality star. And now Gunvalson, who exited in 2019 and returned part-time in 2023, is back in full force. Onstage last November at the network’s reality festival BravoCon, the “Housewives” executive producer Andy Cohen surprised her with an orange, inviting her to join its 20th anniversary season, which premieres on July 9.
“I don’t know that in Season 1 we would’ve put all our money on Vicki being the housewife whose story we’re still telling,” Cohen said in a video interview. “As much as her life has changed,” he added incredulously, “she has not changed.”
When the “Housewives” began, reality television was the still-nascent province of young strangers thrust together (“The Real World”), or competing for a prize (“American Idol,” “Survivor”) or romance (“The Bachelor”). “The Real Housewives of Orange County” debuted in 2006, a watershed year that also brought to screens “Flavor of Love,” “Top Chef,” “The Bad Girls Club” and “The Hills.” Only one of these new additions focused on women in their 40s running households and running up impressive credit card bills, providing a new realm of aspiration for an audience ready to gawk and gossip.
While “docu-follow” shows like “The Osbournes” and “Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica” purported to offer viewers unvarnished access to celebrities at home, the Housewives were “the first time we’re seeing reality television be interested in the lives of everyday people,” said Brian Moylan, the author of a “Housewives” book who has written extensively about reality TV for Vulture and other publications. These stars really were just like us!
The conceit was so novel, Gunvalson wasn’t sure what she’d agreed to. Her son, Michael, had responded to a local newspaper ad seeking “kids going away to college, coming back and living this privileged life,” she said in a video interview last month from her immaculate home in the Coto de Caza development as she awaited a refrigerator repairman. (Her downsized house is “a little bit smaller than I wanted,” she noted from her perch before a winding white staircase, “but it’s still 3,000 square feet.”)
Back then, Gunvalson was living in the gated community with her daughter, Briana, a high school senior, and her second husband, Donn, an often sympathetic though sometimes prickly figure who was looking for a new job; Michael, a freshman at the University of Colorado Boulder, was a frequent presence. Early episodes captured her obsessing over work, trying Botox for the first time and micromanaging her children’s lives. Each housewife was filmed primarily with her family, and in retrospect, nobody looked all that glamorous.
The show’s formula started to crystallize in Season 3, with the arrival of Tamra Judge (opening credits tagline: “I’m the hottest housewife in Orange County”), who became both friend and foil. “I didn’t really know what to expect from her,” Gunvalson recalled, “because she was a spitfire and I don’t normally associate with people that have such a brash mouth.”
Interactions between the ladies — as they discussed their domestic dramas and stirred up fresh ones among themselves — unlocked the show’s hallmark: an endless cycle of conflict, processing, confrontation and resolution (or, at least, agreeing to “move forward”).
Gunvalson, an admitted control freak with strong roots in the Chicago suburbs where she was raised, had both a lust for life and a taste for luxury. The purity of her reactions, along with a willingness to let the audience see her fall down — often literally — and claw her way back made her a quintessential reality star. Her emotional eruptions could manifest as her joyous exclamation “Woo-hoo!” and her exhortation to “Whoop it up!”; short blasts of enraged yelling, with her eyes wide and one finger stabbing the air; or extended jags of anguished weeping.
“I’m a crier, so I’m very emotional and I try to stuff it, but then it wouldn’t be me, you know?” she said, though her interview demeanor was all-business. “So I just let it all hang out and see where it goes.”
On camera, she split from Donn, weathered barbs about her looks, watched Briana endure unexplained tumors, vigorously defended a boyfriend everyone distrusted and, in an excruciating moment during Season 10, learned that her mother had died suddenly. After consulting with her family, she did not fight the scene being aired. Millions have seen her collapse to the ground screaming, “What happened to my mom?” as other Housewives played the dice game Bunco a few rooms away.
“It’s hard, but it’s reality,” Gunvalson said, though the decision still seems to vex her. “I sell life insurance every day, so I’m like, we’re all gonna die.” She smiled and shrugged.
Despite the increasingly produced cast interactions, it was among the unguarded moments that signaled this was indeed still reality TV. “The thing that you’ll never be able to replace with these early-stage Housewives is they weren’t playing Housewives,” Moylan, the author, said. “And in just being herself, Vicki did create the model of what a housewife is supposed to be, which is real, authentic, a little bit crazy, a little bit narcissistic, a little bit delusional.”
As “Orange County” found its groove, the “Housewives” expanded, hitting the jackpot in some locations (New York, Atlanta, New Jersey and Beverly Hills) and struggling in others (Potomac, Md.; Miami and Dallas). The series’ growth paralleled the rise of social media, which injected the women into viewers’ daily lives, provided intense immediate feedback and drew even more scrutiny to their faces and their fashion. (Enter the ever-present glam squad.) Two editions introduced since 2020, Salt Lake City and Rhode Island, instantly became talkers — critical for the 24/7 machine of podcasts, Instagram accounts and influencer industries that sprang up as the franchise became a pop cultural force.
Early on, Cohen said, the network’s instinct was “wait, we should own this,” but that proprietary urge morphed into respectful coexistence with this devoted, “self-generating ecosphere.” Moylan said it all “speaks to how kind of underserved and overlooked this audience is, and the hunger that they have for content about it.”
People who dismiss the show are missing its humor and its celebration of adult female friendships in all their complexities. That might include sharing advice about divorce laws or tripping on mushrooms in a Dutch tulip field.
“One of the fascinating things about ‘Housewives’ is it truly is one of the last purple things left in America,” with devotees on both the left and the right, Moylan added. “And that’s why I think that it has replaced soap operas” and other formats with “stories that would usually be considered kind of feminine. It’s like friends, relationships, kids, households — it’s small. But by showing us those small stories, it is really a reflection of all of us and the world that we live in.”
Cohen was even bolder: “I think it’s the great feminist show,” he said. “There was a turning point on ‘The Real Housewives of New York’ specifically, where they were divorced and they were over 50, but they were owning their sexuality in a way that was not happening anywhere on television.”
One of Bravo’s challenges after two decades is finding those genuine characters, not women acting the way they’ve been led to believe Housewives behave. “Some people feel like they have to do a different personality when they’re on,” Gunvalson said. “I don’t, because I can see right through it.”
Though she was a “Housewives” pioneer, Gunvalson was benched after her story lines stalled and two newbies, Gina Kirschenheiter and Emily Simpson, proved they had staying power. “We got very expensive,” Gunvalson admitted on her podcast in 2020 while discussing her and Judge’s ouster from the series. (Bravo doesn’t comment on “Housewives” salaries, but in his 2021 book, Moylan reported that most repeat cast members make between $300,000 and $500,000 per season, with the highest earners pulling in over $2 million.) She theorized that Bravo believed viewers “were ready for younger blood.”
But in the great tradition of “Real Housewives,” a reconciliation was in her future.
Next week, viewers will see Gunvalson — now in a happy relationship with a developer named Mike Smith — reunite with Shannon Storms Beador, Heather Dubrow, Jennifer Pedranti, Judge (who returned in 2023), Kirschenheiter and Simpson, and meet a new castmate, Carmella Garcia.
Though Housewives are known for well-intentioned but rarely executed promises to change (on “Orange County” alone, there’s been an adult baptism and three vow renewals for marriages that ultimately failed), Gunvalson has real reason for things to be different this time.
“I had sepsis last year and they put a tube down my throat and it ruined my vocal cords,” she noted at the start of the interview, indicating her slight rasp. She later revealed she was unconscious for 10 days and was told she had a 5 percent to 10 percent chance of survival. A knee injury from a gym incident also caused relentless pain during filming. Her Season 1 tagline was “I don’t want to get old!” Now, Gunvalson said, “We’re all gonna get older if we’re fortunate enough,” and lamented how time “goes by fast.”
“I strive for peace because my life has been so chaotic,” she said. “Conflict is part of life, but I’m not good with treating people so badly. I think this season the viewers will see we’re a little bit softer and just really getting back to enjoying each other.”
Beneath its lifestyle porn and explosive arguments, “Real Housewives” is driven by a very relatable search for acceptance and connection. Cohen, who observed that Gunvalson “just wants to be loved,” said the show’s emphasis on forgiveness “does force you to look at the larger universe of humanity and figure out what’s important and what do we hold on to as humans, and what do we let go of.” And for 20 years, he marveled, “the world has been reflected through this unlikely insurance agent in Orange County.”
Giving a tour of her house, it was clear how much “Housewives” has meant to Gunvalson. Her Bravo Lifetime Achievement Award (a crystal stiletto) shares prized shelf space by her desk alongside photos of her parents and grandchildren. “I am reminded of it every day when I pull out of the garage,” she said with a laugh, showing the cast photos carefully mounted on its walls.
With the milestone season nearing, she’d recently had a visit from the producer who had first knocked on her door, changing her life forever. “Scott Dunlop came over the other day and he said, ‘1.6 billion people know you.’ I’m like, what?” she said, before her next lightning quick thought.
“Do they like me?”
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