Most of my travel goals are about outdoor adventures and architecture and amazing food and world-class museums. Which is why it is hilarious and wonderful to me that my first actual post is going to be about BravoCon.
Bravo is a pleasure that I’m not even remotely guilty about. There aren’t a lot of platforms for middle-aged women that pass the Bechdel-Wallace test. It’s also a silly thing I have in common with my sister-in-law. Having never been to a previous fan-con of any kind, I convinced her that we needed to do BravoCon and we needed to do it BIG.
Because I have lung involvement with my autoimmune disease, I never know when my oxygen will drop and I‘ll need to regroup. I was worried about long lines and lack of seating, and I am VERY fortunate to be upper middle class. I’ve never realized until this trip just how much money I spend to create the type of disabilities accommodations that I need so that I won’t be forced to ask for them. It’s not a good thing that I snowplow my disability with money instead of fighting for my rights, and it’s pretty fucking dystopian to realize how much it costs to be disabled. I did see people in wheelchairs getting accommodations at BravoCon, and it makes me hopeful that their disabilities services were good. I just didn’t have the energy to ask (and I do wonder if the overwrought fans of BravoCon [more on that later would have been ok with special seats and lines for a person with an invisible disability). Long story short, I convinced SIL to get the SVIP tickets. For a truly embarrassing amount of money, we were promised priority seats, short lines, access to all the add-on events, and a dedicated SVIP lounge. It was…wild. And probably also worth it.
The Con
In a lot of ways the SVIP passes were a life-saver, giving me more time to sit and breathe, which I desperately needed because I was in a flare the whole weekend. Skipping lines meant that we didn’t have to wait outside in the sun, which I simply wouldn’t have been able to do, no matter how much sunscreen I used or UPF clothing I wore. The SVIP room was cooler and less crowded than other conference spaces, so I could take refuge from the heat, which is another major trigger for my lungs.
If everything had run smoothly, I probably would be recommending the SVIP tickets to anyone interested in a lavish BravoCon experience. But things were not smooth, especially at the beginning of the weekend. And as a result, I have mixed feelings.
The beginning of the conference was an undeniable mess. As a historian, I like to think I can recognize when I’m living through a truly momentus moment. I was at the inaugural Women’s March in DC, and I remember exactly where I was during the OJ chase (in a hotel room during a Disney World to DC to Gettysburg to Cleveland vacation, which is an exact mash-up of my childhood). But neither moment compares to the Storming of the Beverly Hills Stage. Much like the French Revolution, the exploited masses turned their anger on the SVIP elite and the Housewife Royalty. Fans rushed through the rope barriers, entitled Karens planted themselves in front of the stage Berkeley sit-in-style, and the Fire Marshall threatened to shut the panel down if people couldn’t behave.
Having secured our seats, my SIL went to the bathroom while I sat guard. Reserved spots only further enraged the crowds. At one point a drunk woman decided my sister-in-law gave up her seat because she went to the bathroom. She just kept repeating, “She’s not here. I’m going to sit here.“ Finally I just said, “People have bladders. We have to let people pee to have a society.” I don’t think I convinced her so much as confused her, and she wandered away.
The panel finally proceeded. Lisa Rinna was booed and she flipped everyone off. The crowd was livid that the questions were about style and home decor instead of Kathy Hilton. I was just grateful to get out alive, and when we got back to the SVIP room Garcelle was hanging out taking pictures with fans. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and she was so gracious with everyone. My SIL’s dress looked amazing with Garcelle’s suit. We really needed lookbooks for the whole conference so that the pictures could all look this awesome.
Fortunately, that was rockbottom for the weekend. Andy’s Legends Ball was fun just because EVERYONE was there. SVIPs were stuck on the balcony and couldn’t hear, but they made the drinks and snacks free to appease us, so the mood improved over time. We did get to sit on the floor for our second WWHL taping, though we had to fight for our seats again because the QR code didn’t match our SVIP status. I imagine Bravo has received tons of complaints about these issues, and if everything ran smoothly I would absolutely recommend the SVIP experience. Our views were amazing and I had an unreasonable amount of fun watching the taping and looking for myself in the crowd.
Our final SVIP add-on was an hour in the Rose Room with random Bravolebrities. I didn’t really care about the photo ops, but it was fun to talk to other fans in a smaller setting. People had a lot of random gossip to share. If the panels were disappointing in terms of revelations, the gossip the celebs shared with fans was much more salacious.
The biggest “stars” in the room were Heather and Terry Dubrow, and I was quite delighted to take a photo with their personal bottle Veuve Clicquot. I really would have loved to buy the rest of the bottle, because at this point the only thing left besides cheap Chardonnay was Bud Light Seltzer, both of which are impalatable.
Probably my favorite part of the whole thing was Bravoland. It was open to everyone, but we got to skip the lines. It was basically a Bravo “museum“ with lots of opportunities to pose and be ridiculous. It was another spot where the fans interacted and took photos for each other and exchanged gossip. It definitely embodied the light, ridiculous fun that I was hoping for from the weekend. (Word of advice: it’s very tempting to actually tip the table when you yourself are a little tipsy. Luckily only the book wasn’t glued down.)
Non-Con Stuff
I wanted to stay within walking distance of the Javits Center, and ended up choosing the EVEN Hotel Times Square South. It was the perfect choice. The nicely sized, newly remodeled room, incredible staff, and convenient location would have been enough. But it turned out that the back door to the Hammerstein Ballroom was right across from our hotel, so the street was shut down and all the WWHL guests pulled up there. It was a great secret spot to people-watch.
I love New York too much to just stay in a conference center the whole weekend, so we skipped the boring sessions for some shopping and great food. I got to show my SIL some of my favorite spots like The Campbell, Valerie, and La Barra at Mercado Little Spain. We tried ATLA (divine!) because I’m obsessed with Enrique Olvera since going to Pujol in Mexico City. SIL picked Quality Italian, which had the best olives I’ve ever tasted (but I wish I had opted for pasta instead of the chicken parm). Instead of the usual deli from Sarge’s, we tried Friedman’s, and it was actually quite nice not to have a mound of pastrami the size of my face.
By Sunday I was exhausted and in a major lupus flare, but it was worth it. At the Delta lounge in JFK we finally got to do the one thing I was determined to do all weekend. I had hauled two chambongs in my carry-on—in their packaging so they wouldn’t break—so we could live it up Southern Charm-style. But we hadn’t actually had time to drink in the hotel room all weekend. So I got us two glasses of awful-but-free Delta sparkling wine and forced my SIL to do one last cheers. What I’ve learned about chambonging is that cheap wine is still gross when you chug it, as evinced by my face halfway through the video.
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