The Sunday Times - UK (2021-11-28)

FINALLY, finally, it is here — the fourth

series of Selling Sunset. For more than a year

we have been starved of the life-giving sight

of extremely tall, rake-thin women strutting

into extremely large, luscious houses in Los

Angeles in shreds of Balenciaga, asking

each other: “What do you call the kitchen

off the main kitchen?”

Fans will know the answer: it is, of course,

“chef ’s kitchen”. After hoovering up three

whole series of the reality show, mostly

back to back, over the long, horrible

summer of lockdown — it went to the top

of the charts on Netflix, where it became

the wildfire hit of Covid — there aren’t

many of us who aren’t experts in selling

“praper-dee” (property) in Hollywood now.

Each episode of the show, which features

estate agents who work on Sunset Strip,

is a volley of high heels, short skirts,

ridiculous hair and fake everything — from

tits to fireplaces. Most of the best parts

are brought to us by its extraordinary

villain, Christine Quinn. She is outra-

geously watchable — a kind of sexy, thin,

diamond-encrusted emu Marilyn Manson:

nearly 6ft of Texan boss bitch, complete

with signature rope of long, dead-white

ponytail. Usually she’s wearing some acidic

outfit — a fluorescent tracksuit or boots

that have “Rich AF” down the side or a

tiny chair as a handbag. She will happily

pick her way through the desks at the

Oppenheim Group, the estate agency

where the women work, looking, as one

co-star put it, like “the Joker”.

And then there’s the bitching. Hardly

a scene goes by without the hilarious Quinn,

33, telling us how much she loathes her

colleagues — particularly Chrishell, a honey-

locked, button-nosed, terminally conniving

former soap actress who is a “kiss-ass”.

Quinn prickles with savage one-liners —

“You look like a slutty Big Bird.” About

Chrishell, then a new agent: “She can sit on

the floor until she’s proved herself.” At

the end of the new series the fight gets so

nasty that Quinn spends the best part of

20 minutes of the finale in tears at a party,

screaming “You guys are horrible” and “You

guys are monsters.” It is like nothing I have

ever seen on a reality TV show.

So I’m kind of apprehensive about

meeting her — will she be a total wreck?

We meet in a sexy hotel in Soho, where she

is staying with her husband, Christian, a

tech entrepreneur — “He invented the

food-delivery industry” — and her baby,

also called Christian, whom she had in

May. In person she looks amazing: head to

toe in ice-cream lavender bouclé and drip-

ping with diamonds, including a rope of

diamonds given to her by her husband —

when we are horsing around at the shoot

later she insists I wear it. She doesn’t work

out and eats anything she wants. “She’s like

my straight male clients,” her press officer

says with a sigh. She is incredibly funny,

relaxed, smart — but it is no secret that

I love her.

How is she doing? Well, she still has

“trauma” from the birth, she says. She had

to film all through her pregnancy, 12 hours

a day, going back home between scenes and

getting new clothes and glam for each. At

35 weeks she had been “cramping so bad for

two days ... and I called my doctor and told

Above Jumper, £485, Dolce & Gabbana;

matchesfashion.com. Vintage Maurice

Daquin suit, earrings and necklace, Rellik.

Shoes, £940, Versace. Tights, £8, UK Tights.

Opposite Vintage Marc Jacobs blazer,

Found and Vision. Miniskirt, £238, Gauge81;

matchesfashion.com. Boots, £750, the

Attico. Satin gloves, £145, Cornelia James.

Vintage belt, Rellik. Tights, £18, Falke.

Vintage Givenchy earrings, £195, Susan

Caplan. Hat, stylist’s own

10 • The Sunday Times Style