The Real Housewives of Atlanta Recap: Messy Boots and Porsha’s Truth

Truly studious fans know that the Housewives oeuvre is split into two distinct periods — before the franchise permanently entered the cultural zeitgeist as an acceptable guilty pleasure and after when even Ben Stiller publicly admits to enjoying the cinematic levels of storytelling we get from our ladies. This latter era introduced what one fan calls “parody Housewives,” a nod to the franchise morphing into a self-referential caricature with cast members and scenarios becoming so larger than life that it barely resembles the early seasons of the foundational cities. While no single moment led to Housewives breaking away from low-brow connotations to widespread acclaim, everyone can agree that RHOA played a crucial part in the evolution.

Interestingly, it’s also the city that’s struggled the most (well, maybe that goes to RHONY, but we don’t have time for such a discussion) with transitioning into the new era with clunky newbie casting, tapped-out veterans, and stale storylines. But, like a rainbow after a storm, as the season continues post-pistol-gate, it seems production has finally stumbled upon the perfect formula for blending RHOA’s past with its present. It’s still a little shaky, as both the cast and crew try their best to pivot in real-time. However, things are slowly falling into place in a way that honors the genesis of the show while leaning into the satirical nature of the modern era. I can’t thank casting enough for their contributions to this delicate balance; Kelli, Angela, and Shamea are holding down the fort, and I’ll even toss Drew a compliment because, say what you want about her, she brings the antics. Finally, we have an ensemble cast working together to put on a damn show.

While we’ve spoken a lot about Shamea, Brit, and Angela’s presence, I want to shout out Kelli for her contributions as a parody Housewife. In the beginning, regular women slowly transformed into Housewives, agreeing to their Faustian bargain before knowing what the other side looked like. Now, women audition for the show as already formed campy characters ready for the exploits of reality TV (imagine the difference between the casting tape of someone like Jen Shah compared to an early tape of an OG), and RHOA finally capitalized on this with Kelli. Kelli is brash and benignly ostentatious with her cackling laugh and revolving door of unpredictable fashions (my jaw dropped at her look for Coyote Ugly), another indicator of a great parody Housewife. These looks — Drew came closely behind Kelli for worst look — can only be described as costumes at this point, a far cry from the Sky tops of seasons past.

Outside of bluntly asking Porsha about stealing husbands, Kelli has remained largely out of the fray, peppering scenes with much-needed comedic relief through her over-the-top reactions. And that’s okay — a little bit goes a long way for a personality like hers, and we have Drew and Angela as production’s resident pot stirrers, another essential part of a casting recipe. Drew comes barreling into Nashville after “contemplating” not coming, which is a creative way of admitting she wasn’t invited. She takes getting the worst room on the chin, not letting the bunk beds deter her from causing a scene, then jumps right into the day’s activities, joining Cynthia, Brit, and Angela at a whiskey tasting while Shamea, Porsha, and Kelli visit the famous Coyote Ugly bar.

A surprising essential element of RHOA’s new formula is Cynthia, whom I enjoy more as a friend than as a main cast member. Cynthia serves as the bridge between the new and old RHOA, establishing herself as both a voice of reason and a friendly instigator. Throughout the episode, she travels from conversation to conversation with a spoon for pot stirring, a list of production-approved questions, and a few one-liners to keep the laughs flowing. At the whiskey tasting, Cynthia brings things into perspective as Brit hashes unresolved feelings from the Peace Brunch. Brit tells the women she wishes they rallied around her more after the incident, but Angela points out that Brit’s behavior at the brunch wasn’t exactly “pizza-party worthy,” as they would say over on RHOBH.

Cynthia provides a veteran response: “You guys can not tell this woman how she should walk into the damn brunch after something like that has happened to her. Unless y’all’s picture is up there, with a penis inside y’all’s mouth, in front of a room full of people, come get at me when that happens!” Her quip is so old-school RHOA that it made me yearn for just one scene of Nene and Cynthia, besties again, having a ki-ki about Kenya’s inappropriate shenanigans — we would’ve had memes for days. And Cynthia’s right; we can extend a teensy bit of grace to Brit, considering what happened to her is something no woman should have to experience. Angela and Drew apologize for hurting Brit’s feelings, and Brit acknowledges understanding where the other women are coming from, with everyone finally agreeing to move forward.

The only person not pulling their weight in the ensemble is Porsha, who continues to flounder during what could’ve been an epic comeback. After receiving a call from someone confirming that Dennis continued to film for the show after Porsha asked him not to, she enters the final Nashville dinner the same way she entered the season: low energy, passive-aggressive, unenthusiastic, and burdened by a not-shit man. While everyone else is laughing and joking before heading to the table, Porsha descends the stairs, killing the mood and dressed in all black, with Shamea noting in her confessional that her bestie only needs a ski mask to complete the look. She’s even wearing flats! Gasp!

Instead of hashing it out at the table with a too-eager-to-spar Drew, who’s practically foaming at the mouth at the chance of a blow-out over dinner, Porsha shuts down, refusing to engage in any discussions, claiming to be “tired.” The rest of the women work around Porsha’s refusal to participate, rehashing their dialogue from the whiskey tasting. Brit claims Angela plays the role of the victim by conjuring drama and then acting surprised when she must answer for it. At Coyote Ugly, Porsha calls this pattern gaslighting, a word she probably picked up on through social media therapy talk without bothering to actually look up the definition, but maybe Drew can teach her later, as she’s an expert.

When Angela asks how her messiness constitutes as gaslighting, Porsha mumbles, “I don’t remember.” Angela, unaffected by Porsha’s passivity, asks the table why she’s the only one held accountable for being messy when Kelli started on day one by asking why Porsha took someone’s husband. Aw, it’s our newborn Housewife’s first deflection! They grow up so fast! Angela keeps pushing for an answer to Kelli’s question, so Porsha tells her to kiss her ass. Across the table, Drew’s about ready to combust from going this long without attention, and she damn sure isn’t going to let an opportunity to perform go to waste, so she snatches the spotlight. You know she practiced a monologue on the flight!

Drew raises her glass to a toast, reminding everyone that she wasn’t invited and asking Porsha if it’s okay that she’s there, and Porsha mutters, “You straight,” through barely parted lips. Drew treats Porsha’s rebuff as an improvisational offer, with her “yes, and…” being to get up and announce her departure from the dinner. It’s all very dramatic, and while it was the mature choice to ignore Drew’s provocations, it’s not the entertaining one. Porsha leaves her lashings for the confessional (rookie mistake; she blames the men in her life for her inability to “meet Drew where she’s at.” Girl, fuck those men, imma need you to clock in!), dragging Drew for the audacity to play around behind the scenes with Dennis, then cause a scene at her birthday dinner.

On-camera, Porsha might be slacking, but off-camera, by the end of the episode, she finally gives us something to work with. To cap her birthday trip, Porsha, Shamea, Brit, Kelli, and Cynthia pop bottles and throw cash at each other as they twerk by the pool. By 2:30 a.m., filming stops, but a few production cameras, plus Angela’s swift phone recording, capture a glimpse of the ladies’ inebriated conversation. At the sound of her name, Angela begins eavesdropping on what she describes as “Porsha’s truth” falling out. She listens to them shit-talk her and her outfit and begins recording after she hears Porsha allegedly say, “I should fuck Charles.”

Yup, you heard that right, Mrs. Steal Your Man herself joking about fucking someone’s husband. Welcome back, Porsha! Angela records for about a second longer before going outside to confront the girls face-to-face. Porsha denies everything and leaves, but Kelli swoops in with the assist during her confessional, noting that she recalls Porsha saying, “She better stop before I fuck her husband.” Hilariously, Angela retorts, “You better listen when Porsha says she wants to fuck your husband because, as history has shown us, she will fuck your husband.” Angela leaves first thing in the morning, and while she says she came to Nashville grown and she’ll leave grown, I have a feeling the gloves will come off when we touch back down in Atlanta.

Peach Tea To-Go

• Shamea is truly Porsha’s soldier; something about them at Coyote Ugly crafting the narrative that Angela “set up” Drew made it clear this wasn’t the first time they’ve done this. I’m so intrigued by how they’re going to spin the tea they spilled about Charles being for the streets. Porsha’s already framing things in her interviews by emphasizing the “creepiness” of Angela filming them instead of admitting to gossiping.

• I loved seeing Cynthia comfort Porsha after dinner. From Porsha peeling off her lashes to joking about removing her wig, it really did feel like old times. I fell out laughing when Cynthia’s tipsy ass wanted to pray together. By her last season full-time, I was so tired of Cynthia, but now that she’s like a Bravo fairy godmother who floats from show to show (her cameo on Love Hotel is going to be so random, but I can’t wait) with her messy magic wand, I love her again.