Enough, no more! It was the year in which I found myself screaming at the TV, as Americans' undiminished love for Paris continued. This country's obsession with the City of Light inflicted the worst torture I have ever endured in 30 years of reviewing.Yes, I'm looking at you, Emily in Paris. How does Darren Star, creator of Sex and the City, go from that masterpiece to this inane dross that is completely lacking in everything – characterization, script, plot. Apart from the hot chef, it has absolutely zilch going for it. Fans say, 'Ah, but the fashion is so great.' Fashion? Emily looks as if she's fallen into a dumpster and emerged wearing five decades of hand me downs. Her teeth are the only thing she carries off successfully.As if the third series (how on Earth does this drivel make it to two, let alone a third series?) of Emily in Paris were not enough, Real Girlfriends in Paris descended upon the mire. It was, as with every 'Real' show in the Bravo franchise, about as real as a dead stoat. And apart from the proverbial shots of the beautiful city, the six girlfriends (although one is of French descent), in search of the ultimate Parisian dream, might as well have been in Rome. Or Madrid. Or any European city.
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