Made In Chelsea has gone to the dogs
For God’s sake, will you maintain a modicum of decorum?
For so long Made in Chelsea was our not so guilty pleasure. It was the Monday night pick me up, like drinks with your friends filled with gossip and scandal but from the comfort of our sofas. It was classic. It was enjoyable. It was over the top. We’re talking old school MIC with Caggie putting Spencer in his place, Millie throwing drinks over Hugo, and Cheska looking for a honey.
There was a weird comfort in not knowing what your 60 minute E4 fix was going to give you. Whatever unfolded, you knew Spencer would be “hooking up” with someone, Louise would be playing up to her porgy pedigree, Jamie would be hanging with his lost boyz, and Binky’s mum would be putting the world to rights.
And then Cheska left. You may not have thought it then but when the blonde strolled off our screens, it all went downhill. She was the original Chelsea girl, the one who’d always pop up and meddle in affairs, the one who’d take the shit and still come back fighting. Then slowly, season by season, they started dropping like flies. Francis Boulle went to find some diamonds in Africa, Stevie got a girlfriend and swanned off, Millie found Professor Green or “Stephen” (and then lost him), and Caggie went to pursue a music career. Don’t even get me started on the Spencer departure, it’s far too emotional.
The classics were gone and therein lies the problem. Suddenly, the key ingredients were missing from the delicious recipe that was Made in Chelsea. What are we left with now? Chelsea light. A half hearted version of what we once loved. The gaps have been filled with diluted versions of the greats and the reality is, nobody could care less about the replacement Chelsea fonies.
When Spencer used to cheat, nobody was shocked and weirdly, people found his predictability charming. Mytton cheating on Binky? Yup, sad but can we just move on now. Boring. The new couples, the Chelsea combinations, haven’t won our hearts. We’re not emotionally invested because there’s no promise of romance – because they’ve all already shagged each other. It’s all too predictable. Thank god this shit isn’t on the BBC because they’d definitely cancel the TV licence if it funded an hour of Louise constantly crying, Rosie bitching about things that have nothing to do with her, and JP getting cold feet.
The King is dead and our beloved MIC has gone to the dogs. Its only saving grace is the occasional pithy and philosophical line from Mark Francis but even he’s started backing out of designer drama. Alas, the glory days are over and the country is going to ruins. And yet, we still watch it and we still switch on in the hope that maybe, just maybe, old Spenny will pop up and charm us all. We live in hope.