I finished The Andy Cohen Diaries last night and I don’t know that I could be more glad to be done.
I had actually really looked forward to reading this book. One of my guilty pleasures is watching some of the Real Housewives shows since I really don’t have to do any thinking. I just have to sit back and revel in the fact that I don’t have that much drama in my life…
I was hoping the Diaries would spill some dirt on what the housewives are really like or how those casts are chosen. Instead, what I got was a bunch of name dropping.
OK, I get it. Cohen is famous, he’s got famous friends. But I didn’t get just that. I got a bunch of first-name references without context. And then I got told that if I wanted to know who those people are, I should have read Cohen’s first book because he wasn’t going to waste space in his second book reintroducing these people.
Yea, that’s not the way to endear yourself to a reader right off the bat. A first reference should at least include a last name. It was kind of fun at first trying to figure out who people were, but after 200 pages, it just got annoying.
Also, I don’t care who Cohen dates, but he gave WAYYY too many details about his personal life in the book. Again, it IS a diary, so I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised. But I didn’t really care about his Tinder dating life. I don’t care about who he’s texting or what position he likes to have in the bedroom. TOO. MUCH. INFORMATION. (This was billed as a book about his life hosting Watch What Happens Live.)
And I don’t care about how much he weighs. I don’t care if he weighs 165 or 280. I don’t care about his workout regimen. I don’t care how sore his hip flexors are. Yet, I was treated to pages upon pages of that information. WHERE ARE THE HOUSEWIVES?
Ah, finally. Some mentions. But wait… they’re really vague. “I spoke with two housewives today about their roles being reevaluated” or “I spoke with a housewife’s husband.” I wanted names, Cohen. I wanted dirt. Having a tell-all book is pointless if you’re only going to tell some.
I think the thing that struck me most was how much more mature I am (in some regards) in my mid-twenties than Cohen is in his mid-40s. When you have a job, staying out every night until the bars close (or later) isn’t really a good habit to have. Even if your job is hosting a late night show. I don’t know how many passages I read where Cohen would talk about getting home at 2 a.m. or 3 a.m. and then being up for a production meeting at 9.
If you were thinking about reading this book in hopes of finding out more dirt about celebrities, don’t bother. He doesn’t name names unless it has a benefit for him. The names you really want to hear are buried in vagueness like “the actor” or “the housewife.”
I had considered reading Cohen’s first book (they weren’t billed as needing to be read together), but now, I really don’t want to. I need to focus my energy on an author who needs it.
Cohen doesn’t need my money to continue to fund his (multiple times a week) masseuse who makes house calls habit.