Chrishell Stause Broke the Most Hypocritical Rule of Reality TV—And Selling Sunset Turned On Her

The first rule of reality-soap stardom is: You do not talk about your reality-soap castmates in a way that might damage their personal brands or, God forbid, their businesses. You can scream at them, insult their spouses, spread vicious rumors behind their backs, call their designer ensembles fugly, critique the quality of their cosmetic surgery, troll them on social media, throw Skinnygirl margaritas in their faces, flip the table at their carefully orchestrated dinner parties… the options for waging a performative war on your friends—or, at least, the people who play them on TV—are endless. But the one thing you can never, ever do is damage their bottom line. Chrishell Stause learned this lesson the hard way in the wake of Selling Sunset’s fractious ninth season, whose reunion special arrived on Netflix on Wednesday. Amid segments previewing the upcoming season of sister show Selling the O.C. and relitigating since-dismissed cast member Nicole Young’s harsh words about Stause’s late parents, the episode’s most intense conversation saw just about everyone pile on Stause. What did the woman once framed as the soap’s princess protagonist do to earn the ire of her former subjects? She posted an unvarnished assessment of her castmate and ex-best friend Emma Hernan’s on-again, off-again boyfriend that seemed like it could hurt Hernan’s brand. In an exchange reproduced on screen, a fan asked Stause about her rift with Hernan. Her response: “Ask her about her MAGA bf who told me pronouns are dumb and that he likes to use the N word. I just can’t with that. Too old to allow that in. But love her from afar.” Over a montage of tabloid headlines, Hernan described how she was “attacked” after the post: “People were writing all over my Instagram, all of these crazy slurs and calling me MAGA and all of these things because of what she wrote.” Stause refused to accept responsibility for that backlash. “Because of what I wrote?” she asked. “Or because of what he said and did?” From there, the women went back and forth over the details of what Davis did or didn’t say to Stause, who clearly has some skin in the “pronoun” game; her spouse, the musician G Flip, is nonbinary. We will probably never know whose representation of Davis’ comments comes closer to the truth. For those of us who’ve historically found Stause to be sanctimonious, passive-aggressive, and prone to playing the victim, there’s plenty in both her post and her behavior throughout the reunion to support that view. But if she’s telling the truth about the man in question, real estate heir Blake Davis (who didn’t help his own case in the few obnoxious appearances he made in Season 9), why shouldn’t she say it? Isn’t brutal honesty—that Real World imperative to “find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real”—what reality TV is all about?  Only up to a point, apparently. As practically everyone on the reunion stage, including Stause’s sole remaining ally, Chelsea Lazkani, either said or implied, there is a line—and Stause crossed it. “I think Chrishell would need to take accountability to say, ‘I’ve acted in a way that is not representative of our friendship,’” Lazkani suggested, in an attempt to repair the friendship. “All the other stuff doesn’t matter.” While Stause disputed that the substance of Davis’ comments was less important than her choice to speak publicly about him, she did issue a halfhearted apology: “What he said, I’m sorry I repeated it on social media.” She and Hernan both talked about how hurt they were by the other’s behavior surrounding Davis. But the argument kept circling around to Stause’s post about him, with nearly everyone onstage taking Hernan’s side. Then Hernan said the quiet part out loud: “You knew that would hurt me. You knew that that would affect my business. And you know that I help my family—you know everything, Chrishell.” For anyone who has managed to miss her relentless plugs for said business throughout multiple seasons of Selling Sunset, Hernan is not just a reality star and a luxury real estate agent; she also owns a frozen empanada brand. The cast and reunion host Tan France continued to frame Stause’s use of social media as beyond the pale. The thing is, she’s hardly the first employee of the Oppenheim Group to air personal grievances online. Taking to Instagram or TikTok or X to further intra-cast feuds, especially during the long stretches between seasons when viewers might otherwise lose interest, is such a fundamental strategy of reality stardom that it would be surprising if there wasn’t social media drama surrounding the Emma-Chrishell breakup. The only aspect of this incident that stands out is that the particular accusations Stause made about Davis—that he was MAGA and used slurs—seemed likely to damage Hernan in the eyes of the largely young and female audience that follows Selling Sunset (and, maybe, buys frozen empanadas).  Gossip and feuds are the currency of reality soaps, yet the stars of these shows must strike an impossible balance between appearing authentic, entertaining fans, and maintaining an image positive enough to support the consumer-facing businesses and other side hustles they are increasingly using their celebrity to promote. And so the social contract among reality TV casts becomes: No holds barred, except when it comes to disclosures that could tank someone’s market value. This has become the central theme of The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City—probably the most chaotic show in its franchise—whose characters are always trying to root out which of their frenemies is furtively digging up dirt and spreading rumors about their legal or financial woes. These women are more than happy to say ghastly things about each other on camera. But no one wants to be caught sifting through lawsuits or whispering about a castmate’s questionable business practices. For people working in a genre that savors bad behavior, thrives on juicy revelations, and claims to have, well, some relationship to the truth, it’s all pretty hypocritical. It makes sense, though, when you remember that career reality stars are not here to make friends—they’re here to make money.