By Dave Barton
By LP Hastings
By Sarah Bennett
By LP Hastings
By Jena Ardell
By Steve Lowery
By R. Scott Moxley
By Joel Beers
The pseudoreality of reality television is nothing new, of course, but The Hills articulated it in ever more exquisite and profound ways. The SBE venues, Shaffer explains, allowed the stars to have as much privacy or exposure as they wanted, depending on whether they were coming in “as a guest themselves or as a character on the show.” There was your real self and your doppelgänger reality self.
“Our venues, our brands were already part of their daily interactions, their dinners or whatnot,” she continues. “And it became very natural for them to integrate that within the show.”
Venue or character, chicken or egg—which came first? Neither. In the twilight of reality celebrity, there is no beginning or end. It’s all a kind of seamless middle. The beautiful people will go where they’ve always gone.
“The show gave us more awareness in regard to people across the nation. In terms of who our clientele is, that hasn’t changed,” says Souferian. Theirs is not so much a demographic as a psychographic. “It’s people who want to live this type of lifestyle,” he says. “If you frequent our places, we want to make you feel like you’ve come into my living room and I’m the host. The experience we want people to walk away with is being very catered-to.”
Asked if they watch The Hills, Souferian, Shaffer and McKay suddenly get very occupied with their drinks.
“I haven’t watched it much this year,” McKay says sheepishly.
“I don’t get a lot of time. I’m working,” says Souferian.
“I travel a lot,” says Shaffer.
Though, she says, she sometimes watches episodes on DVD on the plane. The Hills is apparently the show that everyone has seen but no one admits to watching.
“What Sex and the City did for New York, The Hills did for LA,” Shaffer says. “I wonder if there’s a Hills tour. Like if you go to New York, you can go see where Carrie lived. I wonder if there’s one for The Hills.”
“There’s gotta be,” says McKay. “If there isn’t, I’ll partner with you on it.”
“Done,” jokes Shaffer. “I’ll get the buses.”
“I’ll drive,” says McKay.
The exposure they’ve gotten from The Hills has been invaluable. “It’s hard for entrepreneurs from out of town to establish a foothold in nightlife industry,” Souferian says, straightening his pinstripe blazer. “It’s a different animal here.”
* * *
“When we first came to LA, it was hard to get into places. You can’t just show up with cameras and surprise the owners of the restaurant,” says series creator DiVello in his Santa Monica office at MTV’s West Coast base of operations.
To this day, he remembers Geisha House, the first place they filmed. Conrad, Montag and the two boys they were dating were having dinner there. “The owner stood right next to us the whole time, and they were antsy as hell for us to get out of there. They didn’t really get it,” DiVello recalls. Most reality shows shoot with buzzy, in-your-face handhelds, but The Hills shot with cameras on sticks; they could be tucked discreetly away. Unless you recognized the stars, you wouldn’t know whom they were shooting.
“Once the show started airing and people saw that we were making the places look beautiful, a lot more doors opened to us,” he says.
Good thing because The Hills is location-heavy. Every argument, every romantic moment, every tearful reconciliation required a different setting. They shot in places that had never let cameras in before, much less reality-TV cameras: fancy boutiques; crowded nightclubs; brand-new, impossible-to-get-into restaurants. They shot four days per week at nine or 10 different places.
A location—Conrad’s Hillside Villas apartment—even led to the casting of one of the show’s main characters. “We looked at a lot of places. We wanted a swimming pool with a lot of younger kids who lived there. It was perfect because that’s where I found Audrina,” DiVello says.
He was there checking on the paint color one afternoon. On his way out, he spotted a sexy brunette lounging by the pool. It was Audrina Patridge, a 20-year-old film-studio receptionist. DiVello brought her onboard for Season 1. “She befriended Heidi,” he recalls, “and just rolled right into becoming friends with Lauren.”
When Conrad moved to Los Angeles from Orange County, the sun-drenched palette of her first reality show, Laguna Beach, gave way to cooler blues of the big city. “We wanted to make it seem a little more daunting, a little more ominous. But at the same time, cut against them laying out in the sun,” DiVello says. “You have these kids with these very relatable lives and problems—dating, work—but it’s all done in this idyllic, beautiful setting.”