IN CONVERSATION

Bethenny Frankel Would “Rather Be Canceled Than Muzzled”

The Real Housewives of New York City O.G. on relationships, her walk-of-shame run-in with Donald Trump, and the people she’s pissed off.
Image may contain Clothing Apparel Human Person Bethenny Frankel Jacket Coat and Sleeve
By Greg Endries.

Bethenny Frankel is more of a force than a familiar face. During her eight seasons on The Real Housewives of New York City, the native New Yorker bushwhacked through staged cocktail chatter, class posturing, and cuckoo personalities with the urgency of a woman who has been broke (she has), known deep dysfunction (she has), and does not have a second to waste on frivolity (she doesn’t). Her onscreen superpowers are razor-sharp repartee and immunity to social awkwardness. But Frankel didn’t join the series to make friends, accumulate fame, or showcase her brassy charisma—she wanted to promote herself as a chef.

Instead, she realized that her brand (GNF candor) was so potent that she could capitalize. She willed the mixed drink she ordered on camera—what would become the Skinnygirl margarita—into a brand that Frankel sold to Beam Global in 2011 for a reported $100 million. (While Jim Beam got the premixed-drink business, Frankel kept the Skinnygirl name rights.) A pioneer in the art of monetizing reality-TV fame, Frankel’s decision to integrate Skinnygirl into her subplot has inspired TV networks to have cast members sign contractual clauses stipulating that networks get a cut of side-hustle profits.

In the years since the Beam deal, Frankel has expanded her empire to include food, cookware, supplements, shapewear, eyewear, and the Just B With Bethenny Frankel podcast—and parlayed her drive into the nonprofit sector with BStrong, the disaster relief initiative that has distributed more than $19 million in aid and personal protective equipment during the COVID-19 crisis.

This Thursday, Frankel returns to television—this time on HBO Max, and as the star of her own series rather than the star of an ensemble. In The Big Shot With Bethenny, the titular star searches for her successor, or, as she bluntly tells cameras, “someone to run this goddamn circus.” In each episode Bethenny puts her potential successors through a boot camp that savvily showcases all of Skinnygirl’s divisions. (Asked if there are any markets she won’t touch, she replies, “Porn, firearms. I can’t think of that many.”)

Produced by Apprentice mastermind Mark Burnett and MGM, the series marks a wild full-circle moment for Frankel, who—before being cast on The Real Housewives, when she was still a scrappy striver—placed second on The Apprentice: Martha Stewart. “I was naïve. I wanted that job. I needed that money,” Frankel tells Vanity Fair, reflecting on the 2005 version of herself. Frankel reteamed with Burnett 16 years later, marveling  that this time around, “he is my equal partner.”

Ahead, Frankel answers our wide-ranging questions with her characteristic wit.

Vanity Fair: What’s the origin story of no-bullshit Bethenny? You really built a brand on authenticity, which popped on a reality series that can feel really inauthentic.

Bethenny Frankel: People always assign, later, where something came from—so you can’t really know. But I did grow up in a very temperamental, nontraditional, dysfunctional environment, with gambling and the racetrack. I’ve seen every kind of abuse—from physical to alcohol to drugs to eating disorders. I’ve seen a lot of crazy things. So I have thick skin.

I’ve always been alone, an only child, so I was very mature as a child. I used to do very adult things as a very young person. I went to 13 different schools, and I was always the new kid. But I found that it was a challenge, and I’m good in things I’m afraid of.

What have you been afraid of?

Shark Tank I was afraid of. Roasting Betty White at the Friars Club Roast I was afraid of. I was afraid of doing stand-up comedy last week, or hesitant. So I get inspired by moving through things that I’m hesitating to do.

I don’t know where the whole no-bullshit thing began…it’s not for show. It bothers me when something feels like it isn’t real, or inauthentic. I’m known in the reality-TV space to say, “Let’s do real.” My producer might say something like, “You’re going to do this—be in a Carrie Bradshaw pink dress on your bed waiting for…” I’m like, “How about we do real?” It makes me uncomfortable otherwise. With this show, you’ll see it’s extremely real…It couldn’t be more real. That’s why it’s nerve-racking.

How did it feel being so authentic in the Bravo space?

Helpful, I guess? Groundbreaking, I guess? Appreciated? It stood out to audiences, it appears.

Did you recognize that characteristic in yourself before Bravo?

No. I mean, I knew I had something. I knew I could light up certain rooms, and be entertaining at a dinner party, even when I was totally broke. But nobody knew what this [gestures to herself] whole thing was. Real Housewives of New York was initially called Manhattan Moms, and [the cast members] had no preconceived notion about what the show was. Real Housewives of Orange County premiered first, but it wasn’t very widely watched. My naïve goal was to be on the show to promote the fact that I was a food chef…Every time I was on camera was going to be about that. But I didn’t know what this medium was.

I remember it hitting me that people were going to tune in to watch this show I was on…and I thought, If they’re going to tune in, I’m going to give them the honest me. Like, reveal myself. But it was hard.

What were the growing pains?

It was hard to be the girl wanting to have a conversation about moving in with her boyfriend, and for the guy to be like, “Let’s talk about this later.”

That felt like I was the girl in high school that got broken up with—everybody knows that you were broken up with. I had no idea that people would embrace me for that. I didn’t realize the power of of being the vulnerable one. People would write me these emails: “You’re our Carrie Bradshaw.”

So just revealing myself was what ended up being the reason for my success in my products. Not the products themselves. Anybody can put a product on TV, but being the person that people trust or feel is revealing themselves…Like, if my logo’s ugly, I’m not pretending it’s not ugly. It’s ugly, and here we are on TV talking about my ugly logo.

Did any part of your “dysfunctional” childhood, or the characters you knew back then, prepare you for the Real Housewives landscape?

Had to, right? I remember when I came back to [the franchise], I was talking to Andy [Cohen] on Watch What Happens Live. And Andy was like, “You know, you’re really good at this.” And the funny thing is, I know what I’m good at. I know what I’m not good at. I happen to be excellent at this form of television, whether it’s The Big Shot or any of these unscripted shows. Finding the emotion, the humor, the connectivity, the entertainment, crystallizing what’s going on, and connecting to the audience…I have a gift for that.

Your relationship advice on Real Housewives was always a revelation in its bluntness. So many people tiptoe around their friends’ bad relationships in real life. And here you were on television, cutting through all of that Emily Post, let-your-friend-realize-it-on-their-own-timeline stuff. I remember you calling out Tinsley for not having any control in her relationship with Scott—and it was such a clear analysis that it was almost jarring to watch. Has that approach backfired for you?

Yes, of course, but never without a learning experience or without a takeaway. Listen, I’d rather be canceled than muzzled. There are so many watered-down, filtered versions of people running around the entertainment industry. It’s the absolute majority. I am absolutely the exception, no question.

But when you do something that is risky, or that you might regret, or that risks “cancellation nation,” you think about what it takes to survive, and what it takes to thrive, and where the envelope is, and if you can push it. I had to think about that before going through with my podcast—it was a very serious decision financially. It is a risky thing for a person like me to do a podcast, because I’m just going to say what I think. So I made a conscious, calculated decision—something could go sideways, for sure.

I imagine you’re not the kind of person who wants to waste time on a meaningless conversation—what’s your gauge for determining whether a celebrity is going to be able to meet you and have a real conversation?

I’ve stuck to what I dreamed…Producers would send me people that are famous but have too much of a filter, [and I turned them down]. But the biggest thing is that they have to have built a brand and done it in a nontraditional way. Jamie Siminoff, who created the Ring and sold it to Amazon for a billion dollars. Hillary Clinton, Chelsea Handler, [Barstool Sports creator] Dave Portnoy, Mark Cuban, Ryan Murphy. The guests are far more successful, wealthy, relevant, and, in many ways, more legit than I am. But I have real guests. Just because someone’s famous for smoking pot, that’s not cutting it. I have to see that somebody’s really interesting.

You said most people in Hollywood are watered-down versions of themselves. Who do you see as being your peer in terms of being the most concentrated version of themselves?

If it’s not full shtick, I think Dave Portnoy is doing things his own way and pissing off people. He’s not really afraid. It’s part of his brand to piss off people. The difference between Dave Portnoy and me, besides everything, is…he has a brand, but he [isn’t partnered with a] wholesome company brand like Conagra. So I can’t go totally rogue and do everything that I want to do. But I’ve made people mad.

I’ve had all the Karens mad at me for helping 100 small-owned Black businesses. To them I was a racist. I’ve had the same group pissed off because I said something about Donald Trump. But then I had another group pissed off at me for posting a Hillary Clinton photo. I had Dana White and I had Hillary Clinton on the podcast. It’s not about politics. It’s about opinions and your own route to success.

Even though your new show is on HBO Max versus Bravo, it still seems very authentic to the Bethenny brand.

I’m doing the show with Mark Burnett and MGM, who were comfortable with the fact that I wanted the show to find my successor. They create such gangster, intense, big shows—years ago, when I was on The Apprentice, it felt like a military operation.

But I think that they were used to such a formatted show, where someone’s going to be in a conference room, and they’re wearing a suit, and there’s a tagline. And there’s all this sort of in-the-box sort of stuff. Jen O’Connell from HBO Max understands that I’m not an in-the-box kind of person, and I can’t do anything that doesn’t feel totally authentic, which is why I didn’t like—nor was I good at—being a talk show host.

How did that go over when you started filming?

I think that MGM was buckling their seat belts up, literally biting their own nails while we were shooting the show. Because nobody knew what was going to happen. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I just, in the moment, made a decision [about firing someone] and did it. Everyone’s like, “What did she just do? That’s never been done before. Why did you just do that?” The director of photography and the E.P. said, “We’ve never seen a show like this.”

A lot of reality competition shows are about the show—not about setting up the winner for actual, real-life success after filming. But you are hiring someone to really help run your company. How did casting work—in terms of finding people qualified for the job versus people who make for good television?

We got applications and I looked at every single video. Then I said that I wanted them each to send in a one-minute, non-planned, just off-the-cuff speed dating video. I was very involved in every act of the process. The people who work for the production company had opinions—I remember there was one [applicant] who they really felt would be boring. I just said, “I have a gut instinct for her.”

The entire process, from the first minute I was there until the very end, I went with my gut on everything. I couldn’t have cared less if somebody was good for TV. I just cared about if they could actually do the job. And I know well enough at this point that some people who don’t even speak are more entertaining than people who can’t shut up.

With so many reality shows, the actual winners end up disappearing or being forgotten. But for someone whose empire is authenticity, I imagine there is an added pressure to pick the right person.

One hundred percent. The girl who won the job for The Apprentice: Martha Stewart [which Frankel competed on], you never heard from her again. But with a show like The Apprentice, Mark Burnett probably had this amazing idea for a show and just plugged [host Trump] into it. This show was not something I was plugged into. This began because I called Mark and said, “I really need a successor—someone who can think like me, act like me, make decisions like me, operate on a high level, write an email and understand grammar, talk to brand partners, be a grown-up, be a professional…The best ideas are always based on true necessity.” I said, ”I need this.”

Head hunters never work. Staffing agencies are always, “Three weeks from Thursday, I have to take a 20-minute break.” Everyone’s so corporate and so cubicle-ish. I needed someone who’s corporate, because I do have multimillion-dollar brand partners, but I needed someone who’s nimble, because there’s a lot of personal.

If you hadn’t found the right person during filming, were you prepared to walk away at the end of the show?

I literally was pressured and panicked in the beginning because I was going to be truthful to myself. If I’m the Bachelor and I don’t like any of these women, I’m not going to marry them.

How does it feel to be pivoting to HBO Max?

Really major. I think there are billboards on buildings in Los Angeles. I didn’t have any sort of marketing understandings or demands. I call it the not-effing-around crew. MGM and HBO Max, they don’t play games. You know the difference when something’s legit. I don’t know where you’ve worked before, but I imagine Vanity Fair is different than working at Clown Publishing. I mean, the number of people on a call about marketing, about the social plan…They’re quietly treating us like they do their scripted shows. I’m really excited.

Could there be a second season?

We’re talking about the next season. Being totally honest, I have at least three more solid positions to fill. That would really round it out. We would be as legitimate as HBO Max.

How did your recent stand-up show come about?

To be honest, I was reading about NFTs, and I was talking to Paul, my fiancé, in a hotel room in Florida, and I said, “I would like to do something unique that would be a one of one.” And then he’s like, “What would it be?” And I didn’t even want to get the words out of my mouth because it was so one of one that if I said it, maybe I’d have to do it. But I just said, “Stand-up.”

I said to Paul, 11 days ago, “Fuck it. Let’s just do it.” We booked a club. A real club with real comics. Nobody knew I was coming in. And I just found myself like a zombie walking towards the light.

How did you prepare?

I hadn’t really prepared. It was, like, six days before when I decided to write some things down that I felt were funny or I said on my podcast. And then the day before, I was in my living room, like, “Am I doing this?” And I got my hairbrush out and I did it for Paul, and then I literally did it the day of for the dogs. And then I went up onstage. And that was easier than doing it for the dogs. People laughed for seven minutes. Not every second of the seven minutes, but they laughed.

What did you talk about?

I talked about kale going from being a garnish to being an A-list celebrity…I said that I was a plant-based comic. I won’t talk about people or animals. Then I did something on how I go with my plastic tits and my plastic car and buy my sandwich in plastic and go get a coffee dolce latte and it comes in a plastic cup and I’m ready to drink it and I can’t use a straw. That’s where we’re drawing the line? I’m drinking my drink out of a paper airplane. So I did seven minutes on stuff like that. Just nonsense.

Did you ask anyone for advice?

Chris Rock gave me the most amazing advice. Kevin Nealon, Michael Rapaport, Kathy Griffin. Ellen DeGeneres texted me something. Whitney Cummings, Kym Whitley, Bridget Everett. It was crazy.

What did Chris Rock say?

He took it very seriously. He gives a paragraph this big [holds up her hand] of just tactical advice. He was the first person I asked, and it was an immediate response. It doesn't matter if I was nobody or anybody, he answered as if I was his best friend. And we don’t know each other well at all.

Who is the most famous person who knows who you are?

I had no idea that Donald Trump knew who I was. That was while he was running for president. He stopped me in the lobby of Trump Tower when I was doing the walk of shame with my jewelry in a glass. I had my two dogs on a leash. I was wearing a sweatshirt, spiked boots over the knee—I swear on my life. I had a blazer from the night before, but, like, a cutoff sweatshirt under that. My mascara was down here [gestures to her chin]. It was like a skit with Gilda Radner when she walks out of a bar and has mascara down her face. It’s like 7:45 in the morning. I walk into Donald Trump, and he’s like, “Bethenny.” And he says, “Take care of her. She’s the most famous person in this building.” I was horrified.

But I’m an insular introvert person. I’m never out of pajamas if I don’t have to be. I never have hair and makeup unless I’m being paid. Two years ago I went to some night-before-Oscars party, and all these really, really famous people walk up to me and know who I am…Lady Gaga was like, “Bethenny.” I’m like, “Why does Lady Gaga know who I am?” I’m always shocked by that. Madonna knows who I am—I met her once at Andy Cohen’s Christmas party. She didn’t give me the time of day, but I think she’s aware I’m on this earth.

When you were in your 30s, you were broke. When you were in your 40s, you sold Skinnygirl for $100 million. Now you’re the head of an empire. You’ve dated in all three of these phases. What have you learned about yourself and relationships while dating through this climb?

I have learned that I’m a lot to handle. I said that to Tamron Hall, that it’s about finding someone who can handle you. And she took offense to that. But I need to be handled. I need someone who knows how to deal with me. And I need someone who understands this level of a career, because I don’t think it’s that easy to be in a relationship when you are so driven and so passionate. Not driven for money…I’m just as passionate about philanthropy. My job is all-encompassing, and sometimes I need someone who can pull me out.

I have learned that you have to choose to be in a relationship, you have to work on it, and you have to make it a priority. You can’t not work on your relationship and work so hard on your work. You have to work on everything. I think as you get older, you realize that it’s a choice to be in a partnership, and it’s a choice to be alone. And neither one is wrong.

Ten years from now, where do you see yourself? Where do you see your empire? I saw that you just expanded into eyewear. 

I’m not in the smash-and-grab phase. I’ve always been very methodical—one category at a time. And they’re like growing children. They’re babies, then they’re toddlers, then they go to college, and then they can live on their own. My popcorn is a college student. My shaper is a college student. Salad dressing, they don’t really need me that much. High school student is my preserves. I’m pregnant with a cherry juice that’s coming out. I just gave birth to the glasses. They’re all at different stages. The tables are hot, so I stay at the tables until they go cold.

But I don’t think like that at all. I mean, in 10 years I hope I’m Jet Skiing off the back of a yacht in a pool filled with frozen margaritas. I mean, you’re cute to wonder what I’m doing in a decade, but I’ll probably be halfway in the ground. So I hope I’m not doing that much.

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