Imagine if your life consisted of lunches, private jets, Birkin bags, yachting and club tabs the price of half a high-school career at Country Day. If it sounds like the type of voyeurism you’d be interested in, #RichKids of Beverly Hills is the show for you. That’s right, #; as in this show is a social-media-obsessed, selfie-taking, spoiled little monster. (If the constant selfie taking isn’t  hint enough, transitions are stylized as text messages on an iPhone-key clicking, sent swosh and all.)

At the center of the story are two 20-somethings, Dorothy Wang and blogger Morgan Stewart. Wang’s father, Roger Wang, became a self-made billionaire through a real-estate empire that spans the globe. His daughter meanwhile became the epitome of a Beverly Hills brat, a crossbreed of Paris Hilton and Elle Woods with Asian features.

Dorothy has no problem plunking down $42,000 on Dom Perignon (“Dom is better than Cristal; don’t believe the hype”) and Cristal (as Wang puts it, “I don’t want to be a bad host.”). Dorothy even gets a bejeweled champagne funnel and fills it with her favorite beverage to the delight of the throbbing nightclub.

Flanking Wang and Stewart are friends Brendan Fitzpatrick, Stewart’s mistreated boyfriend and real-estate wonderkid; Roxy Sowlaty, a self-styled Persian princess (spoiler alert: she’s about to be cut off); and E. J. Johnson, son of Magic Johnson.

Just like the Kardashian clan, you want to roll your eyes when you see the extravagance. But then you get drawn in by the endless bottles of Dom, Rolls Royces, Caspian caviar, private jets and mansion hunting. Before you know it, the hour-long episode is gone, and just like Wang and her birkin bags, you want more.

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