I have read the DMs, seen the memes and survived the reunion (just about!). I’ve decided to write from the heart.

Where to begin…

If you knew how many half-written statements live in my Notes app right now, how many DMs I’ve read and almost flipped the F out, how many voice notes I’ve sent my manager completely losing it. Then the reunion episode came out and I just had to stop, look at myself in the mirror and laugh.

First and foremost, you guys are brutalllll! The comment section has been shadier than those hedges Jason put outside the O group office.

I get it. Reality TV and controversy work hand in hand, so outrage is expected. I signed up for this so I can’t act shocked now (can I?). But somewhere between entertainment and empathy, something got lost and that’s what I want to talk about.

Let’s keep it 100. I’m a grown woman on a glossy show about luxury and drama. I knew what I was walking into. But what I didn’t expect was how personal it gets for people watching from the couch. One minute you’re bingeing a season; the next, you’re dissecting a human being and honestly, sometimes the comments say more about us collectively than about me. Also before anyone forgets, you don’t see everything, just snippets of our lives edited for your screens.

Let’s start with the easy joke… apparently I don’t sell houses. Fair. Savage but fair. What I do sell without a shadow of doubt is my staging, art, ideas and occasionally my sanity on camera. Some people close property deals, I close emotional loops. I guess that’s my market.

All jokes aside, this show changed my life. It gave me a career, a community and a platform I never expected. It taught me that you can rebuild in your FORTIES, that tears on Netflix can turn into art in a gallery and that single mothers are basically Navy SEALs with better mascara. For that alone, honestly guys, I’m beyond grateful.

Now about the Girls Giving dinner… my intention was never to shame anyone. It was to remove the shame from something too many people hide. I referenced myself because empathy was the point, not the punchline. If the question is have I ever seen this person use cocaine the answer is no. However if the question were to be phrased differently, my answer may be different too. This is just my truth and where things may have got mixed up.

I saw my face at the reunion. I looked like I was holding back tears while trying not to sweat through couture. The tension in that room could’ve powered Los Angeles for a week. I wanted to cry, crawl under a table and order a margarita all at once. I’m over it at this point just clutching onto what’s left of my fricken sanity.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth… we’re all part of the same machine. You watch the drama, post the comments, call for “accountability,” then reload for the next meltdown. I film the drama, survive the comments, apologise on camera and then try to sleep. Different sides of the same circus. We’re all walking oxymorons scrolling for joy, judging for sport, craving authenticity while rewarding chaos. We preach kindness but double-tap cruelty. We cancel, then binge. We build people up just to watch how fast they fall. I’m not above it; I’m in it and that’s the point, none of us are spectators anymore. We’re all performers in the same algorithmic arena, pretending we’re not part of the show.

Now let me make one thing crystal clear, my Blackness is not up for debate. I’m a mixed-race woman from Indiana. My dad is black, my mom is white. I’ve watched the Ku Klux Klan march down my hometown streets while people cheered. I’ve been dumped by boyfriends because their parents didn’t want them with the local “black girl.” So when someone tries to attach my name to racism, it’s not just wrong it’s cruel. This isn’t a game of victim olympics. Racism is disgusting, it is exhausting & I do not condone it. Full stop.

I’m not asking for pity, I’m asking for perspective. Outrage performs; empathy repairs. Accountability without compassion is just drama with better lighting.

So to all the women reading this – whether you love me, hate me or haven’t decided. I hope you remember that none of us are edits. We’re daughters, mothers, friends, hustlers, messes, miracles. We fall apart and rebuild, sometimes on camera, sometimes quietly at 3AM. We deserve the same grace we’re learning to give ourselves.

I’ll keep showing up, learning, laughing and occasionally oversharing. Maybe next season I’ll even sell a house. Maybe not. Either way, I’m still building something that matters.

To Noah and Braker Brown:

You guys have to watch this. You see the questions, the looks and you read the comments. I know it can’t be easy. I wake up every day trying to do my best for you, for us and I’m sorry for the moments I’ve fallen short. People see the edit, but you both know the woman… the one who laughs too loud, paints too late and never gives up.

One day I hope all of this work, the chaos, the lessons amount to something that makes you proud. Something that proves you can walk through fire and still build something beautiful from the ashes.

Amanza x