Naomi Watts in Kardashian Glam and Kim Saying “Add a Zero”: Television, Perfected

There’s something unexplainably magnetic about All’s Fair, the new Ryan Murphy Hulu series that feels like a fever dream wrapped in designer fabric. The premise alone had me hooked, a world of high-powered female lawyers navigating messy personal entanglements, all styled within an inch of their lives in looks that could make Miranda Priestly break a sweat.

But the real draw? The cast.
We’ve got Sarah Paulson, Naomi Watts, Niecy Nash, and the legendary Glenn Close, joined by none other than social media’s most polarising icon, Kim Kardashian. When that line-up dropped, I was expecting The Good Wife with a side of How to Get Away with Murder, a perfect blend of polish and punch, but also with a raised brow at how our favourite reality star would cope next to such incredibleble acting icons.

Instead, what I got was something so tonally bizarre, so unintentionally camp, that I couldn’t stop watching. It’s like they managed to coax the flattest line deliveries out of Hollywood’s most expressive women, and somehow, that’s the magic of it.

There’s this particular rhythm to All’s Fair that makes every scene feel slightly off-kilter, like a dream you half-remember. One minute, Naomi Watts is giving an Oscar-worthy monologue in a meeting room so chic it could double as a runway. Next, the camera cuts to Kim Kardashian, face unreadable, delivering a weird interjection line with all the emotion of a voice note transcription. And I swear, it works. Against all logic, it absolutely works.

Part of the show’s brilliance (intentional or not) is in that tonal whiplash, watching these powerhouse actresses do what they do best in every scene, only for Kim to coolly punctuate it with a single, perfectly slightly off remark. It’s jarring. It’s hilarious. It’s iconic.

There’s also something deeply fascinating about watching Naomi Watts styled like a Kardashian, with contour, sharp shoulder pads, and all, in what feels like a social experiment in blending prestige drama with pop culture spectacle. It’s so visually absurd that you start to wonder if the show is secretly self-aware, poking fun at its own glamour-drunk excess. Like, why is a divorce lawyer taking a private jet at the drop of a hat? Diane Lockhart could only dream!  

Despite all of this, or maybe because of it, All’s Fair has that same glossy absurdity we’ve come to expect from a Ryan Murphy-adjacent universe. It flirts with satire, flings itself into melodrama, and never quite decides what it wants to be. Which, honestly, makes it addictive. Every episode feels like a high-fashion hallucination, part Scandal, part Keeping Up with the Kardashians, all chaos.

And while I could easily roast this show into oblivion, the truth is… I’m hooked. I’ve already binged the first three episodes, timer set for the next drop. Because All’s Fair isn’t just bad TV, it’s artfully bad. The kind of bad that becomes instantly iconic.

The TLDR or it all is All’s Fair is what happens when Kim Kardashian, Naomi Watts, and Sarah Paulson collide in a courtroom dramedy that’s as glamorous as it is unhinged. It shouldn’t work, but it does, spectacularly. Give it a watch and prepare to be confused, delighted, and deeply obsessed.