If it sounds ridiculous that the face of Bravo significantly aspires to in the future host a presidential debate, think about Mr. Cohen’s uncanny skill to shape-shift. Some folks discover him pernicious and manipulative; others assume he’s hopelessly corny. He’s just like the Macarena in that manner.
Another manner wherein he’s just like the Macarena is that he’s simply loads of enjoyable.
Mr. Cohen quarantined in New York whereas he was sick in March. Of course Mr. Cohen obtained Covid. If it occurred in 2020, it occurred to Andy Cohen. “It was lonely,” he mentioned of being remoted in his residence, “hearing my son down the hall but not being able to see him. I don’t want to overdramatize it, because I didn’t think I was going to die, but there were a few moments at the beginning of feeling like, ‘OK, well, this is incredibly isolating, this is scary.’”
He stayed even after recovering. “It was important for me to stay. Everyone else — ” Mr. Cohen stopped himself — “I mean, not everyone — a lot of people that I know, you know, went to the Hamptons.”
He talked about strolling Ben, who likes to clap, via the West Village to applaud frontline employees each evening at 7 p.m.; in regards to the 9/11-feeling of all of it; about handing out sandwiches to homeless folks as a result of “it became a way for me to kind of feel useful.” And simply when his storytelling veered into treacly self-aggrandizement, right here comes Mr. Cohen along with his massive “Hey, macarena!” power, doing a bit about how an empty New York City made for determined paparazzi.
“There were paparazzi every time I walked outside. I kept saying to them, ‘Well, you guys must be really — I mean, honestly — there must be no one here.’ And they were like, ‘There’s no one here.’ At one point they told me a list. They go, ‘It’s you, and Amy Schumer, and like two other people.’ I was like, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, guys. Listen, this is bleak. This is really bleak.’”
After the lengthy New York spring, Memorial Day weekend arrived and an exhausted and skinny Mr. Cohen (“I was, like, my high school weight. Which I didn’t hate!”), decamped for his residence on Long Island the place he and Ben frolicked, and the place Mr. Cohen indulged. He grew his hair out. He hit the rosé and the carbs. He mentioned, fairly proudly really, “I got lazy.” Mr. Cooper disapproved of this era of post-Covid sloth. “Why would you ever do that?”