Members Only: Palm Beach (Netflix)

A Series Review! This series is currently #10 on Netflix’s Top 10, television series.

By Tena Lawyer

Watching “Members Only: Palm Beach” from my couch in West Palm Beach—just across the Intracoastal—hit different. I live on the “other side of the bridge” — in West Palm beach for seven seasons now. I walk that bridge. I do the trail walk in Palm Beach frequently, watching the Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, and Lamborghinis glide past me as I head toward the ocean. So this new Netflix series didn’t feel distant or abstract—it felt adjacent.

Let me be clear, I was entertained. Deeply. I binged it. I couldn’t stop watching. It’s glossy, ridiculous, fascinating, and revealing all at once. But it was also enlightening, especially watching Palm Beach culture portrayed through an mostly-white cast, I could not help but to look to see who cleans the houses, staffs the clubs, parks the cars, and runs the charities that keep this world polished. I spotted a sprinkling of diversity at events.

The cast of five women from Palm Beach island is a small circle of mostly older, affluent women who’ve arrived at Palm Beach society through a mix of marriage, divorces, inheritance, reinvention, and strategic proximity to power.

The guest cast member is the “Grand Dame” of the group – as the oldest lady with a really hideous wig. She’s full MAGA to the bone, Trump-loving, Mar-a-Lago obsessed, claiming she knows him personally. The moment she fell at a party and the wig slid off? Peak reality TV. Typical Real Housewives energy—wigs, full paw, and zero self-awareness. I wanted to reach through the screen and straighten it, but honestly, it was perfectly on brand.

Their careers and “adventures” range from former DJs and social climbers to self-styled tastemakers and political loyalists, revealing how access, image, and membership—not merit alone—determine who belongs across the bridge.

The show makes one thing crystal clear: membership is everything! These aren’t just clubs—they’re identity, access, power, and proximity. And the unspoken star hovering over it all is Mar-a-Lago.

The reverence. The name-dropping. The implication that being near that orbit means something more. Watching how casually that connection is treated—especially knowing what it represents politically and socially—was telling.

What struck me most was how charity is framed as the highest virtue, yet functions largely as a social sorting mechanism. Yes, money is raised. Yes, causes are named. But the real currency is visibility, status, and who gets invited where. It’s philanthropy as performance—and Palm Beach is very good at that.

Seeing places I walk past almost daily—the restaurants, the streets, the clubs—through this lens was surreal. I’m watching a world that exists across a narrow body of water, yet might as well be another country. Same sun. Same ocean. Entirely different realities.

So yes, Members Only: Palm Beach is entertaining. It’s binge-worthy. It’s messy. But it’s also a quiet study in race, class, access, and American contradiction. Watching it as a Black woman who lives right there—who sees both sides of the bridge every single day—made it more than reality TV.

And that’s why I couldn’t look away.

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