Safa Siddiqui, a British-Iraqi woman who stars on Netflix’s hit reality series Dubai Bling, appears to have it all. Unapologetically materialistic—she is an enthusiastic collector of the Hermès Birkin, a handbag that epitomizes exclusive wealth—Safa is the loud and emotional housewife to a wealthy Indian businessman, Fahad Siddiqui, with whom she has two daughters. Her quips provide comic relief as does her self-described “helicopter wife” tendencies toward her husband, Fahad, whose wealth affords her the extravagant lifestyle she requires. Yet, a key plotline in the first season is the clash between Fahad’s push for another child and Safa’s preference instead for an even bigger house with more closet space. Safa is reluctant to go through another pregnancy because her first was difficult, and she is also concerned about losing her petite physique. Her husband is somewhat dismissive of her reluctance and is adamant that she see her doctor to address any health concerns so they can move forward with expanding their family. Viewers learn that Safa also has other goals that she is eager to achieve as a fashion designer.
Safa ultimately complies with her husband’s desired timeline for pregnancy. But her concession is not narrated as one of feminist defeat. Rather, her compliance, and the Siddiquis’ marriage more broadly, is portrayed positively, even aspirationally. They are shown to have a fun, teasing dynamic, where Fahad makes frequent efforts to shower Safa with the material gifts that bring her joy. In the end, Safa appears able to do it all: She launches her clothing brand, gets a clean bill of health from her gynecologist, and is pregnant with their second child by the end of Season 1. And Fahad green-lights an expansion to their house. In the end, they both get what they want.
This tension between, on the one hand, a burgeoning interest in celebrating wealthy women’s independence and empowerment, and, on the other, a desire to reinforce the sanctity of motherhood and marriage as a part of the quintessential experience of womanhood, lies at the heart of Dubai Bling. One of the streaming giant’s most globally watched “non-English” shows, the series follows the extravagant lives of (self-described) “self-made” millionaires from across the Middle East who built their fortunes in Dubai. Seven of the ten main cast members are women, and they offer intricate portraits of an elite Arab womanhood that shed light on the contested standards for women’s empowerment among a global elite. These standards are mediated by the demands of heteropatriarchal, ultracapitalist culture that expects women to marry and become mothers but that also positions entrepreneurial ventures as a necessity for female empowerment. For the community of women in Dubai Bling, these conflicting standards are variously supported, enforced, and condemned by each other and their men. Interrogating the dynamics of women’s roles in the family and the workplace can help us make sense of global trends that demand perfection from women in both of these arenas. These dynamics are not unique to Middle Eastern culture but shared among a global elite. In this way, Dubai Bling reveals contemporary shifts in public discourse on feminism and the patriarchal family unit.
Known as the “City of Gold,” based on the global popularity of its gold markets, Dubai is the UAE’s most populated city. It is a multicultural hub known for its luxury hotels, shopping, and home to the Burj Khalifa, the world’s tallest skyscraper. It is also a city of gross inequality, built on the indentured servitude of migrant laborers from places like Bangladesh, Pakistan, and the Philippines. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Dubai Bling glosses over such realities, depicting the city as a lavish, pristine, and diverse utopia of sorts where people can make their capitalist dreams come true. The city’s impressive skyline and a variety of opulent party venues, restaurants, and resorts feature prominently throughout the series.. It is tempting, then, to dismiss Dubai Bling as simply “a tour de force of capitalism on steroids, created by an American network with baffling apathy to the reality of the region” starring the “stupidest millionaires in the city,” as Egyptian film critic Joseph Fahim describes it. Yet if we approach Dubai Bling for what it is—a reality show starring cosmetically enhanced, designer-clad, obscenely rich people—rather than what it is not—a documentary offering a window into structural inequality and racism in the Gulf—we can begin to reflect on how the show yields certain insights into the often-paradoxical gendered expectations of ultrarich women across a global capitalist elite.
Many of the women on Dubai Bling are successful or budding entrepreneurs, and it’s clear that the show aims to valorize these women’s financial and creative independence. Yet throughout the series, motherhood, and being good at it, is also an integral part of the formula of what it takes to be a successful, wealthy, and empowered woman. Indeed, a central anxiety across Dubai Bling’s episodes centers around the women’s ability—or lack thereof—to live up to the expectations of motherhood and wifedom while also sustaining successful careers. One of the key characters of the series, the Lebanese Zeina Khoury, is the CEO of a high-end real estate company and a married mother of two. She is known within her elite social circle as the “Queen of Versace,” because of her role in managing properties for the Palazzo Versace Dubai as a part of her portfolio. A former model, Khoury holds degrees from Notre Dame University in Lebanon and the London Business School and displays a reserved and confident personality on screen. One of the tensions in her personal life is anxiety over the demands of work which prevent her from spending time with her family—culminating in a confession that she broke down crying after her children indicated that they preferred the nanny to her. When a photograph of her husband, Hanna Azzi, appears on a dating app, she also harbors doubts about his faithfulness due to her own perceived lack of attention to her marriage. When Khoury confronts Azzi about it, we learn that it is not his account, and this storyline is dropped. Azzi, who works in the hotel industry, is shown as a low-key and private but supportive partner. He assuages her concerns about being away from their family, reassuring her about their marriage and her role as a mother. He also shares that he and the kids appreciate everything she does for their family.
Not all of the husbands are as outwardly supportive as Azzi, or as satisfied to be the sole breadwinner as Fahad Siddiqui. Marital discord over the Dubai Bling wives’ proper role is a key engine of drama on the show. Disagreements between Lebanese-Australian radio host Kris Fade and his Mexican-American fiancée (now wife), Brianna Ramirez, and Emiratis Danya Mohammed and her husband Marwan Al Awadhi or “DJ Bliss” over how women can—or should—balance their obligations in and outside of the home feature prominently in the series. Ramirez, for example, appears eager to take on the role of a full-time wife, wanting to dedicate her time solely to wedding planning and social events. Fade, however, wants her to commit to the work responsibilities he has given her in his company and be more active in contributing to their business ventures. Conversely, as Al Awadhi aspires to grow his celebrity and career as a DJ, he is visibly frustrated with his wife’s entrepreneurial pursuits and attempts to dissuade her from them. He weaponizes motherhood (they have two kids) as the reason she should halt her plans to build businesses, expressing disappointment that she is neglecting her duties at home with their children.
Woven into these frustrations around the expectations of motherhood is a closely intertwined expectation that Mohammad prioritize her obligations as a supportive wife before her entrepreneurial pursuits. For instance, when Mohammed launches a shoe line, Al Awadhi appears envious of her success and spotlight. He is angered at the timing because he expected her full attention and support in the weeks leading up to a big concert. For Mohammed’s part, she appears to have anticipated her husband’s unsupportive attitude, keeping her shoe company a secret from him until its public launch. Al Awadhi’s insecurities and hypocrisy are on full display when he takes issue with the fact that Mohammed has been working with a new male business partner that he has never met, stating, “You [Mohammed] showing up at a shoe line launch with another guy that I’ve never met in my life, [saying] this is my new business partner, that ain’t working for me.” Mohammed is initially unfazed at these remarks, coolly countering with sarcasm: “Well too bad, so sad … what should I do, if it’s not working for you? There’s a lot of things I don’t like, you going to clubs and dancing with girls [as a DJ] … that’s not working for me, but that’s your job and this is mine.” She continues to defends herself, highlighting that she has she has supported his career for their whole marriage, and that she is present for their kids. As Al Awadhi doubles down on his petulance and his cold demeanor toward his wife, Mohammed breaks down in tears. Ultimately, Mohammed assuages his male fragility and apologizes for how the timing of her business launch hurt his feelings. Nevertheless, she does not give up her business pursuits, and indeed expands them. Her example underscores how while Dubai women’s ventures outside the home can be a source of marital tension, they do not require the approval of their men.
While Dubai Bling takes place in the Arab world, these women exist in a transnational capitalist network of extreme wealth with its own standards, norms, and struggles that transcend the specificities of their region, religion, and background.
Furthermore, men like Al Awadhi are not the only ones who demand that wives prioritize their families over other work. The women in Dubai Bling also expect these impossible standards of woman’s empowerment from each other and from themselves. Debates over whether the women are being too deferential or not deferential enough to their husbands, too independent or not independent enough, and so on, form the core of the show’s dramatic encounters. When Siddiqui expresses frustration to her friends about the pressure her husband is putting on her to have a second child, castmate Loujain “LJ” Adada, a young Lebanese widow of a wealthy Saudi businessman, and mother of two, admonishes her. She says, “You should be so happy that he wants another baby from you … this is actually the biggest compliment you get from your husband” before sharing in a confessional, “If your husband keeps asking you to have a baby and you keep saying no, he might get bored of you eventually and turn to someone else.” Siddiqui is offended by these comments and later asserts, “My biggest achievement is not producing a child for him. Don’t put me on the same boat of what your achievements are.” In another instance, Mohammed berates Siddiqui for relying on her husband’s money, asserting that she by contrast has her own wealth, even as her own husband castigates her as an inadequate mother for having business ventures. Khoury harbors guilt for how her demanding career requires time away from her marriage and children while Siddiqui reckons with trying to establish a career as a designer while also accommodating her husband’s desire for more children.
And for mothers who are divorced like Farhana Bodi, or widowed like Adada, children are seen as a liability. For example, despite Adada’s extreme wealth and financial independence, her status as a single mother following her husband’s death is described by a rejected male suitor as a liability. While on a lackluster date, she rebuffs her suitor’s interest, stating that she has no feelings for him, and he haughtily asks the camera in a confessional, “Who does she think she is? It’s a privilege for her. Not for me. She’s the one who has two kids. She has baggage. There’s a lot of fish in the sea.” This point is not belabored in the series, but it is a window into the cultural norms where a young, beautiful, wealthy woman’s elite financial status fails to trump the vulnerability assumed to be inherent in the condition of being a single mother.
The marital norms and standards of motherhood that these reality TV stars expect from themselves and from each other help make legible the politics of gender, family, and capital among a global wealthy elite. There are overlapping hierarchies at play which do not neatly cut across gendered lines. These women at times prioritize deference to husbands within a marriage by emphasizing traditional roles of motherhood and “giving” their husbands children. In other instances, even as they embrace the role of the “kept woman” with their husbands as the providers of the household, they contest the expectation that this role requires them to give up their bodily autonomy. Other women try to balance the role of being breadwinners and meeting the high standards of active mothering, while still others commit to fulfilling the obligations of motherhood before venturing into individual capitalistic pursuits. These women are neither subservient nor oppressed, but rather are deeply committed to the pursuit and celebration of material wealth and to their lives as mothers and wives. They are actively invested in these sometimes-competing hierarchies which in turn confer on to them both social and material capital.
It might be tempting for Western viewers of Dubai Bling to attribute these dynamics to a patriarchal Middle Eastern culture that devalues women. Yet, contestations over how to calibrate being a wife, mother, businesswoman, and girlboss are resonant across the genre, including in iconic Western reality television series on wealthy elites. The Kardashians and its earlier iteration Keeping Up with the Kardashians, for example, similarly imagine female empowerment as striking the perfect balancing act between motherhood and capitalistic pursuits. For years, the oldest Kardashian sister, Kourtney, then-mother of three (now four) children, was derided by her family as lazy and unambitious for focusing on motherhood rather than starting a business like her sisters. This was a running plot line on multiple seasons of KUWTK. On the flipside, Kardashian matriarch Kris Jenner has publicly warned daughter Kendall Jenner, who has a lucrative modeling career and is the only Kardashian sibling without children, against waiting too long to become a mother. In a 2022 episode of The Kardashians, Kris states that while she is proud of what Kendall has accomplished in her career, she feels it is time for her to become a mother or at least freeze her eggs. Kendall was 26 years old at the time. The scene culminates in Kris placing a phone call to the family OBGYN, who confirms, on speaker phone, that “it would be a good time [for Kendall] to freeze eggs … the younger you are, the better the quality.” Kris then smugly concludes, “It’s unanimous. We’re gonna have a baby.” Kendall pushes back against her mother’s conclusions both in this episode and in subsequent interviews, much like her elder sister Kourtney always defended her choices to prioritize her children and family life over business. Yet the expectations here are clear: For women of this global wealthy elite, being an empowered successful woman requires one to pursue traditional domestic roles alongside lucrative business ventures or else be seen as incomplete. Indeed, even billionaire mother of four, three-time divorcée, and face of the famous family Kim Kardashian has expressed wanting to get married again, lamenting her diminishing prospects: “Who’s ever going to want to date me? I have four kids.”
While Dubai Bling takes place in the Arab world, these women exist in a transnational capitalist network of extreme wealth with its own standards, norms, and struggles that transcend the specificities of their region, religion, and background. Indeed, Dubai is a global center for business and finance, and its luxury hotels render it a popular celebrity tourism destination—the Kardashians frequent the city, along with actors like Will Smith and Leonardo DiCaprio. Additionally, in 2023 the DiCaprio-backed lab-grown diamond manufacturer Diamond Foundry partnered with Dubai based jewelry retailers. Rihanna has hosted parties for her billion-dollar beauty brand at the Burj Khalifa, in addition to the pop-up shops that sell her products. A host of famous actors and athletes also own properties in Dubai including Hilary Swank, Shah Rukh Khan, Cristiano Ronaldo, Roger Federer, and David and Victoria Beckham. In other words, Dubai is a hub for the ultrarich, who hail not only from the Arab world, but also from the US, India, Europe, and China.
Rather than situate the demands placed on these Middle Eastern millionaire women in Dubai Bling within an Orientalist binary of the “Arab world” and “the West,” we can instead reflect on the shared standard for women’s empowerment within a wealthy elite that exists from Dubai to Calabasas. In this regard, Dubai Bling offers an opportunity to track the striking symmetry between standards imposed on wealthy elite women across nations. What emerges is a set of shared, remarkably global expectations for ultrarich women, who are expected to be at once entrepreneurial capitalists, demure wives, and perfect mothers. The women of Dubai Bling and their men have particular conservative impulses around family and marital dynamics as they work to maintain and advance their wealth in service of the capitalist demands that animate and dictate their lives. Yet, for a series about people who are woefully out of touch with the lives of everyday women around the globe, the impossible standards set on mothers and wives in Dubai Bling by capitalist demands will be all too familiar to many. Women can indeed have it all, as long as they are willing to do it all. 
Featured image: Safa Siddiqui and Zeina Khoury in Dubai Bling (2022), via IMDB.