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Although her show features such daytime staples as interviews, shopping segments and advice (“Ask Wendy”), its core is “Hot Topics,” ostensibly a gossip roundup but really a kind of free-associative performance art, in which Williams riffs on celebrity divorces, pop-star feuds, and “Real Housewives” antics. She barely uses a teleprompter and won’t wear an earpiece. Her rambling spontaneity is an antidote to the cheery polish of the “Today” show she’ll interrupt a celebrity tidbit to tell a story about her weekend, then lose her place. She’s her own sounding board, capable of filling endless time with off-the-cuff, bawdy talk, delivered in a Jersey accent. Unlike her competitor Ellen DeGeneres, she’s not a standup comedian, and, unlike Kelly Ripa or the women of “The View,” she doesn’t have co-hosts. Williams is an anomaly on daytime television. She said that she would call him later that night. (“If you’re feeling the fever, I’ve got the prescription.”) After a commercial break, Williams called for a drumroll and announced her choice: Surprise! It was Mike, who danced around pumping his fists. Tyrone was sexy but too young, and Mike had some slimy lines that smelled like trouble. I said Julian, who seemed age-appropriate and sincere. Watching from the wings, a handler asked me which guy I thought Williams would choose. “If our vibes can connect, we can connect.” The studio audience-usually a hundred and forty screaming fans but, these days, a dozen socially distanced staffers-oohed. “Age really don’t mean anything to me,” he assured her. 3, Tyrone, was a sultry-eyed security guard nearly twenty years younger than Williams. Mike suggested ringside seats at a Lamar Odom celebrity boxing match. “What’s your idea of a fun date with me?” Williams asked. 2 was Mike, a contractor from Maryland with a bald head and a glass of white wine. 1, a jazz musician named Julian: “What do you do in your down time?” “I like to make sure this body-this temple-is up to par, so I love to work out,” he said, earning a smile from the hostess. On the air, Williams addressed Bachelor No. “It’s a very intimate experience.”įor “Date Wendy,” hundreds of suitors had been narrowed down to three. “Traditionally, for women at home, watching a daytime-TV show is ‘me time,’ ” Alexandra Jewett, a programming executive at Debmar-Mercury, the show’s production company, told me. Williams came to prominence as a radio jock, and she has a talent for talking to millions of people (her viewership is mostly female, but she also has a big gay following) and making them feel like they’re on a dishy phone call with a friend. Its audience-“Wendy watchers,” in the show’s parlance-regards the fifty-six-year-old hostess as an ultra-fabulous, in-the-know gal pal. It averages more than a million live viewers a day, with hundreds of thousands more catching up online. “The Wendy Williams Show,” taped live in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan, is in its twelfth season, an eternity in daytime years. “My hands are sweaty,” she had confided earlier, during the daily monologue that she calls “Hot Topics.” Met with reassuring applause, she suddenly teared up, and, as a stagehand proffered a Wonder Woman tissue box, she confessed, “No, I’m teary because I can’t believe I have a show.” Williams had on a tousled blond wig, yellow sneakers, and a stretchy patterned dress. It was a February episode of her syndicated talk show, and the segment, “Date Wendy,” was the culmination of a monthlong search. screens, each of which showed a man who was vying to enter her tumultuous, open-book life. Wendy Williams sat on a plush red sofa facing a trio of L.E.D. This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.