I accept these men can specify me, and that is not something Ive thought about anyone from reality TV, ever
Summer of sport this may well be- World Cup to the left of you, Wimbledon to the right- but I’ll be honest, I hadn’t really find. And I’ll be even more honest, the working day England played Panama and 99.9% or whatever of the British public was watching the game, I was the 0.1% “whos not”- the rebellious resister, the maverick without much of a effect. And it’s not because I was busy carpe-ing the freak out of the diem, skipping through wall street like a woman advertising panty liners in the 1990 s. No, I was up in my bedroom watching the brand-new series of Queer Eye.
Articles about the joyousness of Netflix’s reboot, in which five homosexuals gentlemen with different specialisms give a life and style makeover to someone in grim need, are so numerous they have become a journalistic genre unto themselves. When the first line “re coming out” earlier this year, I myself made lofty asserts about how the show is” what our era needs “. I maybe even hinted the information was the anti-Trump testify, knowing me. But as I sit in my dark room, curtains shut against the sun, inclination over my iPad, waiting for another hit- exactly one!- of Tan convincing some pot-bellied American pa to swap his baggy sweatshirt for a fitted polo in a emblazon” that pops”, I’ve had to accept that my preoccupation got nothing to do with the world and all is do with me.
The ordinary stream of consciousness that models the muzak in my psyche (” Don’t forget the dry-cleaning oh God let there be a seat on the bus should I know more about North Korea mmm quite fancy some cheese “) has been completely replaced with imaginary a discussion with the men from Queer Eye. On some deep interred, unexpected and terribly needy rank, I feel these men can determine me, and that is not something I’ve thought about anyone from reality TV, ever. And this is because the men from Queer Eye seem( abnormally) genuinely talented, and come across( uniquely for reality Tv) as funny and wise and lovely.( The obvious exception to this is Antoni, the nominal chef of the establish, who is lovely to look at but I strongly suspect doesn’t even know how to turn on a stave .) This is what we talk about 😛 TAGEND
Tan is the easiest-going see, which is why I believe he is the most liked within the group.( Go on, ask questions who on the show is really friends with who. I have minds !) I talk to Tan about how sometimes I buy robes not because I like them, but because I think they’re these kinds of thing people expect me to wear, even though I know everyone is too busy “re thinking of” their own lives expressed concern about my getups. So do I envision my defining boast is my wardrobe because I shortfall confidence in the actual me? Tan and I talk about this a lot on the bus.
Bobby( interior design)
I am currently doing up my front room, so Bobby and I have been in constant contact the summer months. He reminds me that a room has to be practical and can’t just be about fun wallpaper, and that there is a fine string between a area that says,” This wife makes bold, stylish explanations !” and” This lady maybe saves dehydrated pampas grass in a giant Chinese urn .” I tell Bobby that, even though he is the least charismatic casting member, I know “hes working” the hardest, and while all Karamo has to do is give pep talks in a gondola, Bobby has to carry literal roof on his literal back. He appears down, stroked, and tells me he appreciates that.
Jonathan and I talk a lot about politics. I tell him how righteous it was when he shot Antoni down in a recent interview, after Antoni suggested it might be helpful for them to give a makeover to an all-out homophobe. Jonathan replied, in essence,” This is 2018, Antoni, and we don’t have era for your kumbaya politics, so stop violating your back to accommodate haters, and fight for your reality instead .” As Jonathan would say, Y fuck king .
But I also talk to Jonathan about my “hairs-breadth”. I tell him that most of it fell out as a girl, due to anorexia, and never originated back properly, and while most online comments don’t bother me, where individuals snark about my hair I have- piling reproach upon shame- cried. Jonathan tells me I’m fabulous and those people are the literal worst, and he is right.
Karamo ( culture , whatever that represents)
I think of Karamo as a constant, messianic, ridiculously handsome spirit in my life, who gazes upon the choices I make and occasionally calls me out on them. A little like God, yes, but I think of him more like the Patrick Swayze to my Whoopi Goldberg. He’s proud of me when I go to yoga. He benignly reels his eyes when I drunkenly feed an entire birthday cake in front of an occurrence of Frasier I’ve seen four times at 2am.
I never talk to Antoni.
Read more: www.theguardian.com