I believe these men can fasten me, and that is not something Ive thought about anyone from actuality TV, ever
Summer of play this may well be- World Cup to the left of you, Wimbledon to the right- but I’ll be honest, I hadn’t really noticed. And I’ll be even more honest, the 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 defiant resister, the maverick without much of a stimulate. And it’s not because I was busy carpe-ing the freak out of the diem, bouncing through wall street like a woman advertising panty liners in the 1990 s. No, I was up in my bedroom watching the new succession of Queer Eye.
Articles about the joyousness of Netflix’s reboot, in which five lesbian souls with different specialisms hand a life and style makeover to someone in horrendou need, are so numerous they have become a journalistic genre unto themselves. When the first sequence came out earlier this year, I myself prepared majestic contends about how the show is” what our age needs “. I probably even suggested it was the anti-Trump show, knowing me. But as I sit in my darkened room, curtains closed against the sunlight, bent over my iPad, waiting for another made- precisely one!- of Tan convincing some pot-bellied American pa to swap his baggy sweatshirt for a shaped polo in a colouring” that dads”, I’ve had to accept that my preoccupation has nothing to do with the world and everything to do with me.
The ordinary stream of consciousness that ways the muzak in my manager (” Don’t forget the dry-cleaning oh God let there be a seat on the bus should I understand better North Korea mmm fairly thought some cheese “) was completely replaced with imaginary conversations with the men from Queer Eye. On some profoundly interred, unexpected and particularly needy rank, I speculate these men can tie me, and that is not something I’ve thought about anyone from world Tv, ever. And this is because the men from Queer Eye seem( singularly) genuinely talented, and come across( uniquely for reality TV) as funny and wise and lovely.( The obvious exception to this is Antoni, the nominal cook of the appearance, 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 eye, which is why I suppose he is the most liked within the group.( Go on, ask me who on the show is really friends with who. I have rulings !) I talk to Tan about how sometimes I buy invests not because I like them, but because I think they’re the sort of thing beings await me to wear, although there is I know everyone is too busy thinking about their own lives to worry about my outfits. So do I remember my defining feature is my wardrobe because I need 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 living room, so Bobby and I are currently in constant contact the summer months. He reminded us that a area has to be practical and can’t exactly be about fun wallpaper, and that there is a fine line between a chamber that says,” “Womens issues” makes bold, stylish proclamations !” and” “Womens issues” probably retains dehydrated pampas grass in a giant Chinese urn .” I tell Bobby that, even though he is the least charismatic shoot member, I know he works the hardest, and while all Karamo has to do is give pep talks in a auto, Bobby has to carry literal roofs on his literal back. He ogles 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 interrogation, after Antoni advocated 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 time for your kumbaya politics, so stop ending your back to accommodate haters, and fight for your truth instead .” As Jonathan would say, Y fanny queen .
But I too talk to Jonathan about my whisker. I tell him that most of it fell out as a adolescent, due to anorexia, and never developed back properly, and while most online remarks don’t bother me, when people snark about my hair I have- piling chagrin upon reproach- cried. Jonathan tells me I’m fabulous and those people are the literal worst, and he is right.
Karamo ( culture , whatever that makes)
I should be considered Karamo as a constant, messianic, ridiculously handsome attendance in “peoples lives”, who gazes upon the choices I make and rarely announces 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 rolls his eyes when I drunkenly eat an entire birthday cake in front of an escapade of Frasier I’ve seen four times at 2am.
I never talk to Antoni.
Read more: www.theguardian.com