I feel these men can cook me, and that is not something Ive thought about anyone from actuality TV, ever
Summer of boast 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 insolent resister, the rebel without much of a effect. And it’s not because I was busy carpe-ing the freak out of the diem, hop-skip through the streets like a woman advertising panty liners in the 1990 s. No, I was up in my bedroom watching the new series of Queer Eye.
Articles about the joyousness of Netflix’s reboot, in which five homosexuals humen with different specialisms give a life and form makeover to person in dire want, are so innumerable they have become a journalistic genre unto themselves. When the first serial “re coming out” the beginning of this year, I myself built majestic pretensions about how the show is” what our period needs “. I perhaps even hinted the information was the anti-Trump testify, knowing me. But as I sit in my dark area, screens closed against the sunshine, bent over my iPad, waiting for another thumped- merely one!- of Tan reassuring some pot-bellied American papa to swap his baggy sweatshirt for a fitted polo in a emblazon” that pops”, I’ve had to accept that my infatuation has little to do with the world and all is do with me.
The normal stream of consciousness that structures the muzak in my thought (” Don’t forget the dry-cleaning oh God let there be a seat on the bus should I know more about North Korea mmm fairly fancy some cheese “) has been completely amended by replacing imaginary conversations with the men from Queer Eye. On some deep embed, unexpected and exceedingly needy degree, I belief these men can fasten 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( unusually) genuinely talented, and come across( uniquely for reality TV) as joke and wise and lovely.( The obvious exception to this is Antoni, the nominal chef of the show, who is lovely to be addressed by but I strongly suspect doesn’t even know how to turn on a stove .) This is what we talk about 😛 TAGEND
Tan is the easiest-going attention, which is why I believe he is the most liked in the working group.( Go on, ask me 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 the sort of act people expect me to wear, although there is I know everyone is too busy “ve been thinking about” their own lives are concerned about my gowns. So do I envision my defining feature is my wardrobe because I absence 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 this summer. He reminds me that a chamber has to be practical and can’t only is around fun wallpaper, and that there is a fine boundary between a room that says,” This maiden makes bold, stylish announcements !” and” This wife probably saves dried pampas grass in a monstrous Chinese urn .” I tell Bobby that, even though he is the least charismatic casting member, I know “hes working” the more difficult, and while all Karamo has to do is give pep talks in a automobile, Bobby has to carry literal roof on his literal back. He looks 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 intimated it might be helpful for them to give a makeover to an all-out homophobe. Jonathan responded, in essence,” This is 2018, Antoni, and we don’t have day for your kumbaya politics, so stop breaking your back to accommodate haters, and fight for your truth instead .” As Jonathan would say, Y as princes .
But I likewise talk to Jonathan about my whisker. I tell him that most of it fell down as a adolescent, due to anorexia, and never changed back properly, and while most online mentions don’t bother me, when people snark about my fuzz I have- heap chagrin 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 existence in my life, who gazes upon the choices I make and sometimes 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 wheels his eyes when I drunkenly chew an entire birthday cake in front of an episode of Frasier I’ve seen four times at 2am.
I never talk to Antoni.
Read more: www.theguardian.com