Queer Eye (Netflix) is the most 2018 thing I know I will see all year and it’s barely even February. The series is a reboot of the early 00s makeover show once known as Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, in which the supposedly superior taste of gay men was used to give those dreary heterosexuals a sprinkle of glitz and glamour. The original cheerily accepted the idea that gay men were lifestyle accessories, gorgeous handbags, the best friend every woman needs to be fabulous, and the only way straight men will ever dress well. Reviving it seems a curious choice in an era of endlessly debated identity politics, when sexuality is finally being seen as far more complex than having an innate sense of which scented candle will give the room a lift.
Though its opening credits make it look like a sketch show parody of a makeover show, the needle scratches across that particular record very quickly. “The original show was fighting for tolerance. We’re fighting for acceptance,” declares Tan, one of the five new Queer Eyes – not as Handmaid’s Tale as it sounds – whose speciality is fashion. And by fashion, he means rolling up the sleeves on anything he can get his hands on, but let’s not quibble. The new Queer Eye is indebted to its forefather, but it’s a new kind of makeover show. It’s like Trinny and Susannah returning to the small screen to put women through a radical feminist zine workshop.
Each of the eight episodes (all released at once, should you wish to dedicate an entire day to witnessing men purge cargo shorts from their wardrobes) takes place in the US state of Georgia, which makes me wonder if they are lining up another 49 seasons. Our five lifestyle gurus teach hapless, and occasionally hopeless, men how to cook, dress, arrange their homes and trim their beards. Karamo, whose speciality is given as “lifestyle”, appears to be more of a life coach, talking his charges through whatever it is that is making them feel stuck and stodgy.
The first episode tackles 57-year-old Tom, a self-confessed redneck who pines for his ex-wife. It features the unusual scene of five extremely groomed metropolitan gay men walking into a smalltown bar and being cheered for their presence. It is a set piece, of course, a construct, and if the cameras weren’t there, who knows if the welcome would have been so warm. But that in itself is an indication of where the series decides to plant its flag. It offers a surprisingly frank assessment of preconceptions and prejudices on both sides, and it is impossible to be unmoved by the sincere building of bridges that takes place. Tom asks Bobby, the interior designer, if he is the husband or the wife in his relationship, and they have a good-natured discussion about what that means. It also manages to be a hoot. Later in the series, Karamo sits in a car with a white policeman, Cory, and they discuss tensions between police officers and the black community with a similar jolt of honesty.
What felt unusual about this reboot was that, despite the title, despite the premise, sexuality is often relegated to a background hum. Queer Eye feels more like a show about men, and masculinity and, in its most moving moments, it enables men to talk to each other in a way that they claim they have been unable to do before. When the gang makes over civil engineer AJ, they not only give him a collection of new shirts and the instruction to roll up the sleeves, but help him come out of the closet to his family. It sounds odd to say sexuality isn’t the main issue when it is clearly central to the episode, but as much as it is about AJ telling his family who he is, it is about gently teasing out emotions that have been painfully pushed away, and insisting on conversation. When AJ finally tells his stepmother about his boyfriend, he breaks down; it is hugely affecting.
While Queer Eye has the potential to be powerful, the sincerity can be sticky; so too is the continuing proof that taste is subjective, and its insistence that avocado is the mainstay of any sophisticated chef’s repertoire. But it is a big-hearted portrait of people trying to be better, of common interests, of shared decency. Father-of-six Bobby admits, from beneath his newly rolled-up sleeves, that his church is anti-gay, but that he hopes his children have learned from the experience. And if a devout southern Christian being taught love and acceptance on Netflix by a blazingly camp web-celebrity hairdresser isn’t the epitome of our times, then I don’t know what is.
- The full series of Queer Eye is available on Netflix now
