The Fab Five are 10 years old! It was way back in July 2003 that Bravo premiered “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,” the reality show about a quintet of style gurus zhooshing up various heterosexuals’ lives and making them fabulous enough to go out in public again.
The show was an instant smash, viewers seeming to think that letting these guys into their living rooms every week would somehow spruce up their own homes. From the start, the Bravo culture-clash experiment had such a must-see aura to it that even those who had squirmed during Elton John concerts were suddenly gurgling, “Did you watch ‘Queer Eye’ last night?” The viewing populace hadn’t been so intent on hearing what a gay guy had to say since Paul Lynde vacated the Center Square.
The premise had five experts — Carson Kressley, Ted Allen, Kyan Douglas, Thom Filicia and Jai Rodriguez — assessing a straight person’s superficial needs before spiffing up his fashion, food, grooming, interior design and culture in a tidy hour of titillating transformation. Lots of zippy banter would take place as they guided their subject to salvation, and by the end, when the lights went on in his stunningly redesigned apartment, tears were inevitably shed, axes were buried, and ratings soared.
Complaints did come in that the show was reflecting a stereotypical view of gay men as tasteful helpers, but at least it was a sort of positive stereotype, and you can’t say it didn’t further queer visibility. True, Rosie and Ellen had already come out and “Will & Grace” had been a hit for years, but “Queer Eye” upped the ante by taking the sting out of real gay men for the masses in a big way. It gave gays a friendly face, and though the guys seemed too glib to be all that sexual, they helped pave the way for the more fully rounded characters of the future, whether real or scripted. (It was the straights who probably should have protested — they were portrayed as hopelessly bereft souls in desperate need of help from these human chic dispensers.)
What’s more, “Real World” and “Survivor” may have sparked our love affair with reality television, but “Queer Eye” turned it into an obsession. Channels like Bravo, Discovery and TLC, which had been focused on arts, culture and learning, changed their entire business model.
It led to a lot of other snappy, small-scale shows about people who magically transform lives, from trainers to real estate folks to interventionists and beyond. Every time you reach for the remote and find a slick, savvy expert cleaning out someone’s closet and then flipping their house, you can thank “Queer Eye” for the format. With a lot of these shows, you get to revel in the abject condition of the subjects, then marvel at their aesthetic rebirth thanks to the narrative provided by the on-camera humiliation/redemption cycle.
But the “Queer Eye” descendants aren’t always about improvement. The Fab Five’s cutting critiques inspired another genre: call it “catty TV,” including shows like “Real Housewives.”
For better or for worse, “Queer Eye” has a lot to answer for.
True confession: I auditioned for “Queer Eye,” hoping to nab the role of the culture guru, which at least would pay, unlike all the talking head shows I was doing at the time. It was a long shot, seeing as my idea of a good movie was “Showgirls” and my choice for a cutting edge musical artist was Avril Lavigne. Another problem was that I was older than the age limit the casting call had specified. But I knew the casting director, who managed to pull a few gay strings and get me a tryout. Disaster! We were auditioned in groups of five and advised to keep things freewheeling so no one person would dominate. Alas, the food and wine guy in my group wasn’t much of a listener. He talked through the entire session — spouting inanities in an insufferably pompous manner — resulting in the fact that none of us five made it to the next level!
If I’d gotten the job, I might have had a dazzling career like at least three of the Fab Five went on to enjoy. But that’s not the real tragedy here.
The biggest impact of “Queer Eye” is that ever since the show arrived a decade ago, America has been convinced that gays have the answer to every style/food/music/design question in creation. As a result, I’ve long been bombarded with complete strangers begging me to tell them what they should wear/eat/listen to and what type of couch they should lounge on while doing so.
My response is always a curt, “How on earth do I know? That was just a reality show!”
Michael Musto writes weekly entertainment columns for Gawker.com and Out.com.