Queer Eye, season 2 review: still wonderfully heartwarming – and now everyone is eligible for a makeover
In these interesting times, people who know exactly who they are and what to do next possess a magnetic allure, which is why five gay men in their thirties have led to one of the most talked-about TV shows of the year.
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy was a Nineties reality TV hit, with five gay men giving life and style makeovers to straight men in a slump. Its reboot, now simply Queer Eye, became a word of mouth obsession, then a breakout smash, when it aired on Netflix earlier this year. Its stars became icons, especially its youngest, the adorable and leonine Jonathan Van Ness (grooming) who combines a drag queen style of speaking with the sort of cast-iron self-confidence more usually seen in people who are horrific rather than – to use a Jonathanism – absolutely “gorgy”.
And this show is 100 per cent gorgy, as well as kind, hilarious and reassuring. It has heart on a scale usually seen on autumnal Sunday night dramas on the Beeb, providing maximum confidence boosting with none of the sap. Men tend to get overlooked on the classic makeover shows, unless it’s DIY SOS, so this "Oprah meets Auntie Mame" fills a joyous gap: after watching the first series, my husband enquired as to whether he might perhaps be “Queer Eye’d” for his next birthday.
This string of episodes widens the makeover pool from straight (and one gay) men to include a trans man and even – gasp – a woman. All share the trait of being a bit lost, and deserving of the treat of a new wardrobe, a tarted-up home, and an injection of self-esteem, but not so broken that the “Fab Five’s” tough love would knock them down even further. These are people that need to be plumped like a pillow rather than systematically brought back to life.
There’s Sean, a homeschooled teenage pianist whose truly horrifying selection of personalised jackets gives him the impression of being a 40-year-old cruise entertainer; Skyler, a trans man who has just undergone “top” surgery to remove his breasts; Tom, the hipster mayor of the most ethnically diverse city in the South whose youth (and feral beard) prevent him being taken seriously; as well as an assortment of overworked and underconfident men whose style – and life – could use a bit of a zhuszh.
What is so lovely about Queer Eye is that it’s about people feeling seen. At a certain stage in life, it can feel as though you are supposed to have it all together, and friends won’t comment on your propensity to continue to wear cargo shorts and t-shirts despite your rapidly increasing age. The Fab Five take a brisk, no-nonsense attitude to habitual laziness, while listening kindly to what has put their mentee’s life on hold and helping them to take the steps to gently setting them back on course, whether through a haircut, a new hobby, or date night. If Mary Poppins hadn’t already been rebooted, then Queer Eye would be a contender to take her crown.
Netflix filmed this series immediately after the first, but there is enough development to make it feel like a sequel rather than a mid-season break. Antoni Porowski (food and wine) who was pilloried in the press for his apparently limited cooking, shows range rather than assembling meals based solely on cheese and avocados, but what is particularly good to see is more restlessness from the cast in their capacity as fairy godfathers. There’s consternation when mentees don’t remember their new rules about wardrobe; swearing and judicious bitching along with the kindness and confidence building.
In the opening episode, they tend to a beloved church momma and her gay son, who is estranged from the church due to his sexuality. Former churchgoer Bobby Berk (design), who went through a similar experience in his teens, faces up to some dark feelings about religion. However there’s no happy ending just because it will make everything sweet: those are reserved for the makeovers.
And what happy endings they are. Queer Eye shines a light on the toxic environments that can lead to stagnancy and unhappiness, and cheerfully shows the viewer the tools to deal with them. So a pedicure doesn’t just make feet look nice, but it gives them the feeling that they deserve to spend time on themselves.
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It also explores criticism often aimed at the white gay community, of neglecting trans people. When Tan France, a British-Pakistani fashion designer from Doncaster who lives in Utah with his Mormon husband, meets his first trans person, he gets an awakening in what it means to be transgender, and why someone would want surgery: “We support our brothers and sisters, but we don’t know what they go through,” he says. In a world driven by social media, Queer Eye helps us to recharge our empathy cells.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get a pedi, reassess my shirt options and haircut, and throw an elegant party for my friends. My Fab Five-devotee husband has already done all three.