Dirty Pretty Things

Other than the fools' paradise aspect that home reality shows have these days, what with the economy continuing its slow decline [which in my head is accompanied by tuba music], the other thing that gets me is the type of person that appears on the shows. Fresh from reading many home decor magazines and high from having arrived as homeowners, each couple each woman in each couple believes herself to be a connoiseur [Connoiseusse? Have I completely massacred that? Help me!] of taste, sophistication and just-so-frisson of whimsy. Last night I watched two such women tear down one another's choice of red paint for a dining room, and was struck by the fact that it was the same color. The snootiest, bitchiest couple [because the men on these shows are always henpecked wienies who adopt the bitchiness of their wives--o, the humanity!] had perhaps the most pedestrian and yet sterile house of the three couples featured.

I am not proud, but neither will I deny that this kind of thing pushes my snob button. Immediately, I want to talk with the couples about the subjective nature of taste, about how one's home should ideally reflect the people that live in it, about how one is more than one's belongings; but the sad truth is that more than any of this, what I want to say is PEOPLE YOU LIVE IN A SUBURB OF A SUBURB OF THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE and you have no right to be putting on airs like that, JimBob and Sally Ann, or Chip and Susie, or Del and Marie, or whomever.

It's ugly, I know. And the obvious question is then why do you keep watching, you elitist? And the answer is Doug, the manliest, handsomest interior designer ever. He can build stuff, sew stuff, paint stuff, and say things so snarky right to Middle America's face that they don't even realize it's not a compliment.

Sure, tough guys, you can joke about his totally-guessable preference in companions, but can you do half the carpentry he can do? Not bloody likely. If you happen to live in Los Angeles, you are probably a lot less manly than this dude. Oh, and the dimples, the tall, the eyes, the rapier-sharp wit? METRO CITY BOYS, YOU JUST GOT PWNED BY AN INTERIOR DESIGNER! Henpecked wienies who start the show being condescending because what can an interior designer have over you? You lose! Wake up, America. Wake up and be a man.