It's easy for us to become casualties of our own feeds -- constantly consuming the 24-hour news cycle until we're consumed by it ourselves. With sexual abuse scandals, shootings at schools and places of worship, leaked memos about trans erasure, and ugly spats in a nation that's never been more Red versus Blue, gloom abounds.
Enter the new Fab Five -- Bobby Berk, Karamo Brown, Tan France, Antoni Porowski, and Jonathan Van Ness -- who aim to make things a little brighter. On Queer Eye, Netflix's 2018 reboot of Bravo's reality makeover show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (which debuted in 2003 ), this diverse quintet isn't just bettering the lives of the on-air subjects they primp, encourage, and advise, they also affect viewers at home -- inspiring us to be better, too, and to challenge the status quo.
TV revivals are undeniably trending, but Queer Eye doesn't feel like it exists just to be part of a fad. With its cast alone, its arrival announced that "queer" doesn't look like it did 15 years ago, and one of its key, empowering messages is vital for the mainstream: LGBTQ people, rather than being a burden, have the ability, strength, and desire to improve people's lives. The Netflix production proves that Bravo's established formula still works, but the magic touch that clinched Queer Eye's success comes down to the infectious, harmonious, and varied personalities of its fresh faces: the spirited Berk, the cool and collected Brown, the ever-stylish France, the sensual Porowski, and the high-heeled Van Ness. Together, they share a wit and rapport that make us want to watch -- and, probably, binge.
"The original show was a trailblazer," says Van Ness, the new grooming guru with a wealth of sassy quips to match his pristine cascade of hair. Berk, the design expert whose religious struggles have enriched his on-air narrative, adds, "I love that we're able to take such a groundbreaking show from a pivotal time in my development and still make it work today."
But Queer Eye has done far more than pay homage to its predecessor. The Fab Five are using their new gig to facilitate countless far-reaching conversations, and because they're leading with empathy, unlikely sources are listening. "I received a message from a pastor who told me he'd been preaching against homosexuality his entire life and changed his ways after watching our show," Berk says. "He said he will never preach that way again."
"We're taking our message of self-care and compassion global," says Van Ness, noting that the show touches people on a national level and also abroad, as Netflix reaches hundreds of countries, which essentially means that Queer Eye is blanketing the world with queer visibility. Says France, the impeccably outfitted style honcho: "The messages I get from people in the Middle East, saying that they're hopeful after seeing themselves represented on TV...that really gets me everytime."
Porowski, the culinary-focused, fan-certified hunk of the group, says "kindness has always been [his] best ammunition," and he, too, is seeing international feedback. "A boy in Poland messaged me about the current political climate and his fear of walking the streets safely," Porowski says. "He said it meant the world to see me march in Montreal Pride this past summer. He said I gave him hope. I never thought I could have that effect on someone."
One of the most tearjerking moments of Queer Eye's first season came when the boys flipped the script and reached out to a gay man, AJ, who'd never had the chance to come out to his father before he passed away. The episode culminated in AJ coming out to his stepmother by reading a letter he wrote to his late dad. AJ's long-withheld sadness and anxiety (he stayed quiet for 30 years) poured out in a cathartic wave of tears, reminding us that isolation, regret, and internalized pain are unhealthy for all people.
For Brown, the culture vulture and the franchise's first black cast member, expanding what those people look like on Queer Eye is a conscious goal. "It's important to us that the heroes we work with reflect the diversity of voices and viewpoints that make this country what it is," he says. "I'm looking forward to more people seeing themselves in the faces of our season 3 heroes."
What Brown doesn't acknowledge is that to someone, somewhere, he's a hero, too, just like the rest of his castmates. (He also happens to be an alum of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla., and he salutes fellow Out100 cover star Emma Gonzalez for her and her peers' fight for gun law reform.)
Today, as distressing things happen, we shouldn't look away, but we should search for folks who can offer some respite from the gloom. The cast of Queer Eye is doing that, with bright colors and bold patterns. And we're watching.
Photography by Martin Schoeller.
Styling by Katie Woolley and Aneila Wendt.
Hair and Makeup: Kristin Kent.
Photographed at StageportKC, Kansas City.
Gus Kenworthy's open letter to the LGBTQ+ Paris Olympians
The gay silver medalist offers queer pearls of wisdom for LGBTQ+ athletes competing at this year's Olympic Games.
Paris is burning, honey! There will likely be more openly queer athletes at this Olympics than any previous Games. And as Paris would say, “That’s hot!” Let me start this letter by saying how fucking proud I am of each and every one of you. Whether you’re competing out and proud, still figuring things out for yourself, or perhaps keeping things under wraps for right now, you should hold your head high knowing that you’ve already done the damn thing: You’re an Olympian!
When I qualified for my first Games in 2014, my agent Michael said something to me that really resonated: “Once an Olympian, always an Olympian.” So I encourage you to soak up your experience in France and bask in that feeling of accomplishment. Nobody can take that away from you. Win or lose, you will forever be an Olympian. You’ve just added a title to accompany your name for the rest of your life. Congrats — you’re basically a doctor.
I competed in my first Games when I was still in the closet. I remember sharing a room with one of my best friends, Bobby, and yearning to tell him that I was gay. We were competing in Sochi, Russia, where there were and still are anti-LGBTQ+ laws in place. There was a strong anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment surrounding that Games. Needless to say, I didn’t feel welcomed.
The Olympics are supposed to be about inclusivity; it’s one of the only times that the entire world comes together for a greater good: for sport. Countries and their respective athletes get to set aside differences in politics, race, language, religion, and socioeconomic status to play and to compete on a global stage as equals.
Yet there I was in Russia, where legislation stated that any public announcement or display of my sexuality would be perceived as protest and punished as “propaganda of nontraditional sexual relations to minors.” At the time, I was too scared to speak my truth. I wanted to. I wanted to walk tall and take a stand for myself and for the community that I was born into but had not yet met, but it was all too overwhelming. I hadn’t even told my mum yet. I didn’t want to burden Bobby with my secret because I worried it might distract him and take away his focus from the competition, so I kept it to myself. But it got the gears churning in my head about what it might be like to actually come out.
For all the years leading up to that point, I had imagined coming out would be a step that I would take after retirement. I figured I would have my ski career and then, whenever it was over, I would get to come out and live my truth. A second life. A separate life. The two things just didn’t coexist in my mind because there was nobody to point to as a reference. Not only had there not been an openly gay professional athlete in my sport, but there hadn’t even been one in my industry.
Freeskiing, the sport I compete in, is part of the action sports industry, which includes snowboarding, skateboarding, BMX, motocross, mountain biking, surfing, etc. Outside of the Olympics, our marquee event is the X Games, which is kind of an edgy, hardcore alternative to traditional sports. My income wasn’t government-subsidized. I wasn’t being paid by a national team. I wasn’t a recipient of grants. My income was based entirely off of prize winnings, victory bonuses, and sponsorship deals, and I worried I would alienate myself by coming out. I worried I would lose my sponsors and my following and would risk being judged poorly at the events. As anybody in the closet can attest to, I built narratives out of fear and spun them until they were all-consuming. On February 13, 2014, after falling in the first of my two runs in the final, I managed to compartmentalize the turmoil going on in my head and heart and put down the run that I had gone to Sochi to do. I walked away with the silver medal — one of the greatest accomplishments of my life.
The following year, I decided I was ready to be me. I hoped maybe there was room in the professional sports world for a gay skier, but I decided that even if all my fears were realized, and I was pushed out of the sport, I had already accomplished enough to feel proud of, and I could walk away knowing that. I would forever be an Olympian — and an Olympic medalist, at that.
Not only did it turn out that my fears were unfounded — but in fact, the reaction was quite the opposite. I was met with so much love and support. The following season was the best of my career. I guess it’s true what they say: “The truth shall set you free.” Suddenly feeling unshackled and getting to compete as myself, I skied better than I ever had. I didn’t miss the podium at a single event that year. Nothing had changed with my training or my approach; I was just suddenly much more present. More centered. Happier. I had a weight off of my shoulders and didn’t have to worry about compartmentalizing, and it translated on the slopes.
I say all this to, hopefully, give you all some encouragement regardless of where you’re at on your journey of self-discovery, self-acceptance, and self-love. If you’re not ready to come out yet, that’s OK. I know it can be a struggle. But I also know that it does get better. Only you know what’s best for you and when is the right time. Despite not knowing who you are, I am rooting for you. “We are all rooting for you!” I hope you read that last sentence in Tyra’s voice.
If, on the other hand, you’re already out and proud, then congratulations! I hope you feel the love and support that is coming your way from me and the entire LGBTQ+ community. Regardless of which country’s flag you are representing, you are also representing the Progress Pride flag, and you are being cheered on by all of us that that flag represents.
I know the mix of e-mo-tions you’re probably feeling right now: excitement and nerves coursing through your veins like adrenaline. Harness it! Use it as fuel. You can do this! Growing up, I thought being gay was a disadvantage. But I’ve come to learn that it’s a superpower. Just by being yourself, you are going to make a positive change in the world. You are going to inspire and help so many people, young and old, during these Paris Games and beyond. That’s the ripple effect, and you are all about to make a huge fucking splash! Unless you’re a diver and then, um, hopefully, no splash at all. Like wait, was that a water droplet? I don’t know, I couldn’t see it.
So go! Win! Slay the house down boots! I have no doubt you will. You know why? Because that little plus sign at the end of LGBTQ+ means you’re better than your competitors. You’ve got this.
With immense Pride,
Gus Kenworthy
This article is part of Out's July/August issue, which hits newsstands on July 2. Support queer media and subscribe— or download the issue through Apple News, Zinio, Nook, or PressReader starting June 18.