After six seasons and a trip to Japan, Netflix’s Queer Eye franchise is taking its message of love, acceptance and regular haircuts to Germany – without the Fab Five that viewers of the US show know and adore. This is a makeover of the makeover show, and it introduces a brand new German fab five: a Fab Fünf, who are there to spend a week with deserving recipients of their care, attention and insights into efficient shelving units.
At first, watching Queer Eye Germany – which launches today – is like visiting an old house long after you have moved out. It looks the same and the structure is just as it was, but the furniture is all different and there’s a photograph of a new family on the wall. Looking at the German hosts is like visiting a seaside waxwork museum, and the Jonathan Van Ness statue is sort of wonky. But it only takes a few moments to adjust to the fact that these are five new people looking at an iPad in a big car on their way to a new town. And it is quite amusing to hear the German language peppered with phrases such as “Go girl!”, “Yas queen”, and, to my surprise, “one-pot”, as in one-pot cooking, which clearly needs no translating.
What is most striking is how little of this Queer Eye feels different at all, in the end. There are surface changes: there are certainly more facial tattoos, more piercings, more colourful hair dye and more references to schnitzel. Ultimately, though, the idea of Queer Eye is to restore confidence to people who may have lost it somewhere along the way, and that is a universal state, internationally familiar. In the first episode, we meet the blushing Björn, a single father to an 11-year-old boy, who worries that he isn’t doing a good job as a parent, has a touch too much enthusiasm for sports memorabilia, and dresses almost exclusively in camouflage or slogan T-shirts.
The Fab Fünf talk him through his hair and beauty regime (this is the role of David, who is clearly the star and knows it), his wardrobe (Jan-Henrik, a dandy who chooses not to push his penchant for bow ties on to others), his life and emotions (the lovely, empathic Leni), what he cooks at the end of a busy day (Aljosha, who loves a one-pot meal, wholewheat pasta and eyeshadow), and what their house would look like without walls covered in football souvenirs (the ever-smiling Ayan). By the end of it, Björn is ready. Previously, he was too nervous to ask his date any questions about herself. Now, armed with a crossbody bag – the German show’s equivalent of the french tuck, it seems – he is confident enough to not only go on a date with a woman, but to engage with her and enjoy a full, two-sided conversation. The changes are superficial, but you always get the impression that they go much deeper than a beard trim and a new pair of boots.
It’s so bloody lovely, and as with the US version, it is hard to watch without getting choked up. Every episode takes the same blueprint and spins it into individual strands of gold. The gang meet a person who, for whatever reason life has thrown at them, has lost the ability to believe in themselves, or to take care of themselves. That’s not to say these people are in dire need of intervention, but they need a treat, a boost, someone like Leni to look them in the eye and tell them they are not alone. The five meet a closeted football coach (who comes out to his wonderful parents mid-makeover); a woman in her 40s who has lost her lust for life; a Star Wars fan who has had depression; and an 18-year-old with a story so sad and harrowing that she deserves every bit of happiness that a life makeover might bring. It is so heartwarming and so human and decent. Feelgood TV travels well, no matter what language it is in. And as they say in Germany: go, girl!
