I WILL NEVER HAVE MY OWN SHOW ON HGTV
Deep into my second home renovation, I can now admit what I have willfully avoided for years:
I do not have the design gene.
Sure, I can pick out items that are pretty. Eventually.
Actually, that’s generous. When first confronting the endless choices in selecting a finish, like a bathroom vanity or a drawer handle, I just go blank.
Yes, I can appreciate the item at face value. But I can’t make the leap to how it would fit in with the overall “look” of my apartment. I don’t know if it “works” or not. So in most shopping trips, I ultimately shrug my shoulders and mumble, “I guess so.”
You could say that I lack that vision thing.
But in my defense, stepping beyond my design comfort zone has yielded dubious results.
EXHIBIT A:
Months before demolition began on my first renovation, my architect Rich and our mutual friend Fred took me to Home Depot after brunch to start pinpointing styles I found appealing. First up, the kitchen countertop.
“It really dictates the entire look of the kitchen,” said Rich. Fred nodded, a veteran of his own successful renovations.
“OK, I’m in,” I said, nodding too because this was fun.
“Now take a moment to look at these samples. What speaks to you?”
My eyes widened, sweeping over rows of blocks saturating the corner nook with dozens of the seemingly same bleak tone. I could have been looking at a brick wall in a back alley.
Prickly heat immediately rose to my cheeks. Flop sweat drenched my armpits. Good Lord, I’m a middle-aged gay man. This should be as easy as lip synching to any Madonna song. Flawlessly.
But then the store walls began vibrating with all kinds of patterns, subtle and bold. Some had flecks. Some had shiny specks. Then the different colors appeared. Nuanced yet distinct shades shimmied in front of me saying, “Looky here! Live your best life with me!” Blood now pounded inside my skull.
I knew I wanted my new home to be a statement. A signal of how far I’d come the last two decades in my chosen city of New York. If I made it here, I could make it anywhere, right?
One particularly saucy sample kept “speaking” to me, promising to fulfill my lofty mission.
“I’m the one,” it whispered seductively. “I’ll make you look like the winner you really are.” Did it wink at me?
I inhaled deeply then pointed towards it with one sweaty hand. “How about that one?”
Hisses of disgust quickly hit my ears, followed by hearty laughter.
Fred yelled, “No! I can’t let you! No way in HELL!” In my hometown in southern Ohio, we called that hollering. Other customers looked over to see if we needed store security.
Rich was more judicious. “So…keep in mind that this will be for a much larger area than you see here. You don’t want to overpower the space. Why did you pick that one?”
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t tell the truth, so I fudged a little.
“Um, so yeah, it spoke to me? It’s bold. Kind of like a Jackson Pollack painting…”
“That’s what museums are for,” said Fred, wiping a tear from his eye.
I should have had another mimosa at brunch.
Now in my second even bigger renovation, I would like to report that my home design prowess has improved over the years. But the world has had enough of fake news.
Yes, I can choose nice things. I can even choose distinctive things. But I still can’t choose an overall style for an entire apartment, let alone one room.
EXHIBIT B:
After months of searching in-store and online, I proudly emailed Rich my top ideas for lights in the kitchen and powder room, heavy with drums, bowls and midcentury globes. I covered all bases.
“Take your time,” I wrote. But in an hour, he replied:
“Brett — I very much appreciate how engaged you are during this process. You have no idea how much better and more smoothly and FUN it makes the process go.”
I know, I said to myself, I’m SUPER fun. You’re welcome.
But he continued:
“Regarding the light fixture choices: I don’t remember the pendants that are listed here, and frankly, I don’t like anything about them. But this is your place, so before discounting them, please tell me what it is about them that attracts you?”
Ugh, that question “What do you like about it?” I’ll tell you what attracted me to it. The idea of being DONE with all of this!
But he continued:
“I feel that the shape doesn’t echo or communicate with anything else in their vicinity……….remember that you have a beautifully shaped tile for the backsplash, maybe something that speaks to those curves or shape somehow….? Also, the ceiling mounted fixture…..”
Apparently my choice for the ceiling left him speechless.
Insert my multiple heavy sighs here.
Curse you, HGTV. Your flippers and fixer-uppers make it look too easy. And fun. We’ve all imagined ourselves on the channel. For me, I start out as a special yet recurring guest on “Property Brothers.” Kind of like Cousin Oliver on “The Brady Bunch” or Leonardo DiCaprio in “Growing Pains.” I mean, look how well that turned out for Leo!
Positive audience reaction would quickly evolve into increased TV ratings — propelling me to my own series “Bring It Home With Brett” or “Home Is Where Henne Is.”
Each episode would be a fast-paced weekly quest to help clueless city dwellers create their ultimate urban lair guided by my exquisite, groundbreaking taste. At the end, we all celebrate with witty repartee over glasses of pinot grigio and my special guests Cher, Wendy Williams and Nick Jonas. I smell Emmy!
But instead, I’ve been fighting my own reality, in danger of becoming one of those episodes on what NOT to do in a home renovation.
So as king of my castle, the time has come to make a proclamation. I shall now defer to those who have the true talent and focus on what I seem to be doing best in this whole process:
Pull out my credit cards.
Charge!
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