Finally, the record is set straight – so to speak – by Louis Bayard in the Post:
I have to tell you, your show is placing enormous pressure on me . . . and on the great silent majority of gay men who (I’m extrapolating here) really aren’t that fab. Think — please think! — about the message you are conveying to straight America. They watch your show and they come away believing that every homosexual is a hairstylist, runway model, interior designer, oenophile, chef and cultural commissar wrapped up in a form-fitting ribbed tee. I’m here to tell you, it just ain’t so.
I haven’t shaved in four days. I haven’t had my shoes polished in three years. I wouldn’t know an exfoliant from an exterminant. Don’t you see? I lose this game on all points. . . . And yet, thanks to you and your show, no one will believe me. Loved ones and strangers alike persist in thinking that my brain must be a golden hoard of exotic knowledge. They expect me to know the names of every kind of lily. They expect me to distinguish Tiffany from Baccarat from Sears. They scour my medicine cabinets for moisturizers that have never lived there. My brother called the other day and asked me where I thought interest rates were heading. Interest rates?