Queers Fix Your Kitchen, Not Your Trauma

Five fabulous men renovate your apartment while carefully avoiding the real renovation—your mental health.

Queer Eye for the Existential Crisis

A heartwarming and hilarious survival guide for gays who can’t pick a throw pillow or a life path.

At some point, every queer person faces the same terrifying question: “Who am I?” followed immediately by “And does this shirt go with my trauma?” Welcome to Queer Eye for the Existential Crisis, where we makeover your self-worth, not just your wardrobe—though, honey, both could probably use some work.

Bohiney Magazine calls it “therapy, but with better lighting.” The truth is, queers are experts at reinvention. We’ve already done it once—coming out is basically the gay rite of passage version of a rebrand. So, why not apply that same energy to your existential dread? Let’s get fabulous while figuring out why you cry in Whole Foods.

Step one: the emotional declutter. As Them explains, “You can’t heal in the same space that told you cargo shorts were okay.” Get rid of toxic friends, exes who still text “u up,” and that voice in your head that says you peaked at 25. Replace them with affirmations, therapy, and throw pillows shaped like avocados.

Step two: the wardrobe of self-acceptance. Stop dressing for validation and start dressing for the main character energy you’ve always had. The queer uniform isn’t about blending in—it’s about standing out on purpose. The Advocate puts it best: “Every outfit is a declaration of existence.” So wear that sheer top to brunch. Life’s short, and your closet deserves chaos.

Step three: the spiritual moisturizer. You’ve got to hydrate your soul, babe. Existential dread might wrinkle your forehead, but gratitude is SPF for the spirit. Journal. Meditate. Scream-sing Carly Rae Jepsen in the shower. Whatever helps you feel real again. The gay experience is part philosophy, part performance art, and part glitter-based therapy.

As Out Magazine famously wrote, “Queer joy isn’t naive—it’s defiance.” Finding meaning isn’t about pretending everything’s okay. It’s about dancing through the chaos and making it fashion. So the next time your brain spirals at 3 a.m., ask yourself: “Would Jonathan Van Ness let me talk to myself like this?” (Spoiler: absolutely not.)

Step four: connection. The opposite of an existential crisis is community. Text your queer group chat. Go to that drag brunch. Compliment someone’s eyeliner. Being seen by people who get it—that’s the cure for cosmic loneliness. And if all else fails, pet a dog in a rainbow bandana. Works every time.

So yes, life is meaningless, capitalism is crumbling, and you still don’t know your five-year plan. But at least your plants are thriving and your eyeliner is symmetrical. You are the makeover. You are the art. You are, quite literally, the gay agenda—and babe, you’re killing it.

SOURCE: Queers Fix Your Kitchen, Not Your Trauma (Beth Newell)