Bye, Raleigh

Simon Doonan is the Worst

Hey, Simon! Let’s analyze your piece about work clothes.

“The truth of the matter is that I am simply not a helpful gay. I lack the supportive Queer Eye gene that allows one to calmly dispense quotidian advice.”

Okay, so you feign ignorance like the 21-year-old who “doesn’t watch TV” and says while shrugging, “What’s a Gaga? Is that like a Snooki?” Got it. You’re not a stereotypical homosexu-…wait:

“First, you may transform yourself into the office bird of paradise and explode with color, thereby enhancing the moods of those around you. Your splashy digital prints—think Erdem or Prabal Gurung—and modernist color-blocking—think Haider Ackermann or Lisa Perry—will garner you rave reviews from colleagues. You will be celebrated for your plumage.”

Gotcha. So you’re sanctimonious and hypocritical. (And a terrible writer.) But at least you’re supportive:

“I genuinely believe that most women are far too self-critical and masochistic. The process of adornment should be approached as a meadow of rule-breaking pleasure rather than a minefield of potential faux-pas.”

Aww, that’s so nice, Noonan! Now if we can only find the source of such widespread diffidence:

“Nobody wants to trust the company’s future to the wacked-out broad in the Pucci unitard.”

Oh. It’s you. You’re the judgmental dick who wins a woman’s trust with your hokey pitch and then systematically breaks her down:

“Should you start wearing matte pantyhose when you hit sixty? Not sure. Just how bad are your varicose veins?”

Keep ‘em coming!

“If you are an older chick—I’m talking about that middle-aged receptionist with the Florida sun damage whose name is always Dolores—then the sight of your leathery cleavage will be welcome in any office environment. It’s comforting. It’s maternal. It’s nonthreatening.”

It’s misogynistic and gross. Know what else is gross? Undermining the marginalized and disenfranchised:

“Years ago I attended a vogue-ing competition in Harlem. This was way back before Madonna popularized this mysterious subculture. As those of you who have seen the ’80s documentary Paris is Burning will be aware, these hilariously competitive events were structured around very specific categories: Executive Realness, First Time in Drag, Looking Like a Banshee Girl, etc.”

HAHAHA. You’re so right! The phenomenon of poor gay people forming communities that both comfort its members and provide opportunities to express themselves and taste the kind of wealth and fame that they’re denied IS hilarious. ON POINT, DOONAN. But back to the clothes:

“I advocate a taboo-busting eccentricity”

Oh, cool. That’s actually sorta refreshing. What taboos would you like to bust?

“If you wish to ink up—neck, face, hands—then you may need to switch careers.”

Huh. That sounds like you’re reinforcing the taboo. Do you not know what a taboo is? Did you confuse yourself after typing “tattoo”? It’s okay, Doons. Words are tricky. I’ll give you one more shot at identifying and busting a taboo:

“Simply match your surroundings by wearing conservative tailoring in muted tones—go greige, beige and even champeige—and glide down the hallway like a venomous asp.”

(Clap. Clap. Clap.) Slate, paragon of excellent journalism.

(Source: Slate)