I hate-watch you, day and night. I’ve seen every flip. Even those that flopped. I know which Property Brother is Drew and which is Jonathan. I’m steeled for every epic design “disaster” that seems to happen right before you cut to commercial.
“Oh no, they didn’t deliver our Brazilian chestnut flooring and the homeowners will be here in eleven minutes! What. Will. We. Do!?!”
Five Sherwin-Williams commercials later…
“Luckily we found 4000 square feet of Brazilian chestnut flooring in the garage. They just installed it. Whew!”
Yes, I can forgive crap like that. Just like McDonald’s, I know exactly what I’m getting into when I’m there. I’m obviously asking for it.
Plucky southern female designers married to jokester contractors.
Lovable gay design teams who bicker constantly, but 24 minutes later create a minimaluxe masterpiece.
Somewhat believable couples hunting for an affordable house in their town’s red-hot real estate market.
“He wants a turnkey, split level with a pool, man-cave, and beachfront access in the city, but she wants an open-concept Tudor fixer in the suburbs with a white kitchen, 70s discotheque, and room to raise alpacas. Will this couple ever see eye to eye?
Spoiler alert: Yes. They owned the house before the show even started.
And still, I watch.
Like someone suffering from Television Stockholm Syndrome, night after night I keep coming back for more HGTV.
You should know, it’s not all peel-and-stick wallpaper. There’s something much more nefarious at play here.