I am the same age as Home & Garden Television. You could say that we grew up together. I don't remember a time without HGTV. Did such a time even exist? Where did people before HGTV learn about shiplap?
I was nourished by the warm glow of HGTV, broadcasting a daily diet of fairytales into my living room. I have painted my bedroom fantasizing about what people would say about it on some future episode of "House Hunters." I have stared at impenetrably thick carpets and thought, "There's probably some beautiful hardwood floors under here." I gasped in horror and outrage when my television provider briefly yanked the channel away from me.
If there was any saint or goddess in the religion of Home & Garden Television, then it would be Candice Olson of the aptly-named "Divine Design." Olson is a blonde giantess with an infectious laugh and a fondness for recessed lighting. "Matchy-matchy," she would chide as she separated furniture sets and identical end tables, mixing different shapes and styles together. "Divine Design" was originally created for the W Network in Canada, but it became the crown jewel of HGTV from 2003 to 2011. I miss it sometimes, very deeply. "Divine Design" seemed to be everything HGTV had been striving for -- a show with masterful makeovers, minimal participation from homeowners, an indulgent devotion to accessories and curios, and a charismatic, brilliant host. Olson could mug in front of the camera and also pull off beautiful renovations. She was an icon.
Inspired in part by HGTV, my family began to renovate our own house around 2005. We wouldn't move back into our house for more than a year, and the project would never truly be over. That's the problem with renovations: there's always more to be done -- crown molding, backsplashes, central air. There are always more beautiful hardwood floors to unearth. There are always holes in the walls to cover up.
"I wish Candice would come," my mother said to me once, "I wish Candice would come and just finish all of this."
HGTV is about consumption. It's consumption for voyeurs. Shows like "House Hunters" are always more entertaining when the prospective homeowners have more money to spend, and when they're not shy about spending it. Even a show like "Fixer Upper," which renovates "the worst house in the best neighborhood," is always better to watch when hosts Chip and Joanna Gaines are tackling a big, sprawling farmhouse. The bigger and crazier the houses, the better the television. HGTV is escapism, and its viewers want to see a house get Cinderella'ed every twenty minutes.
It's for this reason that many blame HGTV for the 2007 real estate bubble, just like they blame TLC for the wedding industrial complex. I can't deny that I noticed dozens of McMansions cropping up around my neighborhood during the rise of HGTV, but there's no way to tell if that was correlation or actual causation. To HGTV's credit, they did ask themselves the same question. Were they responsible? Not entirely. Despite all of the Canadian programming it airs, HGTV is unabashedly American, and it apes American culture by glorifying materialism. What else is a home improvement channel supposed to do?
After the granite countertops were installed in my kitchen, I climbed up on the island and pressed my cheek to its cool surface. It felt like something had finally been accomplished. There's something coldly comforting about granite -- how unrelenting it is, how uncompromising. It can't be melted by the bottom of a hot pan, can't be stained or waterlogged or warped. Those granite countertops feel like a house should feel: solid and durable. They have staying power.
Perhaps HGTV could have focused less on the mere aesthetic of those granite countertops. Those beautiful hardwood floors. They could instead foster the impulse to peel back what is soft and easy and find what is substantial and strong.
