Jeff Lewis is cool!
So the article below is from the New York Times-- Kinda harsh...But I'm sure Jeff could care less-- love him!.... I watched the season premiere last night and fell in love with it-- thank god a new show to replace the Kathy Griffin void after last weeks finale....Bravo has another hit with this show! Jeff Lewis is my hero- for most he will come across as a villain or complete ass- But I TOTALLY relate to his personality a ton and I love it...I'm so very similar and I myself like to "face" all the stuff in my fridge and cabinets and all that-- clean- organized meticulous etc...What a dream job that would be working for Jeff-- And for those that don't understand it I'm sure you all live in filth anyhow.... If you have time check out the show-- fun stuff.!!
Here the article from the New York Times-----
Jeff Lewis is a very scary man, and he isn’t scary solely because he treats his employees like dust mites or consults a psychic to assist him in the running of his business or sends his cat, Monkey, to an acupuncturist. No, Jeff Lewis, a Los Angeles real estate speculator, evokes a chill because he is so leveraged, a man balancing multiple mortgages like bricks on a noodle.
The subject of “Flipping Out,” a reality series that begins tonight on Bravo, Mr. Lewis buys million-dollar properties, works them over and tries to sell them for a few more million. “Staging” — dressing up a home to look meticulously lived in — is a passion of his, and one that appears to deflect his attention from the shifting realities of his business.
“Flipping Out” is a prescient enterprise, arriving as it does amid reports that home foreclosures in Southern California are close to the peak reached 11 years ago. Unlike the seemingly zillion other real-estate reality shows, “Flipping Out” doesn’t cater to our trade-up fantasies. On the contrary, Mr. Lewis’s obliviousness and misplaced priorities function almost as explainers of the housing market’s downturn, capturing a looming sense of panic.
“They don’t care what I’m worth,” Mr. Lewis says of his potential creditors, with an odd astonishment. “All they care about is my debt.”
Neatness and aesthetics compel him above all. By the time Mr. Lewis has listed one of his properties, he has supplied not only the Miele appliances, but also added floor pillows, orchids and flat-screen televisions, a vision of what his renovated homes could ultimately look like if the buyer emulated his own good taste.
And of his own good taste he is certain. “For all those speculators that are still using travertine, it’s been gone for eight years,” he exclaims. “Eight years! Open up a magazine!”
Mr. Lewis’s houses look like the generically upscale ones found in House Beautiful. He doesn’t possess style; he copies it. What he does have, by his own admission, is obsessive-compulsive disorder, and the show’s producers, to their credit, do not treat his O.C.D. as if it were a winning asset, the key to whatever success he has had. Like many sufferers of the disorder, Mr. Lewis ignores the real mayhem right there in front of him, so fixated is he on the idea, say, that all the bottles of water in his refrigerator be stocked so that the labels always face him. This is a task dispatched to one of three assistants, from whom he demands formal, written apologies when they behave insubordinately.
For years now, the comic detective series “Monk” has equated O.C.D. with intuitive brilliance. We’ve long required a corrective interpretation, and “Flipping Out” is it. Mr. Lewis isn’t a genius of anything. He’s just a delusional jerk.
The subject of “Flipping Out,” a reality series that begins tonight on Bravo, Mr. Lewis buys million-dollar properties, works them over and tries to sell them for a few more million. “Staging” — dressing up a home to look meticulously lived in — is a passion of his, and one that appears to deflect his attention from the shifting realities of his business.
“Flipping Out” is a prescient enterprise, arriving as it does amid reports that home foreclosures in Southern California are close to the peak reached 11 years ago. Unlike the seemingly zillion other real-estate reality shows, “Flipping Out” doesn’t cater to our trade-up fantasies. On the contrary, Mr. Lewis’s obliviousness and misplaced priorities function almost as explainers of the housing market’s downturn, capturing a looming sense of panic.
“They don’t care what I’m worth,” Mr. Lewis says of his potential creditors, with an odd astonishment. “All they care about is my debt.”
Neatness and aesthetics compel him above all. By the time Mr. Lewis has listed one of his properties, he has supplied not only the Miele appliances, but also added floor pillows, orchids and flat-screen televisions, a vision of what his renovated homes could ultimately look like if the buyer emulated his own good taste.
And of his own good taste he is certain. “For all those speculators that are still using travertine, it’s been gone for eight years,” he exclaims. “Eight years! Open up a magazine!”
Mr. Lewis’s houses look like the generically upscale ones found in House Beautiful. He doesn’t possess style; he copies it. What he does have, by his own admission, is obsessive-compulsive disorder, and the show’s producers, to their credit, do not treat his O.C.D. as if it were a winning asset, the key to whatever success he has had. Like many sufferers of the disorder, Mr. Lewis ignores the real mayhem right there in front of him, so fixated is he on the idea, say, that all the bottles of water in his refrigerator be stocked so that the labels always face him. This is a task dispatched to one of three assistants, from whom he demands formal, written apologies when they behave insubordinately.
For years now, the comic detective series “Monk” has equated O.C.D. with intuitive brilliance. We’ve long required a corrective interpretation, and “Flipping Out” is it. Mr. Lewis isn’t a genius of anything. He’s just a delusional jerk.
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