March 6, 2025

I have a new show coming out. If you enjoyed “What Not to Wear” (and realize how insanely dated the concept is now), you might like it. It’s called “Wear Whatever The F You Want.” In it, I encourage people to wear whatever the F they want. Brilliant, right? But wait! I don’t mean sporting flannel pajamas to Community Table. It’s more about finding the courage to express your True Self to the rest of this crazy, mixed-up world. Like, if you always wanted to be a Goth but you never did it because your parents threatened to write you out of their will. 

What does this have to do with Litchfield County? A lot, actually!

When I began shooting “WNTW” 22 years ago, I lived in Manhattan and had been working steadily in the magazine publishing industry. One of my more memorable gigs was writing under the pseudonym Joe L’Amour for Mademoiselle, a once-respectable Condé Nast mag that died slowly of irrelevance. Scores of women would write me every month—genuine handwritten letters!—and ask why the guy they hooked up with on Saturday night neglected to call them back after explicitly stating, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” And every month I’d have to find a different way of telling our dear readers that you shouldn’t believe a word out of a man’s mouth until he is 30, at which point you should, at best, believe every other word. 

But I digress. At the time I was really caught up in the rat race, and one of the rules of the rat race was to look like one of the most fashionable, well-groomed rats so that you could get a better office and make more money, which you could spend on looking like an even higher-quality rat! It was all very American Psycho, without as much murder. 

So when I got the “WNTW” job and would watch “secret footage” of people sporting hoodies and sweatpants and scuffed shoes, I was positively horrified! I channeled that horror into making some pretty decent money advising our “clients” that their lives would improve significantly if they wore more dark jeans, statement necklaces, and structured blazers. Then, with some of my winnings—I mean, earnings—I bought a house in Kent and soon realized that—get this—my happiness wasn’t contingent upon the label sewn in my cashmere sweater. Mind. Blown. I could have a conversation with the cashier at the IGA while wearing flip-flops and not feel like I was being judged a degenerate. I could buy an eight-pack of mouse traps at Ace Hardware in ripped jeans and not have to worry that my money wouldn’t be accepted. I could show up at the Fife ’n Drum with a teeny tiny bleach spot on my polo shirt and not fear being ushered to a cozy table situated on the threshold of the men’s room. 

I could wear whatever the F I wanted, and it was nice. 

During the pandemic, when my manager asked me what I’d like to do with the rest of my life, I said, “Garden.” He lives in LA, so he was unfamiliar with that concept. I continued: “I don’t know, maybe do a show where I taught people to really love the clothes they put on their bodies, regardless of other peoples’ opinions.” 

He liked it, so we pitched the idea to my former co-host Stacy London, and she was in. Yay! Then we brought it to Amazon Prime and they bought it. Yay! And now it’s ready to stream on your favorite device beginning April 29. I probably won’t watch it because I lived it, but I’d be happy if you did. I’ll just be over here getting my dahlia tubers in the ground. 

*Author’s note: This account of my personal growth has been condensed and grossly simplified for reasons of space and your attention span.