It hasn't been a great year for television reboots, despite how many we've suffered through — from the lukewarm reception of Will and Grace to Roseanne's quick turnaround from raging success to dumped in disgrace.

But there were few television shows as iconic as the early 2000s Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, for the LGBT community and beyond. And there were fewer still that had the potential for such a hotly anticipated return to the small screen.

In February, Queer Eye sashayed onto streaming channel Netflix, with a respectable 98 per cent rating on Rotten Tomatoes and a legion of dedicated viewers around the world.

Just last month, the "Fab Five" travelled Down Under to the aptly-named town of Yass to promote the show's second season and spread their message of queer pride and rehabilitated masculinity.

But throughout both seasons of the feel-good lifestyle series, there is a troubling pattern that emerges in the hosts' interaction with the newly made-over men: their proximity to the poverty line.

While the hosts find good-humoured jokes in pointing out the lack of flair that each of their subjects show in their "tasteless" clothing and interior decorating, they ignore the financial strain that prevents these men from indulging in self-care rituals in the first place.

It's little wonder that Bobby, a father of six holding down two jobs, needed a "makeover". ( Netflix )

'He has like, no clothes'

Take, for example, their makeover target Bobby from season one — a Christian father of six, holding down two jobs to help keep his family's heads above water in a town on the outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia.

Fashion expert Tan France asks why he doesn't try harder to look good for his wife.

Bobby explains that if he's going to spend money on clothes, they go to his children, and that his own fashion is not his priority.

"I've been with my partner for nine years," Tan responds, "and every day I make sure my hair is done … I respect them enough to make an effort for them."

Is it any wonder Bobby, who only catches a measly two hours' sleep a night, might not have the luxury to buy slim-fit Levi's or apply Jonathan's sulphate-free hair mousse every morning?

By devoting little, if any, screen time to the fundamental issues surrounding their subject's economic circumstances — "this is your bedroom? It's so small!" — the Fab Five fail to get to the heart of any real issues.

A low minimum wage and an absence of affordable healthcare are just two reasons that these men choose to buy polos from Walmart instead of button-ups from Oxford.

But you wouldn't know that from the way that culture expert Karamo Brown disparages Georgia resident Leonardo when inspecting his closet: "This is it? He has, like, no clothes though?"

Karamo Brown does not shop at Walmart. ( Facebook: Karamo Brown )

'Look at his trailer home'

In the second episode of this season, the Fab Five visit William and his girlfriend, Shannon, who both work at Walmart. As they approach, the hosts point out the mobile home their subject lives in, exclaiming "look, look at his trailer home … oh my gosh, this is the literal definition of Bumf***, Egypt. Oh my god, I'm scared [of this place]".

As they enter the home and meet the couple, Karamo begins to evaluate their furniture, jumping up onto the loveseat sofa, shouting, "look! There are stains all over the couch! If you have a woman who's 'the one' maybe she shouldn't be sitting all over this."

William, a Walmart employee, before and after his Queer Eye intervention. ( Netflix )

Interior decorator Bobby questions the fact that the couple sleep in the same bed that Shannon and her ex-partner bought.

Later, he shakes his head at the camera disapprovingly: "Sleeping in the same bed with your new man, that you did with your old man? No thank you."

I can't speak for Shannon or Bobby, but I certainly can't remember the last time I tossed out my mattress after a break-up (or a time that I could ever afford to even if I wanted to).

Self-care is hard below the poverty line

While Queer Eye does a wonderful job of dissecting and re-evaluating toxic masculinity and engrained homophobia in rural America, it ignores some of the reasons behind men's inability to carve out their own "me-time" to pomade their beards and moisturise their T-zones.

The problem is more complex than the hosts give their subjects credit for.

They overlook the glaring issue of the difficulty of looking after yourself when you live below the poverty line.

And that means the Fab Five's interventions are unlikely to help promote the health and happiness of their subjects in the long term.

That's one issue a French tuck will never resolve.

Eden Faithfull is a freelance writer.