Part II, by Cindy

Thinking back to his youth, spent living in the industrial Ontario city of Hamilton, Tim knew the world would not understand. But his fears of underrepresenting his people, his kind, continued to nag at him. Hamilton is not glamourous like New York - shit in New York people were "glamorous" not "glamourous". Damn "Labour Day". Damn his inability to spell like an American. He knew one day, be it either via his blog, or by the speech that may eventually condemn him, that he would be found out.

He had no problem proclaiming his homosexuality and his belief in past lives, but to admit that the Silver Fox, Tim Gunn was a Canadian, well that's just obscene. Obscene like Daniel Franco's face or being overweight.

Tim got up out of the creases and crumples of fine Egyptian linen that were hugging him like the lover he will never have and began to pace back and forth inside the cavernous halls of his just-off-Park Avenue apartment. He knew that someday this dream would have to end. A Canadian in Park Avenue, well he'd never heard of that. The minute his building's committee caught wind of his Canadian heritage he'd be forced to find a new place to live. He'd probably end up in the West Village living next door to some smelly hippie couple. "No, no. That's unaccepatble. I won't be able to make it work. I can't make it work".

The torment was causing havok in his soul. He had to make it work. He just had to...