It's a muggy July morning in Manhattan, and the five stars of Queer Eye For The Straight Guy are in the midst of a conference-room conquest, disrobing and assessing their latest target in front of dozens of his coworkers. A few minutes ago, Steven Smith, a pasty VJ with the nascent music network Fuse, was in the middle of a humdrum meeting at his midtown office. Then Carson Kressley, Ted Allen, Jai Rodriguez, Thom Filicia, and Kyan Douglas barged in, jumped on the conference table, and pulled off his socks to inspect for--how to put this delicately?--toe jam. Now, a few camera-shy folks are dashing out of the room in horror, while others are working to make themselves obvious in the hopes that they too may receive a hip tip. One overzealous woman smittenly asks Jai, "Are you sure you're gay?" but he's too busy flirting with a red-faced boy at the other end of the table to notice. Suddenly Smith--perhaps sensing that his moment is being stolen from under his bare feet--stands up and bellows: "Ladies and gentlemen, the homosexuals have arrived!"

He can say that again. Queer Eye toppled ratings records for Bravo with its July 15 premiere, becoming the 23-year-old cable channel's most-watched program ever--and the most talked-about new show of the summer. It created such hoopla that NBC (which owns the network) commissioned a half-hour version and awarded it a one-time berth on its prime-time schedule the following Thursday, right after Will & Grace, where it attracted a healthy 6.9 million viewers. And its viewership seems to be holding up nicely--thanks, no doubt, to press mentions everywhere from The New York Times to The Australian.

So along with the Supreme Court's landmark Lawrence v. Texas ruling, the return of Elle Woods, and the emancipation of Ms. Liza Minnelli, it seems the nation may finally be ready to appreciate the finer delights of foie-gras mousse and pre-shave oil. Yes, it's been a very good summer for the gays.

Our story begins, as so many do, at an art gallery. Specifically, an art gallery in Boston two years ago, where David Collins watched as a woman berated her slovenly husband for his general lack of style. Looking for a way to make her point more forcefully, she gestured toward a group of sleek, well-groomed gay men nearby and wailed, "Why can't you be more like them?" The men felt so sorry for the henpecked slob, they flocked over and began dispensing sartorial advice.

Collins still laughs when he retells the story. "Those guys just dove right in and began giving out pointers," says the creator and executive producer, who is gay. "I said to myself, 'That is hysterical. That was like the queer eye for the straight guy.'" The next day, he decided that it might just work as a series and mentioned the notion to his best friend and coexec producer David Metzler, who's straight. They both agreed that TV's surplus of makeover shows was ready for an entrant with a fabulous new angle: Five gay men--experts in the fields of grooming, fashion, interior design, food and wine, and culture--would help a breeder improve his aesthetically challenged life by offering tips on everything from work wear (pleated khakis don't flatter big butts) to cooking for a first date (no frozen pizza, please). In March 2002, the duo received the green light from Bravo. A year later, they began filming their first episode. (Minus one member of the five: Jai was a late addition to the cast, subbing for the show's original "culture vulture," Blair Boone. Explains Metzler, "It wasn't working out with Blair, and we decided to recast." Hence the Jai-Blair switcheroo in episodes 2 and 3, which were the first to be shot.)

"I was shown six or seven pilots that were developed at Bravo before it was bought by NBC, and this was the only one that had potential," says president Jeff Gaspin (best known as the guy behind Behind the Music), who joined Bravo in January. "I was taken aback by the title, [which] sounded too over-the-top. But then I watched it. It was very ingratiating." Enough so that he ordered up a hefty 20 hours. Gaspin wasn't the only one who was charmed; NBC entertainment prez Jeff Zucker says he'd talked with Bravo about airing the show even before it premiered--which isn't the case for Bravo's other gay-themed summer series, the controversial gay (and straights-in-disguise) dating game Boy Meets Boy. Says Zucker, "We have a number of dating shows on the air. We didn't have a makeover show."

And what a makeover it is. One of Queer Eye's most talked-about aspects is the warp speed with which the Fab 5 appear to wave their magic wands and turn their ugly duckling into a Prince Charming. On screen, it seems to occur in a day, but in the real world, that transformation from crummy to yummy is an exhausting four-day process. "We joke that it's one day in gay time," cracks Metzler. "Besides, the Fab 5 are our superheroes to some degree, right?"

Here's how the unambiguously gay quintet parses its process: On day one, they go over a dossier on their victim (always a resident of New York City or its environs), prep themselves during a ride in their black SUV, and arrive at his home or office to kidnap him. During the subsequent "destraightening," his life is carefully discussed--oh, who the hell are we kidding? It's trashed, thanks especially to Carson, the fashionista who spews forth a slew of catty bons mots that are quickly becoming fan favorites. (On a denim davenport: "Who knew that Z. Cavaricci had a couch collection?" On a tattered, bulbous boot: "Did you buy these on www.uglyshoes.com?" On a bare-walled living room: "This place screams women's correctional facility.")

The next 48 hours are a whirlwind of research and execution, as the boys accompany their new friend to the salon, gourmet grocery store, and clothing stores. A design and carpentry team, meanwhile, assists Thom as he revamps the subject's oft-grimy living quarters. "My biggest goal," he says, "is for the guy to walk in and say, 'Oh, my God. This is f---ing amazing.' I want there to be a beep when the show airs." All of that duck confit and drywall don't come cheap, of course, and while the show's producers decline to discuss budgetary specifics, the costs are defrayed both by the Fab 5's connections--"I have exhausted my entire Rolodex," sighs Carson--and by product placement. Collins insists that when it comes to letting companies buy their way in, "we only take them up once they've earned the Queer Eye Seal of Approval.... The guys have to want to work with these brands." (In other words, don't hold your breath for a trip to Hooters anytime soon.)

On the fourth and final day, the newly exfoliated straight guy presents himself to family and/or friends; afterward, the Fab 5--cocktails in hand--watch from their "loft space" (in their midtown Manhattan offices) and cheer him on. It's this uniquely warm denouement--the antithesis of tribal councils and rose ceremonies--that's helped elevate Queer Eye above the glut of mean-spirited reality shows. Says Collins: "When their time is up, some of these guys don't want the Fab 5 to leave." (At least one has cried.) And the Fab 5 get something out of the experience too: Thom, the founder of a successful high-end interior-design firm, says, "In my world, I can spend millions of dollars on somebody's living room, and they'll still ask me why the light switch in the corner by the piano isn't perfectly straight... And now, all of a sudden, these people with a living room full of Pottery Barn objects can't thank me enough."

What's more, the four-day makeovers (or "make-betters," as Collins calls them) seem to be having long-term effects. Brian "Butch" Schepel, the Manhattan artist who received his first haircut in nine years on the show's premiere, has been inundated by e-mails from female suitors. And Adam Zalta, the hirsute Great Neck hubby whose most prominent feature was one long, bushy eyebrow? "He was at our premiere party, running around and telling everyone, 'Look, look! I got my monobrow waxed again!'" says Collins.

But Queer Eye hasn't made everybody happy. Influential Washington Post TV critic Tom Shales accused the show of peddling a "patronizing mentality," while the New York Post's Linda Stasi argued that the show demonstrates that Americans are "afraid of gay men who act normal." (For EW's take, see the review on page 62.) Collins dismisses the rancor ("Hey, there are worse things than...having style, taste, and class, right?"), while Kyan, the grooming guru and resident hunk, charges Shales and Stasi with pinning the Fab 5 into a no-win scenario. "If gay people decide that they can't be flamboyant and funny because straight people aren't going to like it, then what's the point? Either way, we're not allowed to be ourselves. I want to be gay on my own terms."

For all the debate about stereotyping, there's at least one cliche that none of the boys seems eager to fulfill: demanding diva. Collins notes, "We weren't looking for big personalities who wanted their own show." Adds Ted, the group's drolly charming culinary connoisseur, "I think the casting sheet specifically said, 'Divas need not apply.'" That rule seems especially wise, given both the show's grueling production schedule and the fact that its five stars must share a sole Winnebago while on location.

Luckily, the quintet appears to get along famously. At a sleepy Chinese joint in Greenwich Village after their boardroom intervention--and, one hopes, after they've washed with warm, soapy water--the Fab 5 chow down, ending the meal by revealing their respective fortune-cookie fates: Excitement and intrigue follow you wherever you go. Work is always hardest near the summit. Willingness to compromise is often a sign of strength. Pleasant platitudes, sure, but it's Ted's that draws a round of cheers from his colleagues: A man's fortune must first be changed from within...and you deserve a raise. At the rate the Fab 5 are going, nobody seems likely to argue.