The Bronson Pinchot Project: Interview with Bronson Pinchot

“Dear God, Let Me Find Some Bird-Crap-Colored Wood”

“Dear God, Let Me Find Some Bird-Crap-Colored Wood”

Interviews with a point.
Feb. 9 2012 2:06 PM

Questions for Bronson Pinchot

“Dear God, let me find some bird-crap-colored wood,” and other words of wisdom from the home-renovation devotee.

Also in Slate, read June Thomas' essay on the allure of home-renovation TV .

The Bronson Pinchot Project

DIY Network.

June Thomas June Thomas

June Thomas is a Slate culture critic and editor of Outward, Slate’s LGBTQ section. 

In The Bronson Pinchot Project, which debuts on the DIY Network this Saturday, the star of Perfect Strangers reveals his lifelong passion for historical properties. When he isn’t acting, Pinchot lives in rural Harford, Pa., where he spends his days working on the half-dozen properties he owns there. The program shows him shopping for gasolier globes and ransacking salvage yards as well as supervising some spectacular transformations. Slate spoke with Pinchot about the series, his attitude to “restoration,” and whether his homes are his friends or his harem.

Slate: Why did you agree to do the show?

Bronson Pinchot: Our agreement is that I simply get on with what I do, and they film it. There’s none of the stirring of the reality TV pot. We’ve all become too sophisticated for that as viewers. It’s almost like a great date when you forgot you had a date, so you rush out and you meet the lady at a restaurant, and you’re just dressed in your favorite clothes, not the ones you think you should wear for a date, and she thinks you’re the most wonderfully naturally attractive guy. So I just get on with what I do, and that works for them.

One day I came down in my purple pajamas, and I just got so excited that I never got dressed. I didn’t do it because I thought it would be delightfully eccentric. I just couldn’t go upstairs and change my clothes.

Slate: You share a lot of personal stuff in the show. You’re quite exposed. You’re a star, and this is realer than reality; there’s no makeup or wardrobe.


Pinchot: I’m naked, but naked on my terms. I think if I wrote a book about the experience, I would call it Naked on My Terms. In the pilot, we got some 1860s gasolier globes, and when they arrived, they were broken. It broke my heart, but then I got on with it. Afterward, I looked at the footage, and I thought, “So that’s what you look like when you’re really heartbroken.” I’ve done a million movies where they’ve said, “Come on, baby, you can pump it up,” or plays where the director tells you how it’s appropriate to emote. After 26 years, I looked at myself, and I thought, “That’s you when you’re profoundly sad.”

The other thing is that it’s what I love. I’ve noticed that if you’re doing a movie that’s kind of meh, you look in the mirror, and you really scrutinize your face, and you think, “Well, I could have used a little more shadowing under the jaw.” But if you’re going to see salvage, and salvage really is the greatest joy in your life, who cares? I don’t care how I look, because I want to see the salvage.

We recently filmed a scene where we were looking for some clapboards. Nobody ever saves clapboards. It’s the same with vintage clothing, people save jackets and pants and skirts and hats, but they don’t save socks. There are certain things that are so homely that nobody saves them, so they become quite rare. I wanted to do a house with completely original early 19th-century clapboards. So we pulled up in the truck, and I saw them in a pile from the truck. While the truck was still moving, I opened the door and jumped out and ran away. My wonderful producer said, “Bronnie, Bronnie, get back in the truck. We need to have a nice shot of you pulling in.” I said, “Nothing doing, I’ve got to have these clapboards right now. I physically cannot get back in the truck.”

Slate: Don’t you worry that if viewers catch your passion for period houses from the show, they’ll compete against you for materials? Aren’t you concerned that they’ll be bidding against you in online auctions? That they’ll get to the salvage yard before you and get the good clapboard?

Pinchot: That’s almost like saying, “If I write from the heart about exactly the kind of woman that I would like to spend the rest of my life with, and someone else sees the description, then they’re going to get her.” It really is in the interests of the old houses and the old salvage to be nurtured and picked up and dusted off. The thing that I want to happen is for people to pick up the idea of “Stablilize but don’t restore.”