Queer Eye for Me, Damn It

I need a new hair cut. I’ve had the same hair cut for a very long time. Short. Spiky. Then I forget and it becomes bouffant and puffy. I go from looking angry all the time to looking like Ted Koppel with bed hair. It’s a shame.

Every time I need a haircut I look in the mirror and think: I need a new hair cut. One that would befit a father of two without giving up his groovy sense of style and weirdness. Something that would make me look cool, edgy and still be able to comb and make me look like Robert Young from “Father Knows Best” at Parent Teacher conferences. The Clash by day, Vaughan Monroe by night.

Last night, while watching our new favorite show, I realized that I need help. Merely picking up a men’s magazine taking it to Great Clips and getting my hair massacred for $12 plus tips wasn’t going to work anymore.

The ladies who graduated from the ACME School of Hair design aren’t going to do it. I need to go to a woman named Che who will put pudding in my hair and sculpt it into a work of art that will take me twenty minutes to do every morning. Twenty minutes for the result of looking like I just woke up. That kind of care, with those kinds of results say, “Hey, look at me! I take time and care about my appearance but I’m casual and cool enough to look like I walked out of a wind tunnel and am ready to eat Sushi with Cameron Diaz!”

So the new show is called “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” The premise is, five gay guys come to a straight guy’s home and save him from plaid pants and athletic socks from the eighties. It’s like Pygmalion for men. Except it’s Ebenezer Doolittle and Professor Henry Hiphugger.

Quite honestly, these guys really do need help. And I don’t think I’m that bad off. Guys who don’t get haircuts for years. Men who look like they smell. Guys who cite Tim McGraw as a fashion hero. Houses that look like a nuclear waste site. Underwear that actually has to be sandblasted from the ceiling. They’re pretty bad off.

I don’t think I’m that far gone.

But I could use a staff of gay guys to tell me what to do with my hair. Why not? Most of the guy guys I know have really good hair. And, for that matter, dress really well. However, I wouldn’t allow my gay friends to dress me. It’s not that I don’t trust them. It’s that they have a Missouri sense of style. I want an LA sense of style. I want that, “I could be a movie star if I weren’t so fat and lazy and pug-like” sense of style.

I want to be a movie star. Though I fear my results would be Ernest Borgnine. Or worse,
Abe Vigoda.

But I’d settle for looking a little less . . . floofy.

But most of all I want someone other than some Great Clips chick who dates a guy with a mullet what to do with my damn hair.

Then I can look as cool as my personal fashion hero. Bert Convy!

No discussion link today. You really think I’d let you make that much fun of me?